orange peels fresh in the sink
my finger tips scented by their honey
outside the heat lectures the breeze
little birds lined up fluffy down ornaments
i ask myself
self what will you do today
and i answer i dont know
you do that everyday self
arent you tired
and i answer yes but not like how you think
the birds are still
the window thick but i can read their beaks i know theyre singing
and i say to self
self how about oatmeal
the Irish kind with a little cream and fresh peaches
starring with blank eyes
at the punk rock collage
stirring the cinnamon and sugar
my 4 year old self giggles out from the jar
pig tails tan corduroy dress
bare tiny foots and a Disney coloring book
self instructs me to stand
and i walk away from her
gehenna #619
some nights silently
arrive late to meet with me
to plan the party
the little freedoms
not this morning nor any other time
has silken hair been a concern
old jeans black ashy tee
worn grimy chucks
red painted lips not for me
scab marks on fingertips
smiling face collecting things
at the antique store
thoughts of politics tea and scorn
stopped in track by butterfly songs
flutters of black orange magic
finally relieved
my sister later said
that when mother left
the tears on her velvet cheeks
were like lily petals
time has passed
on most days when
i notice myself in the mirror
memories of her voice and sorrow
crowds my day
by eve’s time
sitting alone on the porch
some plump flying angel
will rustle up the honey suckle
and a vision of mother i can feel
quiet resting finally relieved
complication
you ask why do i cover it
wandering around town
a million thoughts
abstract in their reality
answers swerve but then the questions haunt
im not a fitter in the jigsaw of today right now
just a passing sorceress with a spray paint can
strayed under the bridges dirty shoes bruised features
archangel seal on finger never ringed but broken twice
but even in slumber you complain
how can anyone ever hold you
your hand anchored to your hardened chest
it’s a reflex i whisper back
shes frail
beating hushley
neath this bony tattooed hand
bad brains tanka
dread locks dc dream
hard sounds real life scream and sweat
riff like diamond steel
pulse of nation under ground
old bones work natty haired girl
PSA support young artists
his motor dies
in midnight stroll cool ocean roars 12 steps away
time clutches in between my thoughts i am unforgotten
sea salt on my lashes tips
flowers closed and snuggled away
my cold left ear catches a rift of a stray gull
every step approaches me as my thoughts are unforgotten
a childish smile caterpillars across my chin tucked under my achy hand
as i move on looking through chain link walls in hopes of finding sleep
then theres a clock his face is lined with human history
from the instant hes wound up to the moment his motor dies
we are unforgotten
legs are still by the sand dunes edge
a 7UP can glimmers
my cold fingers hidden beneath folded elbows
my chest fills up with moonlit air
to be alive at waters arms
to ponder on why i think Adam Duritz is the Robert Smith in Bennie and the Jets
is why alone with the night time thorns i remain unforgotten
gen x’er goes to work haiku
rancid on bluetooth
driving alone on the 10
number crunching day
words less spoken 