i am afraid of moving,
of getting smacked
by a ghostly vehicle
driven by a bad decision.

fear fuses my arms to my sides,
my body to this bed,
my eyes to the ceiling.

the window is open
to life-sounds borne
in the streets & trees.

to my frozen ears,
these sounds float on animated breezes
and punish me for idleness & indecision.

rain invades my space now
wetting my lacquered face.

if i move my hand
to wipe it away,
i might break something,
crack this veneer, this rusted exterior,
rust that sifts into my organs and cements my soul.

i whisper inside
this living room
"maybe the rain will cleanse me,
oil me loose,"

but the rain stops;
sunlight creeps in and burns me,
a wooden raisin,
driftwood floating on these ocean sheets.

i am the bed,
the couch, the chair.

i am my own carpenter.

i molded these wooden legs
with careful indecision,
fear & faithlessness.

as my aluminum brain
creaks with lifeless thoughts,
i solder myself
to one corner
of the living room.




An Excuse

This living space oppresses me
with its perpetuity
of dirt and duties
and the burden of things

that beg to be cleaned and counted

upon to create stability,
to thwart mobility
for I cannot carry
my whole life with me!


Ahhh, to be unheavy
like moussed feathers
blown by a hairdryer!

I will have those hollow bird bones
of two dimensional chicks!

Those impossible pillows,
and skyscraper legs.
Those razor-sharp hips
and waistlines choked by leashes.
They are mine.

My lipstick eyes
and mascara mouth
are open for affirmation.

Feed me with praise
so I know I am good.

Upholstered in satin,
I bought and tamed this body
toned, tenderized
and pristinely hairless
like a plucked, rendered goose
for dinner.

I hope you brought your appetite.

After a Shower

I wipe the steam from the mirror
and stretch to start my day;
I regard my bony chest
beneath thin skin
and my sharp ribs in defiant declaration:

I understand for the first time
clearly and concretely
as is the vision of my fleshless torso,
that someday,

I am going to die.

The Elephant


Here is a lone wandering elephant,
a misfit spirit who has lost her herd
outcast because of her mutant trunk,
an anguine appendage with smooth scales
which contrasts with her furrowed weathered hide.
Her deep moon-sense is serpentine,
and it is apparent in her appearance.
In the desert night, she dreams goddess
dreams of wholeness and mammalian warmth
as ophidian fingers snake sex into her psyche,
so she travels in the day in search
of vision to open the way to being
with the oppressive light of Father Sun
beating persuasion onto her back and brain.

"Go forward! Go forward!
Become as I see you!
In clarity of sun,
on solidity of earth,
with freedom of air
and burning of sun,
I wash you clean!"

Perhaps it is the maleness inside her
which in part drives her to solitude.
She raises a snaking snout to heaven
and trumpets with authority,
Κ ΚΚΚΚΚ"I am!" (am I?)
With whispering feet on crackling earth,
she plods on in doubt of every step.


The hissing wind speaks tongues
in her flapping ears
and guides her to the bodily remains
of a former cousin/sister/self.
She fondles the bones with her serpentine trunk,
the white bones of lost innocence
and turns them over looking for hope.
Low frequency moans rumble from her throat
sound waving over mental terrain.
She mourns the loss of her sense of the self
which is desperately anchored in one's clan.


Leaving behind the naked gravesite,
the elephant discovers a pool
remembered in times of desert drought.
She gazes in with a deep soul thirst.
She sees her mirrored self,
her crevassed skin
wrinkled from the pain of survival.
This burdened beast was born for a design
deciphered only in reflection.
She deconstructs the watery vision
as she drinks in serpentine wisdom
to find meaning between molecules
which flow into her elephantine brain.
She attempts to shed prematurely aged skin
and rebirths into slick, clean, water.


How long will this rehydration last?
As long as the elephant's memory holds steadfast
with serpentine roots burrowing
into the moist maternal underworld.




This is the kind of day
when most feel as if they can achieve anything.
Virgin sky,
the perfect enveloping warmth of the sun's arms
and still-wet colored greenness all around
inspires most to feel grateful for

There is an old oak tree
with a trunk wide enough, three people holding hands
cannot hug it successfully.
It is an ancient oak tree
with millions of arms and so dense and
overcrowded with leaves
no sprinkle of light can
grace the tree's cavernous shadow below.

This tree is Omnipotent,
Impermeable, Unmoveable,
Overpowering and Overbearing
its bark nobby and gnarly teeth-like gaping
holes in trunk to swallow squirrels and other
living things as millions of arms
beckon and compel in the breeze.

The old oak tree
looms over something
engulfed in the black shadow below.

It is a little pool of
water brown-gray gloomy water
with decaying leaves the oak tree
dumped into it
trying to cover and smother it
to seal its eyes with rotting matter.

The little pool cries and tries to reach the sunlight,
the warm, inspiring breeze,
the master-painter's greenness which pleasantly
infects people with the desire to achieve, to rise
to the clouds
to soar and go everywhere
ΚΚΚΚΚΚ ΚBe Everywhere
ΚΚΚΚΚΚ ΚBe Everything.

Not the little pond,
stagnant pond
drowning in the tree's blackness
millions of arms trapping it,
blocking the life-giving sunlight.
only suffocating the pond with bleakness and decaying .
love. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++s
"You little pond keep my roots moist and in return, +++++++++++++t
I protect you and give you shelter." +++++++++++++++++++a
Little pond doesn't have words to respond. +++++++++++++++o
She is helpless. ++++++++++++++ +++ ++++++++++++++++p
No drive, desire to achieve or fight. +++++++++++++++++++a
With yearning eyes caked with rot, ++++++++++++++++++v
she accepts her fate as creepy worm things +++++++++++e
crawl in her watery brain.++++++++++++++She
She sits stagnant until one day,



cycle 3