Visions

I saw him standing there with her. Let loose, the red shaft flew from an unknown bow. It passed through both of them, piercing their hearts.

They arched and felt the speared tip.

But that was all.

Moments in Mojito

Lip and drink solo within a soon to be not so lonely room, this Friday night.

I pour

and mold.

Glowing in this dim lit space. I know where I am.

There is kindling inside me yet.

I can feel it burn...

Singe

Smolder

and puff. All it takes, is a breath.

Garden state, lava lamp, Edward Albee, cut out cats and too many crumpled book bags...is this me?

I like it.

Come on...knock on my door.

I'm waiting.

On The Return

Thumbing through Beloved I have realized that I am scared to go home.

Write Noah on my grave.

Anger still sits heavy in my throat and foot steps. Taken completely aback on occasion. Feeling the sunshine, and remembering. The pleasant things swelling into bitter resentment.

I have not forgiven anyone.

It's as if I am some fallen angel now. I know I once had wings, and they were white. But now, tattered and jaggedly broken, there are of little use but a sign. People strike me odd now. Male conversations set me on edge. I am so very far removed from normal.

The bones are showing. Those are white, beneath the tainted feathers. Allow indulgence. Pardon the youth behind the door, under the sheets. I make myself sick enough. No extra eyes are of need, friend. I judge myself. Doubly as vicious as a snide call ever could.

Spin around, look up, and know directly who holds the blame.

You, sir, have cast me out of heaven. My feet bleed on these pebbles you have placed me on. And I am encumbered by the heaviness of what once set me free and made me beautiful.

Perhaps, with time, the remembrances of you, a smile, the smell, the presence of you will melt from the recesses of my skull and brain.

Until then, I will play the puppet, the fraud, and curse your name to the stones which trip me up.

To have never loved you. To have never longed for the brown bag stuffed in the top draw. To have never wept in the ivory tub, cherishing and mourning every fleeting breath.

I will fly again...

To The Old Man Sitting In Front Of Me

Dear Sir,

You may wonder why I am smirking right now, covered beneath my laptop, surrounded by notes and Ellen Stewart books, while you sit in swishy wind pants methodically crinkling and dissecting the news paper in your hands.

Chances are, I am in your quiet, well lit, cozy, reading nook.

But as you sit and read, and I stare forward awkwardly, out of the window to the street, I imagine getting up to go the bathroom.

You, this little wrinkly male of most likely some substantial academic credit, will get up with stealth, place this very computer on your lap, and cackle in a library appropriate cackle, just for old men in wind pants.

But now you have gone, and I can go to the bathroom without fear.

Hope to see you again sometime,

The girl typing with a smirk in the green chair of the library.

Again and Again and Agai...

Long days journey into night

A night that stands still for no one

A world to be lost in

She sits among youth and songs. To stand before a crowd. Smile and bow without worry. Life as a child.

Used teabags among soiled cups. The dishes old yet white. She sits awkwardly at the wooden table, back forced arched to the wood seat. And fondly, recalls the boy.

The one who no longer is. The memory that warms as a fire burns.

The two were sixteen with stars and a blanket. Night lives cold but youth burns. She found herself in his eyes. Pale skin to hands, fingers, clasped to hers, tanned from the sun from another era.

Their playing more joyful than the kittens lost among the daffodils. Love, rich and growing, ever in spring, ever quick to expand, memories sparked green.

And a Swedish woman preaching the truths of love in a coffee bar in Grinnell Iowa. This Wednesday night in February.

Can I crown you with my memories? Will you wear them yet? I promise, they fit you well.

The streets you wander down frighten me. It pains to see you so, to feel you slip away in every aspect, but I will wave to you. I still have it in me to say good bye, chasing your reflections through the dark puddles of unknown. I would fly to stay by your side. All I can call, all I can muster, all that I can spare is farewell.

Fare you well my love

Fare you well my once charmed soul

They say our eyes matched. Blue. You’ll be romanticized and demonized in the same breath. And you know it.