tears evaporate
leaving behind memories
i stand on wet sand
Santa Monica
broken heart haiku
pale sand cold and wet
thoughts deep into the night sky
give me my heart back
longing
on the shore where it is quiet
the people gone for the night
but only the echo of their laughter
tangled up in the ebb and flow of the tides
the foam crackles on the scrumptious sand
my toes drill into the warmth of your shore
a sensualness seeps through the pores of my skin
because that beautiful he moon above me
with glorious pewter rays of light
directs my memories of you
who are of the universe now
i still stand here alone on earth
walking with the sons of Cain
sentenced to miss you exclusively
the twelve golden stars to weep they must
to bear witness of what the polarities
of our world have done to my anemic heart
this land were my feet don’t touch
tell me please what are my charges
will the grains of sand
who lavish in the waters of rebirth
rebuke our love as well
lady Blue release me
to swim about in your sea
and race my soul toward the last sunset
ferris wheel
free to float slowly
through time and silent spaces
where angels hold me
day at the beach for a city punk
thoughts splintered some sharp others dull and short reports wobble out from flat digital boxes hung from careless walls breath tight or not there at all walking distance from the back to the ground floor books and writing on the walls in the tunnels by the bay ocean blue line thin horizon children grow up and grow into a certain kind of thought me i haven’t grown yet so i color in the sand with tiny sea shells found around my ankles as the tide retreats from me
shoreline
the nutty wafts of kelp breeze
wrap around my body
looking at the waves they crash
the little crabs shake
their tiny pinchers at them
they all just laugh
their foamy locks behind them
my fingers remind me
that i’m digging in the sand
i smile on my left side
two young lilac gulls screech
over some meaty mussels
my attention zooms in at the ferris wheel
closing my eyes
subtle waves of nauseous panic come
but you’re gone
your arms not there to hold me
your lips can not whisper
your hungry desires in my ear
your wandering finger tips caressing
the nipples on my breasts
as i whispered i want you
we both laughed
the piercings in your lips
they caught my hair
we clasped tattooed hands
the deepness in your voice
only for me
subtle wind moans
only to be cut by youthful laughter
holding my knees
those demons prick at me
your notes didn’t answer my questions
Faye
the skill is to find life in the routine she said i’ve stood at this counter for 30 years pumping the same bottles into the air and nobody cares she said
do you want some advice i could tell you that you’ll age if you don’t cover up your face in these narcotics made in Spain but it’s your body love it any way you want
ya’ see this scar above my perfectly lined brow fell off a tree in 1963 you have a lot of scars all over are you ok or are you one of those foster girls from down the block
i’m sorry listen that was harsh there’s this cream for $49.95 that can help heal those dark circles under your eyes it helped before my divorce hearing when Harry hit me
the freckles on your face and the bleaching out of your hair you really should try this salve from France you’re far too young to have this damage men like long soft chestnut hair like yours
oh my i didn’t see those tattoos i have a concealer for that but you should really get it removed and it’s a shame with your good bones naturally formed you’d be a good model but you’re too short
can you smile yes that’s it i think you could be on the cover of this magazine but you really have to clean up child you look like a dog town mop head skater boy
those nails you’ve chewed them to your shoulders look i have to take a break my boss might give me a raise but i feel that he just might leave his wife for me tomorrow
Grady, don’t tell your mom she’s my best friend and i think she would worry here’s her order and some make up for you we all have the demons jumping out of us and soon the scars of sin we carry in will come up to the surface

Silence
in august
the sky is violet and the fire
warm
the clouds linger a soft
cottony shadow
the moon sits upon her throne
and i wait for the silence to sound off