Thursday, March 13, 2014


It’s a long day when 
the cold persists
and a cold persists 
and there isn’t anyone to 
talk with.

Green dots are grey.
Green dots lie to my face.

Remote controls
and faces afar: people I know 
so well… 
With bodies I’ll never touch
And stories that are trapped
In electricity. 

But at least they 
They are connected
I’ll never be afraid to cry to them.
When I laugh I'm not scared to
Show them all my teeth. 

Long days which 
Long nights. 

They’ll ease into mornings. 
You’ll see the light. 
Bright, warm days are ahead 
Spring doesn’t know how to wait. 
It’s everywhere, springing

And then
When I want to talk 
I will have flowers to talk to 
And birds to sing me to sleep.
Although I know
Screens talk,

They do not speak. 

Wednesday, March 12, 2014


I have a flyaway soul. 
There is an anthology of song, barely hidden
Underneath the eyelids of the winds
that blow through me. 
An anthology you may never see. 

My flyaway heart
Is a page folded in half. 
The woman in me is strong.  
With a firm grip she will:
Lead you into her ocean of thought. 
She never seems to hesitate;
But she never rushes in. And
Every time you win, 
You wonder what made her concede.

My flyaway heart
Is a page folded in half. 
You may only ever meet the little girl in me
On days I won’t be convinced of my beauty. 
Shy, vulnerable, naively trusting:
Mischievous enough to have my way by agreeably smiling
and letting you think you’re wielding something that could be mine
In a skipped heartbeat, 
Or a twinkling eye. 

I have a flyaway soul.
You could be a friend who knows
My fierce loyalty and unabashed honesty. And once you
Give me your worst to tame,
You’ll be a grateful friend who knows I do not disapprove. 
Perhaps you’re a friend who’s learned over time
The familiar drink with me is about 
All the ludicrous stories that are stubbornly true-
you’ll laugh till you cry, I’ve been a purple elephant for you. 
And maybe you know, I can tell you everything inside me in a 
bear hug or handclasp, only uttering quiet silence.

My flyaway heart 
Might once have been yours. If you know that 
I love my own skin enough to know exactly how to- 
never forgetting to blink- get deep under yours. 
Or you could be a lover in who I am incapacitated 
A soldier’s first sweetheart; tethered to an almost broken promise.
Too lost in the moment to see it’s brevity. 
And it certainly was once yours, and in part ever will be, 
if you’re someone perfectly beautiful and I broke you coldly.
Or are ever still a woman or man who’ll always wonder  
what you might have seen if  you’d caught onto my tail
as I flew into the night, instead of letting me slip away. 

No one ever captures flyaway soul standing still, 
It only stays perched long enough for one:
single-faceted, uni-angular, ankle-deep picture. Just one
Frozen moment in time. 
You can know a flyaway heart if you dance with it,
step matched to step.  
And surprise yourself to know that you knew all along:
I can choose to be a wildcard, 
I can choose to be a ticket home, or
I can choose not to choose at all. For 

I have a flyaway soul. 

Monday, March 3, 2014


I’m screaming ‘love’ from way above the rooftops. 

I suffer from the insanity of sinning repeatedly: I have broken tacit laws and become emotionally attached. I have dared to remember that love is a beautiful thing, too beautiful for fear to keep me away. 

I’m tossing a gold coin with pain on one side and love on another, and I have won every time:

For love has held my hand through the world of roses, poets, and art. It has given me music to match my feet that dance to the tune of being in love. It’s made me give into the thrill of crossing stars, the pleasure of being on edge everyday when ‘casual’ was a dull, isolated orgasm. 

Love is
a sun-kissed free fall
holding the hand of 
butterflies and uncertainty. 
Of never knowing
Of not caring to be sure
Of hope with a little skip
in your feet
and heart.

I am unafraid. I care for people who do not inhabit my body and mind. I trust to be trusting, I love to be loving. I am a light who shines to shine, 

fearless of being seen. 


of closing my eyes
To a child-like despondent waiting
of looking at life 
Like an endless “find me” puzzle
that’s hiding all the vital signs. 
Of loving learning
Of things new
Of people’s secrets:
their untempered truths. 

Love is in 
the hand-clasping
That leaves little shadows on the pavements

the loving feelings
which make a dull living bright and vivid. 

Love is sharing
a full life, a full heart.


I am in love, at your feet. Saying what I feel, holding your hand and marking your neck, missing you in my sleep, letting love songs make me weep: bathing you in the effervescence

of love. 


I am like a waterfall, 
I come from my mother,
who is everything. 

I rush with force and spray you 
with a mist of sparkling drops 
that help rainbows sing.

Surely you know that:
There is no point to me

unless                                                                                              I’m overflowing.

Three Tears

I’ll call the song 
Three tears 
and a glass of champagne.
The woman is always beautiful, 
With soft hair and supple skin
Angel lips that will never let 
you kiss in peace again. 
Her eyes are big, but not wide. 

I’ll call the song
Three tears 
and a staring contest with iMessage. 
She reads quickly, 
And puts together 
Things you fear to say
Even to yourself. 

I’ll call the song 
Three tears 
and a mirror-turned-alarm-clock. 
People always know,
Bad is anything but invisible. 

She stands there with streaks across her face,
Crying till she tastes 
her bitter make-up. 
Always take up 
the cause of a beautiful soul. 

I haven't met an ugly soul.

I’ll call the song
Three tears 
and a world of people who can’t decide. 
Life could be better, 
Life is perfect. 

I’ll call the song
Three tears 
and a heart that can't give to get. 

Songs of three tears
Are not melodious. 
They are dark and 
waiting for the fourth.