More of the same fields rise when driving past. Skim over the ancient junk piles, measures of time and waste from the rural professor, the ubiquitous poverty of ideas about how to clean this abandonment and romance. Romance is not actually happening here or anywhere….

  My solace Is where I hear no cry And when my heart Speaks to the mind   For, things done And the things undone The heart, which is barren And lost all hope   You can start afresh Says the mind This time, do…

As it turns out it was all a dream Heaven is a place that we called a ghetto We woke up to find only the weak survived They are the ones that learned to depend and never worry Jokes on you! Only the peacekeepers and…

she buried ambition in the dirt in the cemetery not by the lilac bushes but with the bodies, a rotting corpus of potential and desire reeking of risk and rejection she asked me not to visit the cemetery which is how I knew what was…

You see yourself above me, like wind in Starry, Starry Night. You see yourself as my support, the earth, dry and warm, You see yourself as needed, life giving water, quenching my thirst. You see yourself as passionate, with a fire dangerously close. I see…

The boxes I put myself in are getting smaller.   As a child of seven summers, when my bare feet knew the grasses well, I was Odysseus at Troy, carving a way through the enemy rhododendrons.   I spoke at the midnight hour on August…

Choose one of these images to write about. You don’t have to describe what is going on in the image (although you can if you want to). It is just the jumping off point.

I see you approaching From faraway Your chest broad Your pace slow   Your twinkling eyes When they saw mine Like the first time We kissed   I long for you To hug me Boy! Do You comfort me In your arms   The warmth…

The unsaid The unresolved The unhappening It rankles Like a pebble caught in the bloodstream. Screaming yelling Why don’t you get it It’s so simple.   Weaving webs To the stars Back & forth From the pebble to the dotted sky Hanging forever on this…

At five, “A shepherdess” I told him For the tender lamb of my bedtime poem, The freedom of the meadows and valleys, The gentle pace and active, hard work.   At fifteen, “An actress” I replied For the thrill of self-discovery and My commanding voice…