the songs that birds sing sweet and piercing in my heart
lay me to rest in some other part
of Your universe so dark
where the songs that birds sing
sweet and piercing like Your voice
lay me to rest in Your universe
with those songs that birds sing
i too will be free soul pure
sweet and piercing songbird
resting in Your universe at last
Courage
my gown
look beyond my dark thick gown
be strong and courageous
God is all around me
but you must look past my heavy gown
my light my freedom never closes
for i am not a door without a knob
look beyond my cowebbed gown
but make sure that you clasp your thoughts hand
you will need them for this journey
take time and show me that you are opening a window breathe liberation in
when the threads and seams of my tightly stitched sleeves imprison you
open your heart and push on through
the light is closer than it seems
there will be times when you’ll get lost amongst the blackest gauze of my deceptive petticoats
you will ache cry curse moan writhe in madness
dont be afraid to use the sharpness of righteous diligence to cut on through
don’t be afraid of my gown
within it lay your wings
we’ve always been
how
the things that are not going anywhere in the tunnels of this life
hands tired how to explain the whys of it all
roads paved with loss hey not everything is a party take time feel her out look in eyes that have never cried for herself
what about the cramp in the gut are we starved disgusted crazy or lost
how did we get here were we tricked how in the name of freedom and doing good did i give up the bond to my soul in a most obscene way
how can i teach my brother to fish how can my brother relish what’s his if he is severely sick how can i teach my sister to fight and feel out her heart if we both have to be vetted and protected from each other
rarely
i am peace today
molecules amongst the trees
silence in my mind
hesitant
it doesn’t seem so long ago
that i smoked some cloves
was listening to the Pogues
and drifted into some world war
that i’ve only seen in film
over at Grauman’s Chinese theater
my blues are turning black
and though i opted out of methadone
it never meant that i was strong
will i ever say farewell and laser off the scars
of the circumstances of our battles
at two i’m getting up to pee
the midnight birds are wrapping up
the roosters will shortly crow their song
across the street with the old Japanese couple
i like to think that yesterday’s gash was really a fluke
but the book teaches that we must be quite honest
not being responsible enough to make a decision
i straighten out the linen closet instead
until the sun washes away my pain with her golden arms of fire
Eunice
Eunice
sits
by the
twin doors on
her porch waiting for the
mail to arrive and have a conversation with
Yan the carrier who always asks about her past and what she’s doing
it’s time for the Moon Festival and Eunice enjoys hearing Yan’s stories too and when his wife sends her Moon Cakes
her heart skips a beat with joy today she wore a peach silken robe her hair is wild and white legs tucked neatly under thighs and her lap nestles two brown gray Siamese kittens
eyes deep black filled with wisdom earned through pain war and humiliation but if you look closer her irises are flecked with bits of gold these are the triumphs of her life i want to be like Eunice graceful with the power of her forgiveness she is eternally untethered from the mortal coil of man
strong in her conviction to love without having to be loved free to walk through the doors of challenge steadfast in her beauty shining from within soul armor for the soldier Queen her lips sea shell pink have spoken with the angels her thin vein covered hands have opened promise closed opportunities for mass destruction Eunice swift of foot feeds the weeds and prized flower bushes the same life is life she says and through this ancient simple third eye view the weeds have nourished the orchards of love
Eunice with her basket feeds the multitudes with far less fish than Jesus can provide today but in her patience and plentitude of faith the cup of satiety somehow runs over in the inky crescendo of the twilight Eunice sits in her back porch by the door where she cried hiding sorrow when the universe collapsed as seen on the 11 o’clock news many Aprils ago clutching a holy book to ensure it’s protection in case that night’s devil came to her own door i know i’ll never be like Eunice with spirituals circulating in her veins while her licorice skin warms the spirits of the children next door who dress like ninjas for the Fall and every year as she pretends to be the frail victim for them to save her reward is the blooming of a brighter future in their innocent laughter
words less spoken 