colère

poor little baby, you bit your tongue

chewing on all that hatred.

was it horrible? did it cut your throat

when you swallowed it down?

did it try to climb its way back up, and

make you run to the bathroom to find

an empty stall?

poor little baby, you broke your finger

pointing it and flipping them the bird

that was carrying all that ill will.

did it break free and flee?

perhaps fly away somewhere quiet to

rest on a snow-capped tree or

a glowing, warm palm.

poor little baby, you failed the test.

bogus

heard the blinds clank together
as if I’d have a visit from the voodoo man
but
I don’t even believe in him, I’d think
but
after a visit from the voodoo man
I surely would, I’d think
and afterwards tell him to pack up
all his trinkets, his tools of deceit,
his bottles of dark poison,
all his sparkling white elephants
leave me to close those blinds
and pray he leaves me far behind

season

his notes throw my brain
back to winter, cold and ice
he’s so good at that
everything freezing, everything leaving
rushing past me
going to places — I want to go
his keys spark my sleepy memories
my eyes explode with
those open fields and dying trees
my heart melts with burnt clouds
and those magical fading leaves

former

must have been a thousand years old,

those scars on her hand

when she forgot her looks and

her dreams ran out the door

yet

that yellow still makes her dizzy

and her tongue still prefers what’s fizzy

maybe her soul hasn’t lost its spark

maybe she hasn’t lost her life

just yet

futile

it appeared that there were

dead cranes on the side of the road

their graceful necks draped over the curb,

beautiful yet useless

much like our forgotten conversations

it all makes sense now, since I no

longer recognize my

laugh from the photographs

thrown all over the floor

tiptoe around them like a

doomed choreographed ballet,

beautiful yet useless

friday

the beach was littered with red that night

near the end of September

the sun was mourning the end of its reign

the fact that he’s so blazing here year-round

was little consolation

he gave himself a pity party

I just remained and enjoyed the constellations

impossible

they were running wild near the edge of a cliff

and they asked you to rip your heart out

which you gladly did but then they told you

to push one of them off the brink

push, you weakling, push

would it be your young blonde with the lovely smile

or your red-headed child with eyes of light?

you put your heart back in and begged them to

take it again 

they looked at you like those hollow

beings that haunt you during the day

without saying a word, without a second glance

cause you’d had enough of their nonsense

said a silent prayer and took flight

like falling snow

leaving whispers of forgiveness

that your children would never know