young at heart.

He was amazing.

Little orbs made of thin thin rainbow walls
floating and bobbing on the light wind
that swirled with buttermilk and coffee smells
across the parking lot and over our heads.

"Where are they coming from?"
She gasped as she strained her eyes to see.
The sunlight bounced off the gossamer circles
making them seem otherworldly
in their paths toward the sky.

"Him."
Ethereal little spheres
made of soap and water and spit
squeezing through a pink plastic portal
attached to a stick stem
held by a hearty hand
covered in apparent age spots.

"We have to tell him how happy he's making us."
His crinkly eyes trained on the sky
and the small wishes his breath had sent out into the world.
He could never leave behind the boy he once was
his heart as young as it was the day it began beating.

"Thank you so much for making our day!"
His happiness was overwhelming.
The beauty he saw had been passed to someone else.

He shared more than just bubbles with us that day.

heavy.

The wind howled outside like kids screaming on a roller coaster. The sound splashed against the window, tidal waves of wind... To picture you inhaling is like seeing your blood. There’s a hollow hurt between my shoulder blades. I squeeze my eyes, trying to squeeze you out... I press the base of my palms deep into my eye sockets, hard against the bone, until I feel blood collect beneath the surface of the skin and bruise.

i remember that day.

i peel my clothes off and let them fall where they may

the screen door is broken again

i push through

i see myself lying on my back

floating

letting the cool water envelope me

and rinse me whole again

but i slip and my foot catches on something beneath the waterthe light

the pool's only light

and i break it

it's probably for the best...

the thoughts in my head are so heavy they might make me drown

i sit at the edge of the water

my feet distorted

and i stare at the water

as it begins to calm itself

and i wish i could do that

i don't wade in

i don't float

i don't swim

but still

i hold my breath

whirlwind.

whirlwinds scare me. the one going on in my head is slowing me down. i see a lot of me in it. pieces of me. so i stop to take a look. but all i get is static. my mouth waters. my ears ache. my eyes retreat behind dry lids. and twitch but can't defend myself. fighting against an unknown is scary. whirlwinds make me shiver. whirlwinds make me shake. violent seizures fist throws and hoarse screams. whirlwinds push me off a cliff. sometimes i think it's worse when i don't land brains splattered bones crushed blood guts and carnage spewed in all directions my heart ripped out and flung like just another organ. sometimes i think it's worse when i just keep falling.

3.8.08

three simple words have echoed throughout my life.

when it was happening, it was painless.

when it was happening, i was silent.

after, i saw that he had stitched into me a part that was missing.

he had used a needle with ink for thread
and had sewn into the fabric of my skin.
my neck. because my neck holds my head holds my thoughts holds myself.
the neck is the heart of the spine.

three words that have followed and lead me.

now they only reside deeper in my life.

it will be a part of me forever.
and that's what everyone says. like it's a bad thing.

i cherish it.

true man.

He brought his portable bunny-eared 12inch television to the coffeeshop’s lobby area and pulled up an arm chair. He propped his booted feet up on one of the small round low tables and watched the highlights from some baseball game in Canada. His belly sat on top of his thighs and rose and fell with every labored breath. I imagined his wife had told him to get out, he was in the doghouse, and so even though he still sleeps next to his cold cold wife at night—only because his back problems wouldn’t permit even one night spent on the couch—he spends all of his time elsewhere. At work behind his steel desk at the nut canning facotry. In his comatose mother’s kitchen, making himself a meal of lentil soup and left-over turkey. And in the posh coffeeshop, setting up shop like some lame window display, confusing the young co-eds coming in to study and the caffeine addicted mothers-of-6.

no tiger.

there's gotta be more than what i'm seeing here
i feel like i'm standing outside a museum
and my whole life is the main exhibition
my whole life is on display to anyone willing to pay $8 to see someone ele's idea of art
i cock my head to one side and the furrow returns to my forehead
my lips purse and i just know that when i'm 50 i'll have lines streching out in all directions
there just has to be something more
i have to force myself to be creative
they're looking at me break out of my shell
the sinewy strands of birth fluid streching and breaking as i push out
gasp for a breath of air filling my lungs and pushing fluid out
gasp for a breath of air filling my lungs and pushing fluid out
gasp for a breath of air filling my lungs and pushing fluid out
i put my head back and roll my spine my neck feels like its healing from a break in mere seconds
i want to roar but i'm no tiger
that's just one thought
here's plenty more where i came from
arms thrust and now i know i'm schizometric
i have to bite my lips so many times to stop from saying something i mean but have already said too many times before

where: the valley of crowns. when: a lifetime ago. what: just a passenger.

I see my life being ripped apart at the seams. Beautiful fabric woven with gold and purple threads, laced with black and covered in shooting stars and smooth, smooth bones. I see my life being ripped apart at the seams. Fingers like spiders' legs working furiously and tearing apart. Thread strains, snaps, and curls backward. My Life Dress is unraveling. It is being pulled apart by its seams. I see my dress of sky and skin ripping apart. The holes gape open like dead mouths and moan at me. I see my dress of breakable things. It's not the way it used to be.