Breaking point

Somewhere
between the shore and sky
the trees devour the ocean waves
give way to wind song
dancing through their limbs

The flux of tree and wind
water and current
could be that of a two sided mirror
assuming the barrier between elements
the crash deafening
from either perspective

If only we could breathe water
feel the tumble and smash
of elemental division

If only we could frolic in the breeze
like a leaf
being caressed on every side
dare to take the risk
of falling
into the whim of the wind.

With the tide

In the early morning light
the water undulates
dark with mystery

The waves break
in jagged crests
roll on unperturbed
a long held note
moving from shore to shore
between two islands

Death is not an impossible ending
for any souls
on this journey

The depths are teeming
with crocodile tears
and hungry mouths
ignorant of satiety

This is known
yet we ride on
bobbing insignificant on the surface
vessel pointed
in the general direction
of our assumed destination

Will we reach the shore or
will we continue on
seeking out that mirage
that future promise of
certainty?

Memory, that traitorous bitch

It’s been years since I was open to the vulnerability of being in a relationship with someone else.  I haven’t seen that person in almost six years.  But there’s someone in my new office that looks so much like him.  Every time I see this new person I feel myself drawn to him, even though we’ve sat in the same office together but never exchanged a word.  I know it’s only because of the superficial similarities to someone I thought I once loved, but I can’t help but wonder.  If we shared the same language, if we could easily communicate, would I be less frightened of the possibility of being hurt again?  Would I give this new person a chance?  Would he even be interested in my quandary?  

Love may be a many-splendored thing but it’s also equivalent to mental abuse.  

The high and the low of mind-altering drugs.  

He likes crossword puzzles… this new person… 

I like crossword puzzles too.  Is that enough to start a conversation over?  

You know, the answer to Four Across is what brings most women pure joy.  Maybe we could sample some together?  No… I’ll just go to my house, have some carrots, and cozy up to the lovely paper smell of… my electronic book reader.  That seems like such a strange thing to miss, but I miss the smell of books.  Such a simple luxury.  And less complicated than the tangled web of my own human interactions.  It's much more pleasant to read about someone else's misery and joy.  I will stay safe in my box of my own creation, safe from pain.

Safe from ... 

girl

little girls should be seen and not heard
be silent and spread your legs
they say
because girls should be making babies
and dinner
girls don’t need to understand numbers
that’s man’s work
girls don’t need to understand cars
that’s man’s work
girls don’t need to understand science or mechanics or brain surgery
that’s man’s work
girls need to get married and find a man
someone needs to take care of them
they can’t do that themselves
because they need to concentrate on
taking care of man
and children
and parents

little girls should be pretty and clean
not playing in the mud like a dirty boy
not turning ratchets or fixing leaks or changing tires
that’s man’s work
ugly girls
chubby girls
it’s ok for them to be the subject of jokes and harassment
there’s no point in raising aggrievances to the authorities
because no one’s going to believe them
and everyone’s going to laugh at them
so best to be quiet
stay in the corner
because no one wants to see them or hear them

little girls should be should be helpless and weak
so a man can take care of them
don’t carry that weight
that’s man’s work
don’t be so muscular
that’s man’s work
never be strong or
try to show others
they can take care of themselves
the world will accuse them of trying to be boys
because the worst insult for a boy is to be called a girl
and the worst insult for a girl is to be called a girl
pretending to be a boy
because no one could actually want to look like that
girls like pink and dresses and soft things
boys like blue and shorts and hard things
because boys aren’t supposed to be soft
and girls aren’t supposed to be hard

Prince Charming

I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking
you were magnetic and friendly
I was on holiday in a foreign place

We had a few beers, talked
shared dinner and a few dances

You introduced me
to some friends who vouched for you
male and female alike
above the roar of rasta remix music
the bar where you worked
You had just graduated and were feeling
celebratory

I could have eaten your accent with a spoon

I wasn't even drunk

I thought
maybe we could hang
relax awhile
then I'd go back to my room

We took a cab 

My phone was almost dead
so I turned it off

When we had gone up the stairs
into your apartment
I found out it was shared with somebody else

It's what I had imagined grungy big city life to be like
but seeing it in person nearly made me want to leave

You brought me into your room
so your roommate wouldn't see me
when he got home


You started taking my clothes off
removing yours too

Stone cold sober
I realized this was actually going to happen

Part of me couldn't believe
someone like you wanted someone like me
Part of me wanted to leave

I stayed. 

