Oh stupid woman, how thee wither away thy flowers
Bouquet’s of handsome words
Ineptly received and discarded in return for isolation.
Red’s and yellows, pinks and whites, blossom they all in his rays.
Yet painted over for the queen of hearts, with invisible ink.

Sadness, drizzle thy tears from a watering can
Remorse, be the earth that presses in on her majesty’s roots;
That have taken seed and overgrown into this monstrosity of run away fears.
Ridiculous, and damning all that it hurts, even yourself dear lady.

Thy throne a pile of manure, and thy crown a crown of brier and thistle.
Sit and enjoy thy kingdom, fool.

I always liked the effect of blood in water, like a smoke stack emitting it’s fuel from the vein.
Wispy and dreamy, like clouds in a far out dimension of space where somehow all your worries and issues are suspended, soft and muted, and swirley. In a place that cannot be reached or driven away by stellar problem solving or force. It’s evanescent and premature, and very clearly possible to see through. Like a commentary on the world outside your window that’s constantly shape shifting with the pull of the water in your bathroom sink or toilet bowl.

In My Sock Drawer (and other unmentionable items)

Your face was stunted as it were,
shown only in a single picture.
A profile shielding away your truer personality.
One of warmth and humor.

I’ve kept you away from everyone.
Had you hidden in my underwear drawer all these months
amongst the pink satin and blue lacey things.
Beneath the yellow and white polka dotted panties I thought I lost a year ago
and have yet still to find.

Hidden away from the fears of others.
That you are not what it has been said you are.
That you are mean, and cross,
and too self-righteous to be silly.
Hidden away from the fear that I myself contain.
That once everyone has crossed hands and met
it will all end because of some fault within myself.
Fuck it, life’s too short to be afraid.

So, I’m airing you out my darling before the moth’s get to you.
I want everyone to see how good you look on me,
and better yet how wonderful you make me feel.

Perhaps it Feels Somethin' like Drugs

Sometimes I day dream about being in a painting,
and that nature around me
is ravaged with wide and small strokes blending together
from a paint brush made of horse hair.
I pilfer my hands through the greenery;
it is wet
and warm.
I bury my face in it as I sit up and open my eyes
feeling so dazed and alive.

I Enjoy Trees

Whenever I am in a building high up
I like to look down at all the bushy green tree tops
as they blow in the wind.
I like to watch these green fertile movements,
and I wish that there was a stairway of clouds,
pockets of air I could descend from
all the way down to these mounds of flora
and lay upon the canopy of branches and silky leaves.
As though I were floating belly up on the dead sea
And when the wind would roll through these trees
sound would I, feeling the rise and fall of every emotion.

The Woodsmen

Torment is a haunting melody.
It is beautiful, and graceful;
brought by the winds, harbingers of a heavy mind.

Torment is stamped into the soul, carving everlasting circles
like the rings of age inside a tree trunk.
Freshly cut down with dull jagged words.

Communal misery,
a fireside of men and spirits as they talk of the ghosts in their past.
They sharpen their blades.
They have time to forget.
The morrow is of no consequence
they have time to get lost.
So tonight, they do both.

Stationary and silent
bones creak like hickory
toes stretch forth into the earth.
Torment sings through their branches.

A Bit of Something

And while all the world is sleeping
I stay up and count the scars
Upon the neck that’s bleeding
The blood from all the stars.

The stars are barely waking,
From the trembling sight of dawn,
And wonder what’s in the making
That makes God so withdrawn.