You were a mermaid diving at twilight
so pretty. You were so pretty.
Water, – ash pale. Lavender, talc sky.
Water and sky, – as always, amusing.
Over and over. You went up and down.
Hands with fingers, arms, head, torso,
back & legs, -and my nose didn’t fill up
with willow wisps, – those crazy things
flapping for attention over top of the
neighbor’s house. That dead fish,
– deaf, and mute.
I close my eyes only for a moment, and the moment’s gone
All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity ~
of fake flowers,
fairy christmas lights,
disassembled beds, lamps,
& commode chairs,
i need to pee.
a tiny mirror
falls out from the elastic band
of my underwear
&i see you,
but you spook &evaporate
quicker than i can hang on to.
i hold: this tiny mirror.
still, this orphaned poem.
“Dust in the Wind” lyrical
inspiration at Real Toads
I’ve been here before, to the other side of the moon, but I’ve wandered so long, traveled so far that I faintly recall this place–this soft strand of fiber twisted aright in my brain. Hither and thither, so random the beauty. I see the moon, and the moon sees me as I travel upon this lighted rail for a million moons. Yet a million suns.
voyage to the sun~
Written for Carpe Diem #368 (1500 Km into our train ride with Aleph)
the Easter Bunny
is no poser
with fuzz trapped
in his belly button
Go to sleep?
Pray, wish, sleep.
Sleep, wish, pray
to the God
of the morning,
to the bunny.
Bunny be real.
I want a real bunny
named Furry Fluff.
Wake up, wake up!
To what, for what?
(Love you forever, my littlest bunny- sorry your bunny dreams were broken)
There’s a blond-haired boy about 3-years old
Running through the basement in complete glee
With a green toothbrush sticking out between
His pursed lips now covered in white foam and drool.
I stop him, because that’s my job in this 3-roomed basement.
My job is to guide these kids who come in a running.
I stop him and try to talk him into going
To the bathroom to spit.
There’s a car on his shirt and the numbers: 2, 3 & 4.
I say it like that to him,
“I see numbers 2, 3 & 4 on your shirt.”
He says, “It’s two hundred, thirty-four!”
I don’t grab his hand, because that would be too obvious.
I put my palm behind his right elbow and gently nudge him along.
There’s the bathroom. We’re in the room with the bathroom.
The other room has a couch and the other one holds the toys.
We’re in the room with the bathroom and there’s a stodgy lady there.
The woman’s blocking our way to get in to spit, so I ask her if she’ll let us in.
She finds a small round silver lock, like the kind on a lock box and fiddles with it.
She tries to unlock it, but it doesn’t work.
No bother. I see another door to the right.
I know there’s more than one way into the bathroom
And I don’t need a lady or a key to get in.
“Come on kid, let’s spit.”