The sky is full blue

The sky is full blue and the sun is getting high,
Not even 8AM and it’s already 85.
The high has dropped from 104 to 96,
A cold front so needed. It feels perfect.
I glance out my window greeted with the sight of grackles.
Those pesky birds are always such a hassle.
The parking lot is populated. The soldier went to base.
My neighbor’s car isn’t parked in its usual space.
Looks like someone else got a motorcycle,
Lined next to two others, Harley Davidson style.
Who knew I’d be a Texas girl?
The Sunshine State gal took the Hill Country for a whirl.
Austin proved perfect. I’ll never have the strength to leave.
A new planet, a new universe I could have never conceived.
Tattoos, tacos, hipsters and beards.
Living in Austin, keeping it weird.


The closest of friends

I had the best of reasons,
We were the closest of friends,
But she lacked humility and an apathetic lens.
She was her favorite subject
Or her suitors.
I shamelessly questioned why anyone would choose her.
My thoughts turned bitter, I take half the blame.
But the lies, I can’t believe her and her fantastical claims.
Come to find L.M. is not her name.
Too many nights listening to her bit** and cry,
But when I ask for help she always questions “why?”
I expect she could at least pretend to care what others say.
All her dirty laundry she airs everyday.
I held on as long as I could and made so many excuses
For how she treated and used all humans.
Faux worry of the world spouted from her mouth.
She was first groomed with an attitude molded from the south.
Rules and regulations not equally distributed,
The changing times to which she attributed.
We were once mirror images, glued at the hip.
But now you’d see us and never believe it.
We could walk for hours and wake in the dawn
To drive to the sunrise. Having fun, hell bent on.


Coy lips

Coy lips dream of cold snow.
The arctic of her curves.
Soft fabric against exposed skin.
An angelic pointed nose.
Lifted up when walking the streets.
A born royal, who’s ignorant of classes.
A soft hand holds the loosened clench of fabric.
A charcoal black train to follow every stir.
Presently motionless.
The other soft grip is put on maple.
Tastebuds of syrup, outdoors so foreign.
Sweet dreams of unions and diamonds
With offerings of sweet potatoes and red meat.
A cake of velvet dressed so fine.
Paling in comparison to the tasteful spender.
A dress thick, fingers over valleys of fibers.
Tight with innocence and curiosity.


Exaggeration in a Pinch

Mom, mom, mom.
Please wait a minute.
I need to tell you the story
Of why I didn’t do my homework.
And how I got real sick,
All of it’s true. All the details I’ll admit.
Well first, Mom, I woke up late
You forgot to wake me, don’t forget I’m only eight.
I know I seem older and really, really mature,
Don’t roll out Mutual of Omaha life to insure
Me, and my billion dollar life worth.
Many more days we’ll celebrate my birth.
I have the mind of a great fox and I kill like a bear.
No man is my match, a fight is never fair.
So when The Boogie Man came to town I stayed up to help clinch
Freedom from bedtime, give my arm a pinch.
I feel pain, but my mind feels lucid. Am I awake?
You parents warned of junk food and staying up late.
But I saved the whole city, because Mr. Boogie went to sleep,
I trapped and convinced him to start counting sheep.
I’m tired and deserve to watch cartoons all day,
And if the doctor said so, a few video games I’ll play.
Now Mom, does it sound believable?
Is a game of hooky today achievable?


A Garden Sighting

Today, the city’s gardeners had porcelain skin,
no scares or bruises or tracks.
A human flaw every doll lacked.
I watched the rooftop garden change through the years.
A swift jump and a vine rope could bring me close to these volunteers.
But today with my speculation and my Sunday morning coffee
They are just too perfect I thought, terribly, awfully.
This mystery has got me hooked,
Causally stood on the edge for a better look.
The daisies were beautiful, the tomatoes were plump.
They neglected a corner where the weeds have clumped.
Then I swear I saw it, but can’t describe it.
A swatch of skin was lifted from a gardener’s wrist.
A trapped door hiding wires under his epidermis.
As I felt surprise Cyborg glanced right over
In my bones I felt an imminent hostile takeover.
His eyes only grazed mine, but his feelings looked mixed.
Not on me, but the rooftop bar television transfixed.
I listen to the lines without losing a beat,
A film of a man and robot. They compete.
A loud bang forced my eyes to turn.
The television ignited. I saw his eyes happily watch it burn.
Was his machinery at fault?
USB or thunderbolt?
Restored to factory settings I think it’ll be okay.
Robots that look like humans, a movie magic clichè.


