Showing posts from January, 2014

The Bird That Sings When The Dawn is Still Dark

When the morphine came
there was a catholic moment
when I thought I should refuse

I closed my eyes and visualized
myself without it
and decided it better
that this medicine is used

It helped. But not enough. The doctors had to do it again.
And still .
There was that moment of guilt.
That single flinching instant
where I have seen life as a game
and points collected for purity

No drink
Mastery of self

All at once swept away in a single decision

At night, later
in my hospital bed

I did not dare to dream
nor even sleep
for fear the pain returned

And when they asked me if I needed morphine
I finally broke down that wall
between me and all of the things
that were designed for this specific moment
and this specific use
There was a moment of sickness
very brief
and then I felt

At first, not necessarily free
nor happy
but focused

As if
I was not in dire pain
and I began to see
that this body
that holds me
can withstand much more
than being unable to breathe

This time
I was a little t…

Cherry Valance

In utero my mother ate cans of cherries
So it goes

Cherries are euphoria
I waste nothing

Sometimes, when I dream
I dream in red

I wake

A length of decorative veil
anchored to my sturdy bed

A solid, cool feel
in white sheets

like whipped cream
and hot cherry pie

I want you.


To my bed.

My teeth.

Your neck.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman. With Puppy.

She does not hope
She plans

Life spins its web within her and by her
and she enjoys the earthy feeling of sand
the cold of water between her toes
the salt air

She throws a piece of bread into the sky
watching the gulls swoop down and take it from her hand
she laughs as they dance in the wind
squawking birds won't quit

Building castles
Her black and white dog jumps at the chance
to stick its dark nose into the sand
It comes up
a white dot echo of bozo
She laughs
and calls out

Her voice carries downwind
The dog makes a mad dash to her side
and she is just as happy to let it run off again

She is happy.
They are happy.

It is that one moment in life.
Where everything makes sense.
Because nothing makes sense.

We paint with simple strokes
Watercolors forgive

She returns home
And tunes her Cello
to the memory
that the tune matches place
and sound - tuning to a hall should always be different
than tuning to a chamber

And Plays
East of eden

Drawing at once in a paintbrush of sound

I Change

I change.
I'm not always the same.

The tensions in me are similar to the ones in you
I am pulled between evil and good.

I grow
I reach into new parts of my brain.

The thoughts that collide and feelings that hide
When I am honest with myself and you

I dissolve
The simple elements of my existence blur the lines between we two
The darkness of life - escapes from inside

It sees the thing it has become
And it screams.

I am become dust.
I am the cat. All places are alike.

Even now. And you.
A husband.
A child.

Somewhere -

The lamb lays down with the lion.
A shepherd tends quietly to his flock.

A job that slowly kills you
beating time against the clock

One life makes a difference to another.
One heart.

See how we are.