April Madness

Funeral Parlor Eyes

I stare into your funeral parlor eyes,
for once I hold your gaze.
A man behind me mutters prayers under his breath.
I can't stand to talk to God right now.
He's called you to Heaven too soon.
Your hands are cold like a morning in
late coming spring.
I want to walk outside barefoot to feel
your warmth, your pulse, your breath.
He's called you away to early.
Now I'll wait until Autumn.
If there's a Heaven, I'll see you there.
I'll look into your eyes then, full of life.
I'll promise I'll hold your gaze.

famous thin walls

pastactions imprinted
in the wallpaper and in the wooden floors
and in the gaping doorways between rooms.
i can hear through the floor.
i can hear through the wall.

i can hear you breathing when i am in the backyard
looking up at the maple tree we planted
when you were born and we got tired of holding you,
so we left the hospital and planted more seeds.

i can hear your heart skip when you are in the bathroom
and the lights turn the mirror into a small-faced sun
that tells you where to curl the catseye eye liner
for the first time, for the first time.

i hear i hear his voice
through the doorway
and on the day bed in the breakfast room
i can hear through the walls
the stutter of dropping water
that had gathered in the crook of his arm
and then fell -- my feet have touched the same porcelain.

but you are far beyond me.
i watch your headlights curl away with him inside
and i am left with the ghosts of actions
imprinted and embedded in the floors i walk,
hung up on walls we've played in
like underdeveloped pictures of mirrors.

Pulls you forward,
backwards,
keeps you in place,
tells you to sleep,
to get up- to eat.
Reminds you of events,
composed of numbers,
restrains your activities.

#6 Distance is for the Discontent (a pantoum)

My sister travels to forget
the frailty of autumn snow;
distance is for the discontent
who passing by will pause to know

the frailty of autumn snow
but never stop to hear its words.
Who passing by will pause to know
the dialect of autumn birds

but never stop to hear its words.
Distance is for the discontent
the dialect of autumn birds
my sister travels to forget.

Can't believe I'm actually doing this.

Over it already~

Peer pressure is
A nasty thing.
It's trapped me in choir,
And forced me to sing.

I've been in plays,
And on teams for sports, trees, and dance.
Got dressed up in tutus,
And then had to prance.

I've gone to camps
I never would pick.
Have fallen to the wiles,
Of my friends and their tricks.

But by far the
Biggest woe
My friends ever caused,
Was convincing me to write in this year's NaPo.

Seven Days, Seven Lies



on the first day, i slashed open a husk
dripped from it was darkness,
dripped with it was light

on the second day, i cut open a brain
reason burst flying and left me erroneous
for emotion was what the incandescence of
will subjected to

on the third, i gave birth to shimmering dots
and fill the vacuum air with them
--smaller than the eye of the storm--
to connect, to trace, to find

on the fourth i crashed with the waves
on the fifth, i blew feathers
to join the words i articulated in the vacuum air
and on the sixth
on the sixth
the sixth
was you
you

and in the seventh, i sit down upon my throne
and regret

Darkness
The darkness closes in.
I whisper your name,
but there's no reply.

I'm alone in the dark.
There is no one to help;
No one to replace you.

A shape looms out of the dark.
It latches on,
Swiftly overpowering me.

I am helpless, crushed in it's iron grip.
It's twisting my thoughts,
My emotions.

It's twisting my life.
This monster has a name;
It's called 'despair'.