Tuesday, October 7, 2014


In dreams, I return to you−or you to me,  revealing
in these reveries, feelings,
         sentiments outside reality, the buried reborn in the surreal; 

         The tenderness, the theme.  We embrace
in lee; this unveiling.  I will wake in dazzlement. In drowsing,
I cannot discern; none of this
is real. 

I must leave you to the night; sentient illusion’s apogee.
        Seeds planted, by day, dug up in decipherment−
        the essence
of unfit desire in dishabille.

The essence
of unfit desire
en dishabille:  seeds planted, by day, dug up in decipherment.
       I must leave you to the night; sentient illusion’s apogee.  

       In drowsing, I cannot discern.  None of this is real,
       this unveiling.  I will wake in dazzlement.
The tenderness
the theme, we
embrace in lee 

outside reality, the buried reborn in the surreal  revealing
          in these reveries, feelings,
sentiments. In dreams,
          I return to you−or you to me.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013


i saw only what you saw

sleek as glass
      what you would have me see

i believed only what you believed
                          what you would have me

and I sewed your shadow on
I found myself
faithful girl that i am
if only                  you were
                                         eternally young
                                                                    looking for you
it might be

But you are
not really here.
You are a figment of your own imagination.
You are a masterpiece,
long labored over,
bursting I became
painted layers,
softer than plush
oil on canvas.
                                                                                        blood warmed
then, did my water blend
so well with thick phantom pigment?
My water mixing, sloshing, as if to fight
for my own color and display.
                                                                                leaving you to your work
My water, sea for you to swim in-
mistaken manatee
My water flowing
like tears that proved my worth.
My water, the pond
of discovery
by which you saw your own reflection.
when the pond rippled,
fact and fiction
my water betrayed,
muddying, jeering with question,
sleek like glass
moving maddeningly, moving me.
I could not be still and I broke the mirror
                               and the silence and
so my own
and you left.
softer than plush
You took your brushes and your cast.
You took my past.
You left a likeness of my voice
that bubbled up, choking, from the dead.

Scaly and flopping,
gasping for the invisible.

You breathed into me.
You gave me life
                       in story.

Friday, December 13, 2013


I hate that tone,
lands where I lack.

When did I become the target?
Exasperating itch?

I hate that tone,
lands where I'm wet.

I am not who you think I am.
I have been mistook.

You see me as
one afraid to speak,
but I know your voice,
and I know you're weak,

think you can outsmart me,
blurring imagery.

So, go ahead and spin.
So, go ahead and try.
So, go ahead and turn.
So, go ahead and lie.

Your have the numbers
but I have the sum.

So, go ahead, keep talking.
I'll nod my head and smile.
So, go ahead, keep dancing.
I'll waltz with you awhile.
So, go ahead, bow out.
So, go ahead, and pout.
Scream and pout
it out.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Fears and Mirrors

At night,
   the mirror reflects
                       forges images of a more frightening version of
                                    myself.  My
                                           eyes are wide and shadowy, large,
                                                 set against gaunt and grayish face.
                                                     Horror creeps ever nearer until I'm forced
                                                      to look away.

A simple call from nature,
                         once the lights are out, and I am
                                                  again, eleven,
padding down a (suddenly) long,
                                       long hallway, heart
palms sweating,
gust of
ghosts behind me, hot
upon my neck.

The bathroom bestows
      no comfort.
turn on the
light or not?

Avoid the mirror- but I

Brief glance...
            and there I am - (she is) in all her gore, garments dripping guilty garnet

I see her without really seeing her-
imagine, only, vision.

Hurry, then, back to bed.
my breath,
close my eyes,
wait for sleep to rescue,
pray for dreamless rest.

Damn you, slumber parties of my youth and your Bloody Mary stories.

Poetry Jam

Light Words

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Sickness Seeps

The sickness seeps; a contagion,
frantic, searching for invasion,
seeking host to infect with lies.
Poor victim's sanity, the prize,
every answer an evasion

until truth becomes an abrasion,
invention the new equation
for narcissus' sly disguise
and sickness seeps

with words employed in persuasion
till loss of self, mere sensation
and in denial the soul dies.
The poison pleased with the demise
moves on, searching next occasion
and sickness seeps.


Wednesday, May 8, 2013


It was afternoon -
burnished light of day
the sun glared, exacerbating
her eyes, already so tired
so exhausted that irritation
came as a defense, to cocoon
Boiling hot
but birds still sounding,
though, as they, too,
were angered. dual chirps,
a scrape, one lurched
down, above her head.
Her nerves, brittle,
shook, but she did not blink
but she tasted blaze of fever
Her feet remained in place,
barnacles attached
to some sinking ship
She swallowed finally,
mouth dry
tongue rough
thoughts not quite as fixed as body.
Steady, her mind reminded,
The authority,
of logic and survival
A cloud rested,
blocking the bright
and her hard as flint
involuntarily \
She felt it in her toes,
their relent
The blur
of his face
came into focus
and when his eyes
she saw her chance
She spat

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


Your voice
is an image now,
stamped -
quite beguiling.

                eyes burn with ideas,
 and I'm stuck
                                                              time flowing so fast
                                                               it deranges.

                                                               I see what's
abandoned, what affliction is avoided,
and I'm contemplating the wisdom in matching all you're cap-
able of.  Deserting, too, the
                       the towering space where once we stayed.
                                                                    Did we leave
anything at
behind?  After rumors of ruins,
              and suggestions of deaths, I am fearful of venturing back...
the cries of passage
         echo earthward,
                            telling, somehow.   There is
a choice in this,
but remembrance falters, and your scarcity gives you away.
I dig through, clambering up, not sure what I'll find or
                                                                        where I'll end
I am
filtering through the vanished and
past phantoms, and I am taut of tongue close to
  the precipice
where our love
  hangs in balance.

Write at the Merge