The Painter.

I am troubled by these new designs
that flock my patterned walls with straight arrows.
The painter has to come and finish this mess.
He has big, flabby arms, a pointed nose,
and beady eyes like a wolf.
I couldn't see myself marrying him,
or anyone else for that matter.
My mother, she was such a saint,
she did all the painting herself on the old house-
the one with the faded wallpaper that made
me think of the houses in the 80's,
you know what I'm talking about,
the ones where the construction builders
don't paint the house for you.  You have to hire
someone else.  And now, as I am standing here,
watching the painter work with the walls,
I think again of how lucky I am to have a house
at all-I thought about this before, and before,
and before.

What It Is Not.

The dancer stares at me from beyond his sight.
I am worthless and in flight.
The dust to dark has returned-
my aunt is still dead in her urn.

The tables and chairs are still on the stairs,
and the woman in white is about to take flight.
Here is the worthless coin at the fair,
and I hope to go out with my lass tonight.

The dancer moves with the grace of a lamb,
and shadows the floor with her body.
The cook has sent out another ham,
and the maid is scurrying in the lobby.

The Sweetheart's Revenge.

I live in water.
I dwell in winter.
Inside the heart, I am plenty.
Nothing is safe within me.
Grass grows like pretty flowers,
and bells are distant
to my ears.  Strangeness hears.
The wind blows through me.
I am quiet with my readiness.

The road is less traveled.
Lend me your ears.
Strangeness is around me.
I see nothing and hear nothing.
My love comes from afar to see me,
and I sing like the greatness is coming.
Words befall me.

The Beach.

The sea is bright and calm.
I walk out on the dusty beach.
It is so far, I cannot reach-
but the night is cool and warm.
I am safe from harm.
Here the air smells of salty spray,
the beach is in disarray.
Here we come, walking along,
cooler than the coolest dawn.
Merchants call us from the streets,
they are not strong; yet, they are weak.
I try to speak gently in the good night air,
all the dolphins do is stare.
Here are the fish, I throw them back in,
life is gone; it will not come in.

This Past September.

My heart fell apart, and now my car won't start-
it's hurting and falling apart.
I don't know where now and never is,
I'm lonely and I won't become dead.
I just shaved my head.
Take me now and wait for tomorrow;
this good luck is what I'll borrow.
Watch for the rain and then the sun,
our light is what will become one.
Take me now, fast as I am,
my heart is gentle, and will be gone.
Life is not over and done.
Take myself as myself, and be done with my
mourning.
A new dawn is dawning.
I swung with him this past September,
and my love for him is never....

The Page.

I am careful because I am ready.
My inner thoughts are steady.
Here is where I stand; my inner thoughts
collide.  The rain is falling with the tide.
My dreams are forced realizations.
I don't know what I am able.
A turkey sits at my dinner table.
Hope floats in the garden.  My arm hurts
after it rains.  There is nothing on the plains.
Take myself from myself, there is nothing
else but pain.  I walk forward and backwards,
and my inner sides hurt and swell.  Gas bubbles
burst.
My life is the worst.
What did I capture?  Was it rain, or was it
snow?  I want to be with you now,
don't you know?  Here is where I am.
My life is on the brink of extinction.
I try to create less suffering, but it doesn't work
for me.
I hide my inner glee from you, don't you know it is true?
Words are captured on a blank page.

Change.

Every day is not like the other one.
I see ghosts in my shoes, and what else do I see...
I see a tree outside of my window, it is waving at me.
My roommate is sleeping in her bed.  I don't remember
what  I said.  I'm waiting for him to come home
and tuck me in to bed.  She sits beside me,
and waits, as if she would not leave.  I know she is about
to grieve.  The wild, wild wind is moaning.
Everything is complex to me.  I still see the tree.
The dog is barking outside.  The night has come alive.
I whisper to her, and she whispers back that the horses
are still dead.  They died while climbing rocket science.
It's not the same thing as being an astronaut, it's more complex
than that.  I don't know where it's at.  My age is just a number.
I sit by the stream.  Everything is plentiful, and so is the
garden.
I watch tv, hoping for meditation.  I go in my backyard,
and swing on the swing.  It makes a slight whooshing sound
in my ear.  The world begins to fear.  We build a giant door,
and the cat swings and sings outward, going upward.
I wish it was me.
The cat comes back again, banging on the window, and
I don't know what to tell him.  He tells me goodbye.  I can't
ask why.
Everyone stares at me like a sweet, staring thing.  It gets in my
eyes, and makes my heart beat rapidly like a cardio workout.
I don't like getting up in the morning.  My back hurts,
and so do my shoulders.  I hate tv.

Charles.

The ghost is in my hand.  I don't speak unless I am spoken to.
Tomorrow is another day.  It doesn't come, and the trees shake and shiver.
The river is wide.  Here comes the tide.  I am a prince in my own
way; tomorrow is here like today.  My face is serene,
and calm.  I am bitter and not warm.  Work comes before
nature; everything else is in between.  Don't tell me what
you mean.  I'm gentle as a cat.  I love cats.  They love me,
too.  I see you belong in a zoo.  My computer doesn't
work very well.  As far as I could tell.
Nothing is small in this world.  Everything begins with hope.
Television is too much for me.  I wish I was somewhere
else, like Florida or Maryland, where I can give back what
I give.  I am tired and sleepy.  Which word means the most?
Charles isn't back yet; he hasn't come home.
I am more tired than alone.  I wish he wouldn't come,
but I don't want to be alone.  In the end, everything is the
same.  I read books, but I'm not to blame. 
The song comes to me.  I hear it in your voice.  You dream up
choice.  The fire hydrant is down on one knee,
let it be, let it be.

A Summer Rain.

The rain smells of wet dew.
I am quiet with realization.
The sadness is in the cold, wet grass.
I have found my vision.
We can relate to the things of this world-
and the next, and the next.
Speed comes with thinking.  I don't think without
feeling.  He comes in the night, wearing a
dark parka.  He feels me in the cool dawn.
The summer rain splatters on the ground.
It makes a soft, sweet sound.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
I think things have gone from here.
Take me or leave me, I wouldn't know.
There is a space in my arms below.
How high can I fly, these words sing to me.
I am embarrassed by hope, set on by fear.
Take me as I am, leave the rest behind you-or near.
A summer rain falls down, down.