here, now

squeezed
between
moving walls,
to one last breath
of everything that was,
pushed,
shoved,
heaved across
the grooves
of a growing darkness,
where breath stops,
where dreams don't matter,,
where thoughts
freeze over hell,
where hope
stings every cell,
the cord is cut,
finally;
the womb is no longer home,
but a prison
without bars and walls;
seeding the faith
in Neverland,
here, now.

striptease

hey, I don't need to strip myself in public,
not anymore;
no, I don't need to wear clothes to stuff my boobs,
my biceps or my backside,
not anymore;
no, I don't need to let them hang loose
behind large windows and doors
that keep the wind up,
not anymore;
no, I don't need highlights and curls
and made up moles
in the right places,
no not anymore;
hey, I'm not a stripper -
not anymore;
I don't need your eyes
to meet mine,
to ogle at me,
or look me up and down
like a can full of worms;
I have mine; my own;
and,
in the comfort of my own room,
in the attic or in the hallway,
or down in the dark basement,
where I shed skins without a mirror,
I strip down to my bones,
until the marrow oozes
from every pore,
where these eyes
burn into every nook and cranny,
reveling in the mystery
of what it takes to be me,
turned on by the sheer audacity
of being
this man, this woman,
for my eyes
alone.

at the altar of waiting

clouds of grey 

and indigo

gather

across the sun,

eyes dart

over cornered angles

of a protracted sky,

trees thirst 

with their necks arched,

dancing already, 

to a song

they want to hear,

the dark dirt 

arranges her pleats,

readying herself

for sweet communion,

tired hands 

wriggle and clench

their fingers in hope,

while I sit on the edge 

of worlds, and watch -

an invisible dewdrop,

serenading the clouds,

with her rain,

at the altar of waiting.

the glass blower

sit in the fire.
still.
naked.
fragile.
innocent.
like glass
waiting
to be blown;
when walls
grow soft,
yet defiant,
decanting the world
in their skins,
holding the pain and joy
you could not pour,
nor keep;
when goblets
become bubbles
growing in thin air,
rising and falling
into the flames
of what held them,
what grew them,
without,
within.