the clock in my mind
doesn’t really tick tock
it’s more of a low cruel scalding grind
like a rusty cog from an old Slavic car
i lay on my mattress the linen pulled tight big fluffy pillows to hold in my thoughts
the colors are sanskrit oozing in sunburst lotus in buds
every so often when my body shuts down
the beat of my arteries scats like old Calloway
from a past filled with poisons textured with scars
then the grinding is noticed by a runaway synapse and my eyes they go shut
the cat’s by my footstool and the dog’s by my side
yet it is lonely the spirit is gone
she hides in the closet
where her wings were cut off
diagnosis haven across the bookshelf
eating disorders sadness depression societal crud
the plant upon the dresser silver and wide reminds me of Warhol and incense and wine
then the phone pings and i go rub my eyes
i hear that new song sent from afar
i wonder about mother Hubbard and the Kennedys the story of pauper clowning the kings
so i get up to empty the voids in my throat
i walk to the kitchen and touch a tea pot then i look out the window and think of your mouth the back of your head
do i look for what’s final or do i trudge back to bed
Abandonment
available but not to you
your expectations wants demands tactics tricks and commands are just a mirage
i too can do unto others but i choose not to i am at the disposal of my mind heart and soul exclusively
i break barriers and ceilings with the ultra sonic boom of my love quietly in the middle of time and my shed tears turn into diamonds
from my breast i nourish innocents the army of all
with a turn of my fingers i knit the cloth to shield innocents from the darkness of your claws
it had to be
God called and you went
in your stead a smile was left
still i miss you so
brick and mortar
wish that i could’ve
taken the bullets for you
building’s not enough
eating my words [vii]
tired
time what is it really just illusions how can one waste what is a lie just a mist in a dark cold swamp a little village of my mind it sits there and wallows remembering memories that never happened like kisses from my mother i have full control when the birds sing time what is it exactly me thinks of time as the breath of the gods the heartbeat of the mermaids the haircut shavings of the gnomes in the forest deep green cool moldy forest located in the left side of my heart untouched by time still waiting still haunting time
want
to want you to kiss my mouth hungry like a starving dog deep inside the tendrils of time perhaps inside of Tutankhamun’s tomb where he laid wrapped in magic to want you to look in me and search with your fingers like a carpenter looks for nails in an old rusty Folgers tin that looks much like my heart to want to breath you in like when you turn and give a final glance at a coffin’s bouquet of roses of your fallen enemy to want to scratch and dig my woman’s claws into your back as your masculine identity fucks my sad out to want to possess the honesty of a very small child to want to have the courage to do a lot of things and in the midnight sky when my eyes upturn alone i catch a snippet of the music of Shakespeare’s heavenly spheres that only the angel’s can hear
freed
she thrived optimally when lost in LA
salty sassy loose and Catholic tube top wearing even on cold days
mother of three husband gone missing foul play by the finest in town
she talked back and took what you had with scorn and laughs
yet in the sun light at the plaza when traffic is quiet beggars and convicts safe in their bags
she fed the pigeons ever so delicately threw breadcrumbs at them not like a DiMaggio but like a Pavlova
then they were fed no more
eating my words [v]
in my world
when the demons of solitude and fear set in i then realized that the bread crumbs were all gone where are You
words less spoken 