watching the orange trees today full of buds and bees busy life ruthlessly buzzing forward my blood stale purple dripping from my nose the sky falling my feet facing up thoughts spilling from my ear prayer bowls howl when empty dragons chasing no longer lucrative so we reach for a key pad human thought what is where we go solid oak caskets flow among the fields of wires
timeless was the crescent of your smile parted lips a sliver of teeth that when gnashed together meant a bite of delight on my neck
as those years have dwindled down the wood in my heart strips away to the core tenderness i’ve always held
she spills her thoughts unto a loose leaf notebook page with an old blue Bic ink pen
her kitchen table strewn with paper scraps cheap chocolates and charity meals from St. Vincent’s
on her bed plastic liners rolling papers and blue aluminum bags tufts of tobacco on her sheet an old exaggerated Brave on the label
arms scarred by a childhood rash disease that taught her plenty about loneliness
now she the matriarch of two generations birthed from her
she wanders down the halls watching the world through an orphaned telescope
i like watching her turn her room apart
to show me husband’s funerary ashes
and dead baby one shot down before his prime
is the conversation everyday
then my turn to drive away
to punch on keys a progress report
about the life of another woman
whose had to pay a staggering price for wanting happiness
i store treasure taken from my eyes
in rooms to multiply
linger these treasures do
ensconced in my mind
at night when no one cares
to listen to my views
i pull a diamond or two
from there in the back
brilliance tucked away in angles
dead flower smell wafting in the creaks
gingerly i polish them with words
they come alive
and leave me cold
tomorrow i’ll look around some more
before my eyes no longer open
chemicals drip slow
i won’t resist for too long
for the depth of love
the smile the face the walls the sky the trees the ideals the rules the drugs the wolves the women the men the youth the old the sick the grass the tombs the space the prison the haste the mastery the theater the church the vision the isms the rules the history the law the upper ground the under ground the groups the lone the sailor the whore the priest the angel the holy the devil the medicine the blues the reds the thoughts inside my head today and evermore
like a tree in the dead of city
tough skin is what i need
to think about myself
as standing tall and without bend
tickling the sky with my leaves
tough skin is what i speak
through the chirps of tawny birds
and the billions of bugs’ marching feet
along the branches of my trunk
the clouds layered gray
throughout this day
watching coupled hands clasped in love
tender are their eyes
looking forward to a future
who won’t surrender to their whims
the old ones long ago bereft of their lover
look the other way
words less spoken 