Space ignorance is bliss

I watch the earth with a childlike wonder
And the view, it regularly stops me in my tracks.
I hadn’t visited the moon, home, since I left.
It’s hard to get flights with the summer solstice coming up.
I thought William Webs Times listed times for a round trip.
This pilgrimage would be quite significant.
The fire flight ferry blasts us fast across the sky.
I know I will be greeted with a desolate skyline.
The only other people on the rocket were
architects surveying the moon’s land to purchase
Or scientists wishing to get samples for further study.
Their hands scurried across pages of noted shifts.
But I thought it best to blend in, the hostiles still walk among us.
They are a skin pocket filled with negativity and dark.
There is no cure for this kind
If they hadn’t already been weeded out.


At the Circus

Pack then leave.
Tip cab driver.
Ticket counter, security, terminal A.
Front of the line boarding the plane.
I need an aisle seat.
I don’t mind the baby that’s in my ten-foot bubble,
but I try to negotiate with god that she fall sleep.
Because the couch awaits me.
Where there will never be enough blankets
And I have a
recurring fever dream where I’m half a sleep and I watch
The green and red light,
Miserable for hours on Christmas Eve.
We land and I’m tired.
I grab a coffee and spill some on my shirt.
Typical me.
So, I brought an extra shirt.
Because it isn’t acceptable to be a  type A
and have a stain
on your shirt.
My mom was waiting for me outside.
Even the car ride raised my blood pressure.
Thirty minutes of paranoia,
And a week of pure dread.
Thanksgiving was always extravagant in my house.
Mother, father, and brother
Make their bacon by cooking.
So the kitchen is only a place for competition.
So at the circus the salt is dashed about.
Brother put too much.
Add a potato.
A tomato sauce hero.
A recipe simple, but was passed from every family branch,
all the way down.
Boil the water and wait 7 minutes.
It’s vermicelli,
Now get in my belly.




There was never so much blood.
It burst from his face
where it landed on marble.
And I’d never lived through such a dream as this.
Had we already had our last kiss?


This was a surprise I knew I could handle.
But we’re in a foreign country, home to neither of us.
And they can’t tell me what’s wrong until they find the other doctor.
He was weak and woozy and now wasn’t conscious.
Had I been his crutch this would have never happened.


He might need to fly home, and the chances are slim
For me and him in the future, an us to begin.
An ocean a part, lovers star-crossed.
All the things we wouldn’t know we lost.


But I’d do it again with no regrets,
Nostalgia makes sure I don’t forget.
But I’d trade your blood for mine spread on the marble.
I’ve got enough, I’ve got a heart-full.


I’m tired of my job.

You know, I’m really getting tired of this s**t,
seeing my signal in the sky.
Jim Gordon doesn’t know a crime from a cry.
Alfred wanted the night off and I’m not feeling well.
Just call the cops. Lock Bane in a cell.
There’s a ringing in my ears, but it’s not the telephone.
But hey, if he calls, tell the Joker I’m not home.
Robin didn’t bring me soup like he said he would.
I’ll have to trek to Panera in my black less-suspicious hood.
A bread bowl filled with broccoli cheddar
and an oatmeal raison cookie makes everything better.
But my head still hurts and I want to stay in.
If he comes out, put Riddler back in the looney bin.
It’s clear Gotham can’t make it on its own and can’t go on like this.
So let Wonder Woman help, she really cracks the whip.
Superman hasn’t called to play fantasy football,
although the Gotham Rogues have always been my pitfall.
I haven’t shaved in a week and Batman doesn’t have a beard.
But Bruce Wayne currently does and it’s growing kind of weird.
I need a Gillette and some shaving cream.
I’m having trouble balancing on this secret identity beam
of Batman and Bruce. Oh and to hell with Rachel’s new beaux.
He dresses her in gold from head to toe.
But I prefer catsuits like Selina Kyle’s.
Black on black has always been my style.
I open the cave door to fog, but see the bat signal appear.
Fighting crime and super-villains, my moonlit midnight career.


Fantastical Myth

The Woodland Mermaids are a fantastical myth.
Yet every year children suggest a field trip
To Pine Island to see evidence
Of the mermaids, their legends, and their eloquence.
Some sing like sirens, others flirt and play.
Swimming and twirling, aquatic ballet.
The sailors chased them inland or so they say.
No more mermaids or fish populate Pine’s bay.
“Man got too greedy,” roared the thunder,
The mermaids fled to avoid man’s wonder.
How they got from sea to stream only they know,
A hidden passageway is how the story goes.
They flooded the forest to get even
With man to give him something to believe in.
They did that and more to create a stir.
Like “keep out” signs hung to deter.
They show themselves in quiet with the birds in the mornings,
Whistling a love tune, a welcome warning.


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