Sunday, July 29, 2012

Tattoos and a punk rock tee-shirt
Underneath a button-down, citizen uniform
---The prolonged death rattle of my youth
Making noise over a fast beat and short songs.
A last ditch, high pitched effort achieving
A sense of cohesiveness in this transitional time.
So take my hand as we slamdance into the sunset.

Friday, July 20, 2012

The most that I can do is create
And move for the improvement of this world.
Add to culture what it has been lacking:
All for those who will remain
And continue to remain.

Monday, July 16, 2012

At a quarter-century-old
She still believes in magic.
Standing at the edge
Of the forest, she pauses.
Afraid of what she might find
But could never possibly exist.
Ignoring the real danger, she persists
In believing the fairy tale dangers:
Witches brewing in modest hovels
And trolls, goblins, and gremlins--
Snatching souls and hatching schemes.
Yet this is reality, not her wild dreams.

So she must be her own hero.
Both a princess and a paladin--
Fairest in the land simultaneously
A bad-ass clad in armor and finesse.
Graceful in the dark and the light.
So mount up your highness,
And move with conviction.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Art of Writing Love Letters

Dear You,

Hello how have you been?
Let me talk about:
The sound of your voice
And how I miss it;
The things we have done
And the things we will do
(The Past, Present, & Future);
The scent of your hair;
The nape of your neck;
The shape of your legs;
An overwhelming longing.
This is what I write to you.



Wednesday, July 11, 2012

You wearing that picnic tablecloth
Sun dress, with polka dot ladybugs,
You say, "Let's create and on this earth,
Let's make our mark."
Throwing down our wine glasses, 
Turning stains into art among the shards.
There is beauty in your chaos.

With sunshine eyes you see what
Our time holds, cradling the present
Between arms of the past and future.

Proud of our surreal, visceral creation
You autograph with a signature smile.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Darlin you're no metaphor
Steeped in centuries of misogyny.
Not a delicate flower in need
Of the most demanding care.
No butterfly, wings pinned down
And matted, cataloged on the wall.
Not some elegant creature elusive
To the hunter, enshrined in nature,
An object of longing and conquest.
You're more than that.

You are resilient.
You have teeth and claws,
A sharp beauty.
No wings, but one helluva pair
of legs that carry you up and down
This country's roads, and yet stay
Rooted in love and family.
No flower, but a vine with tendrils
Hugging and moving along
Some of the most foreign of surfaces.
Graceful in nature and beauty.
But above all,
You are not a beast, a bug, or a plant.
Not a concept or an abstract.
You are human.