free form re-form I'm bound to leap out the front window on dried up pastures daisies and brown eyed heifers loving a long last look at the flowered dress in the distance fleeing fleeting form free don't look at a clock a face, the apprentice lies in waiting, it can only tell you a moment a frozen blink as you run out of steam
Pay attention to vellum pockets of sunspot blinking lights at a crowd to hold the focus and protect from the indigo paint swipe across the still frame shot.
Some friends refuse to sit together to force you to see around the corners and lead you on a merry chase of yourself and so what.
So, in honor of hind sight and humility, write in the dark and see what it says when you open your eye.
No. The other one.
pieces of eight and a trigger finger linked with magic trick rings and barbells weighting me down are my own fault. now to find that secret break point in their holding pattern to slip through and walk off the sage with grace.
Long ago an old man gave me a red jasper wand, said there’s magic or is it just a plastic gratitude coin full of meaningless words. He wasn’t mine, just some old guy hitting on a girl.
The buttons at the bottom of the box still hold on to Gramma’s cotton thread, so longingly lovingly stitched onto my shirt while I watched. Bay leaves keep the cockroaches away and an old radio-graph is the best way to calm old nerves.
A plugged nickel meant I wasn’t pulling the weeds up enough to get at the roots. A silver dollar from behind my young ear distracted me from the parents sneaking out the back door for something that didn’t involve me … until that time…
Always on my mind, he lessons, even though you took an unexpected journey from my side, hang your memories hat on a bakelite curtain ring when I’m sad so I know you still care.
a spicy chocolate tin falls in the way and breaks my stride and suddenly the papers don’t matter any more than they did last week. it won’t get done and the seagull will steal what looks like food. freedom from the jester means nothing if you keep pictures around.
that basket of trinkets fell over again and suddenly I want them to walk off the edge into file 13 where the giver that broke trust puts her sentiment. should never have, should have known better, should be better to live free from good girl who doesn’t wanna any more.
what did it mean I will find you? not looking to find the no again. if I’m not hungry I won’t eat and the far enough voice is old and cranky now, repetitious in tedious meaning to an adult first born.
set fire to the trash pile and it’ll be okay.
I am a keeper of secrets who disdains the job - a house falling on my new shoes feed raw meat to a fox then steal away the candy heat gone by way of the dog - jewelry on, pearls and feels like a girl again Stunning and random collisions cause accidents of profound relief - time for a new pair of shoes (I have no idea what any of this means!)
Silence in a raw and sedate form. Did you smell the wind pick up? When the three quarter bells began ringing the old man got on his bike and rode away, sunlight from his eyes showing a path. A bird dug a hole under a rock and when water flowed, he dove in and swam home. As the rain began a cricket lept from a trash can, climbing rain drop to drop ever higher as I watched , my head titled farther and farther until my neck snapped and I could once more walk away. The weight of reason in the dandelion seed disintegrated the cement and the wind is hung over from why bother syndrome.
Speak to me, the words said. I want to be that long slow saute of beckoning that wafts out the door and draws the evening stroller to explore origins. I want to be that found dime put in a pocket, never spent it reminds you of a special taste in the air the day you found it or the way the sun warmed your face or the day you found out you were going to be a father for the first time. I want people to crave and covet a real book because of me. I want to be someone's treasured memory. Return the favor.
straps and strings and unfinished business launch from the jar and peal down the drive a harder drive launches, vermilion sky in the water the acoustics pull at my ear, drums of my heart roll over the waves of surf and cut my hair away don't they cut their hair when they grieve those drummers over there around the beach fire and a flute - what is that? a love song? - pulling, strings snapping loose from my slumping shoulders I stand a walk, my feet tapping out a rhythm towards the water, my village behind me my bones more aligned with the light my feet knee deep in seafoam then speaks the green flash a refraction of promises the anonymous romance I'll keep to myself pluck my strings and walk away
Matching the sunrise in a hot air balloon you couldn't see as much as the dark alley showed me. Your skill at flying and you refuse to see how close you are to the rocks. My swollen body hurts when I try to touch my starving bones - the bones you won't see from your chosen vantage point. No advantage there. Desperate for the scabs to fall from my face but the mirror only shows me more. The creases I fall into only show me more. What a view. Wrap my skin in a thread bare shawl for wings and I fly away - seeking a cave wall to draw upon.