At My Expense

Grind the substance of your daily life
like grains of wheat between two rocks
and imagine what truths have been lost
like the chaff to the wind of too much
effort at finding the comfort
of a sweet companion.

This knowing is
like grinding teeth together
in a dream,
the slow exhale
into another pitiful death.

Know the sweating that soaks sheets
at two in the morning
that wakes you in heat
and freezes you as you turn your back
to the darkness
alone.

Know the darkness grinding the grains
of a fresh, youthful appearance
into dust--

into the lies and the false front
of a smile that charms your way
past the door of death
with the coins minted
at my expense.

Waking the Sleepers

Attune yourself
to the allure of morning
like you have slept soundly,
aroused by nothing in the night
that feels like pain
or pleasure at the brim
of falling into the abyss again

And again, just to broach the subject
of desire
stuck in your mind,
the breach birth that cannot be free
to rush out into the light of day,

the lamb bleating and popping up
into the fresh air,
lucid enough to notice
God sitting and waiting
to awaken the sleeping children.

The Revolution

I have taken to my bed
to write the revolution
of tender words
that will move the heart
and ensnare the mind
of a lover.

Imagine no escape
once the eyes follow the path,
following the crumbs of truth
and letters scattered,
forming these new worlds
into which one can fall
helplessly
into joy.

The poetry
of the solution
is tangled up in the breathless
arms and legs of an embrace--
heart racing
toward the open skies
of surrender.

Escape

Utter the words of escape
and you will have to leave your old uniform
at the edge of battle,

you will have to remove your fragile skin
and ego that have lost all usefulness
and step into the cool air,

beyond the barbed wire
and past the old usery

like a silent prayer
standing absolutely still

while you wash out to sea
with your next
precious breath.

Lovely Piquant Skin

The velvet thoughts of this day
joust and vanish smoothly
into the night
where insight is immune
to the vehement need of the ashen
urgency of grasping at straws
that will only disappoint me.

I am strong as I close my eyes
and take a breath falling into my body
like a woman falling in love
after years alone and forgetting
what it means to touch the warmth
of delicious piquant skin.

The Hat I Left Behind

There once was a hat that I left behind
sweating on the seat of the bus,
fanning herself on the benches at church,
chatting at a table over coffee.

I bustled away to work,
I bowed my head like a vessel of God,
I bristled at the conversation,

But I left her,
full to the brim,
like I had so many other
important places to be.

Beating Our Forgetful Drums

The advent of so many dawns
has me weaving verses again

alone and wanting my breath
to transport me to waters
where childhood is played
with avarice, sinning in that joy
and with all the greedy laughter
I can gather.

All the grandmothers cry
when I depart on the wind that takes us all
away to the other side of hearts that beat,
thumping our forgetful drums
for the last time.