The regular sex was okay
but it wasn't enough for you

You had me turn over
before I understood what was happening
your huge dick was somewhere
I didn’t want it to go  

I hurt
a lot

I froze 

When you finished
you showed me the condom
proud of your cum
washed up while I got dressed

When you came back in
you pleaded for me to stay
sleep awhile

I agreed

I guess you thought
we'd have sex again
but I was terrified of you

I needed to leave

But I stayed
waiting for you to fall asleep
I quietly got dressed
used the last of my phone battery
to find my way back to the train station

Waited for the train for almost an hour

I kept looking behind me
scared that you would come after me
find me

You didn't

The train finally came

As I walked back to my room
stunned, exhausted
you called

I guess you woke up
noticed I was gone 

You acted so worried
asking where I was

I said I was a block from your work
almost home
but you didn't believe me

Finally, you accepted
I wasn't coming back
said you'd call me later

Okay,
not sure whether I wanted you to
or not

You didn't

I never heard from you again

I think I was relieved
disappointed too

It requires a special kind of self-loathing
to hope for a phone call
from the beautiful, exotic guy who
might have just "raped" you

Too shocked and scared to say no though 
so maybe you got what your deserved

After all, he bought you dinner
And drinks
And caused you to bleed

.Price Charming. 

the path untraveled

I followed the path
to a fork in the road

instead of left or right
there were paths in every compass direction 

I sat on the ground
leaning against a signpost
contemplating my options

I thought about your response to this dilemma

My mind worked its way through the options
counter clockwise
eventually concluded you’d find fault
with every choice 

Instead of walking forward
towards a blue horizon between blustering clouds
you’d have me shovel through clay and burrow
between the roots of wandering trees

Instead of finding my way by foot
you’d launch me over the hills
by trebuchet
the grass no doubt greener
though you’ve never seen it

Instead of risking death or spiritual decay
I choose blindly
closed eyes and trusting feet
an indefinite plan to follow each path
clockwise
until the ferns swallow my footsteps
and I can no longer find my way back

I don’t know where I’m going
but I know where I’ve been
and I have no intention of reliving
what has already expired

consummation

there was a spark as you shifted hard against the flint of my skin
and then it caught, small at first then flaming as it consumed the fuel

my bones, my hair, my soul

the conflagration shone bright against the dark of night
as the moon lay hidden on the other side of the sun

hiding from the uncouth ruminations of civilization

the melting of you into me was so beautiful
onlookers had to turn away to prevent blindness

the kind that erases the vision of the soul

no one wanted to assume the role of empty shell
wandering through the hours as a lost white rabbit

eventually the fire flickered and died out

as you turned away, covered your dermal bruises
the eyes of others looking away, awaiting their judgement moment

in the cold unseeing black, there was yet something lovely

like a flower on the cusp of fading into decay
you placed your palms on either side of your legs

the killing words spoken, the last breath bestowed

you wrenched yourself into the night, shears in tow
from where you had cut the blossom from the stem, irrevocable

Lies

When it comes to where the truth lies,

it is in the mouth or the eyes?

Do you sense sound or sight of things

that can at once make your heart sing?

And do you sing with joy or fear

when the day is done, night is near?

I trust in vision’s tyranny

to keep from drowning in the sea

of susurrant desires mired deep

‘neath the crescendo where you sleep.

Night hides a multitude of sins,

but when hope dies, nobody wins.

Gypsy Moon

Before the day breaks
I will remove myself
from the shackles of slumber
walk out into the darkness
to a singular communion

I will breathe in zeroes
exhale in ones

My feet travel by the hundreds
when they are weary and distracting
I turn my gaze to the stars

The moon has returned
from her visit to the dark side

The gypsy sliver fails
to drown out the twinkling lights
surrounding
and I can still imagine
lightness to my form
as my blood absorbs oxygen

I almost float
to the heavens
searching for my own singular place
to shine

As I exhale
feeding the trees
that begin to shade me
from the oncoming promise
day’s fire and heat
my thoughts return
to more earthly treasures

the sounds of baby goats
rustling for ruffage
the rush of water
falling on a shallow pool
the impression a human makes
against the dark and encompassing air
merely by existing
within a set of defined parameters
ready to face once more
the onslaught of another promised day

Sounds of silence

I lie in the quiet
in search of peace.

There is none.

I feel my lost thoughts
take on physical manifestation
like ants
stealing unbidden on my arms.

I pinch them into a silent death
but they return
stealthy
hunting out the sweet meat in my bones
the sustenance to keep them alive
with purpose.

I walk without destination
seeking solace in movement.
I count my steps
feet falling in sequential inevitability. 

Still I am pestered
by concerns that defy articulation.
The prison of my isolation
is a blessing I sometimes wonder at
but still manage to crave
my drug of choice
that saves me the pain of abandonment the catch being
I can never abandon myself
my doubts and prejudices
my predilection for self abasement.

Ah the silence
that is ever full
of internal noise!

That Space Between

king, slaughter a feast for the gods to be cradled against the belly of the mountain with its peaks like a titanium crown stabbing the skies in ragged regal form choose now the form of your birth or sprawling worship to that space between earth and sun as all before you raised from the earth lowered from the heavens in the carcass of a tree silent in its observation of the folly of man that burning lust for immortality do you smell the ash smoldering within your veins?