rose-diamond.

i want you to be a good man.
and love me like a good woman would want.
lately, i want nothing more than to be a good woman.
with a heart refreshed by the joy of salvation,
bathed in rose water and hibiscus.
i sit smoking with ashes falling on my keys
forty-nine minutes past midnight.
the children are asleep
and my mind wanders to recover
memories of youth.
be a good man,
and i will be a good woman.
and we will be young again,
dancing for the days of our youth.
reclaiming the days of our youth.
ashes smeared over the days of our youth.
the days of old mean nothing to me
when i am in circus tents
and in my paris years.
build me a tent out of poems
and i will dwell in it
twisting crowns for my king out of
the vines from the rose of sharon
budding in our cracks.
the most beautiful diamonds
are born out of the broken.
and after we have danced
and conceived
we will invite others to come in too.
come into this place,
what a beautiful place we have made
out of our love for our king.
we are the children of a king.
and they will dance and they will conceive,
not children, but hope.
hope that from their wilting flowers
will fall the seeds that we need to
keep living.

strangers.

on the drive back i got lost.
it was on a highway
and there were stars,
and lights that looked like
any ordinary cityscape.
as the car drove up around the bend,
i thought i was home.
but, how quickly the heart descends.
i am still a stranger in a foreign land.

He said "fall in love when you're young. The longer you wait, the harder it becomes."

whiskey at night.

i don't know what colour my eyes are
but my cheeks are burning red.

sex.

in a race with my eyes closed
arms whirl in the wind,
and my head shakes as
it whips around me.
i can't stop running and i won't open my eyes

it's dark out anyway
my feet are pounding drums on the
infinite concrete.
oh if i could only be absorbed into
the petrified layers of an old heart

sex is the easy part.
simple manuel labor gives
and takes what we need
we close our eyes for ignorance
what we have is only what we stole.

its warmer when there are two
and so we stay inventing
stories to tell the innocent
inside my eyes are wide
open staring at the truth
that sex is the cheapest part.

submit!

i'm hiding in an antique tent
that i built with my words and fears,
lace curtains draped over my eyes
concealing covert hair.

behind is a little girl
kneeling, bowing, finally prostrate
she submits
all according to command.

I tucked lily of the valley
into the holes to prevent the wind
from getting too close
and rattling my bare bones

on her walls hang
new lands in invented colors
innocent plays that
that shiver from truth.
all this hiding
leaves me hungry and
its warmer when there are two

i only curse when i really mean it
as to not appear indecent
or unchaste. (i am)
get over the shitfucking
fears and tear apart
this tent
take me to fucking freedom.

euphoria in your eyes and
your words stick and
i am hiding in this tent
waiting for you.
to break it open.

loves calls us free

i would love you and your beard would grow thick
and dark like the ashes we've had to sweep out
from the old corners and soiled edges of abandoned floor boards.
rooms locked shut and we dare not venture in.
your kiss would atone for the others, the stolen, the ravaged.
your kiss would be gentle and cautious. trembling with contained passion.
flittering eyes wash and heal like bathesda.
you would lower me in and lift me out.
new hands, new spine, new heart, new life.
love's been a long time coming-
ripe with anticipation, fears and waiting
for freedom to break us free.
we would beg. it can't be like the last time,
it won't be like the last time.
we would uncover and undo dried bandages
and opaque veils. chains from the last time.
with one hand you would pull and with the
other you would spin and i would unravel
and undress like a mummy.
not decomposing only resurrecting.
i would look at you naked only this time pure for the first time.
my kisses would pull at inhibitions, unleash new yous
better than the old yous. you would laugh in cymbals
and chains crashing on the floor.
dust that we missed would be shaken and swirl around
our ankles. and we would run naked and free
until we reached bethesda.
and you would lower in me and lift out of me
new hands, new spine, new heart, new life.

adorn me.

This garden is a woman.
curved, fragrant, floral.
Three women comprise a fountain
and they dance on water.
their feet skim the surface,
they are free, light, carefree.
they are right.
fingers extend into
simple lines. elegant ribbons.
they gather our wishes for
penny promises.
only to dance or to fly.
dresses stick to their skin,
wet from the steady spray.
thin frames outlines and suggestive of
sex. of the divine.
isolated curls fall into their faces
as their eyes move with their feet
this garden is a woman.
pregnant, budding with life and glory.
enter through my trellis and
adorn me with love.
bathe me with rose water
until i am new, fresh, yours.
let me be a woman dancing in the twilight of autumn.
dance me to freedom, dance me to love.

i'm sitting here waiting. i said yes, one last time to love's beckoning to open and untangle the dying parts and feed from the feast

i said yes to you but i was surprised by him. he walked in and out, steady and austere as though no secrets exist to betray his stoicism.

i sit here and wait for him to return. the wind is too harsh and brings in the faint smells of old hopes like love.

i wait by the steady pulse of a promise that i would and maybe you would come. i only want to forget and turn and hide

in the old antique tents that i built in the days of my youth. the walls were draped in lace with lily of the valley poking through the holes.

hanging were pictures of islands for escaping and mountains for dreaming and friends who fell and dropped in love's lap.

i don't want to fall. i don't want to be dropped.

but come with your strong hands and pray to keep open the heavy doors that always threaten to bar you out.

i wait, consoling myself that it doesn't mean much anyway. there are always thief-lovers who use the window traps.

i don't want to drop or disappear, and i never actually wanted to need an invitation to be lovely with lace draped over my eyes and lily of the valley tucked behind my ear.

oh love, i wait and you unfold layers of hurt that won't let me return. you unfold and i wonder what he will think and i am falling apart.

i wait, but don't let me down. gather me like old socks and darn back together the frayed nerves that ache from atrophy.

oh but the promise of a feast renders me incapable of anything else to do but wait...

i'm hungry hungry hungry and i can't write. i sat here to write and the words won't spill out of the censor dam that i built years before i thought i'd ever want to break out of safe shells. i'm hiding in a tent and i want to be found found found. i need new water new life new food new inspiration new words. i need new love love love.

final

If I Could Write

If I could write, my words would pour over you
like an infant’s baptism; short and fragrant,
just pure enough for you to pass through

the pearly gates, even though I can’t.
I am jealous of the poets, immured as I listen,
fettered by my own fear. (It is a tyrant).

Once in a secret season, I roamed in the garden
with the courage to kill and faced
the beasts of my hill and serpents of my den.

But the truth is too strong. With a swift charge they raced
past me in the shadows, pulled me down, and rendered
fantasy empty. It slipped out of my grip and escaped.

Those shadows were mine. I surrendered,
already engulfed, broken, and useless to their force.
They chanted victory with roaring thunder.

I could only unfold. Other open seekers gathered in support.
We shared unspoken secrets and darkest desires.
Then - one walked away, and I collapsed from divorce.

If I could write, my words would beckon you higher -
out of hopeless cages and shame-drenched mire.
But I am still there, and I am tired.