Poetry

frustration My female Vonnegut Musicians my secret Paul's Ghost Young Girl

frustration

I am faulty plumbing
I do not flow
I do not
gush
like I'm supposed to
I am a captive of my workmanship
I want to pour but all I do is
drip
I am a servant of language
aching for more ways to express how I feel
thoughts leak pitifully from my head
when I know they want to break their walls
and drown the world in the wet gleam of truth
little words and phrases
trickle slowly from my conciousness
I am a leaky faucet
always being wrenched closed again
I just
drip
and the slow trickle only makes me thirsty
I just
drip
teasing so painfully with the promise of fruition
I want to break through the steel
take an axe to my walls and crash through me
explode in millions of me's
and shower the world in my love
but I am a leaky faucet
and I keep twisting the wrench
allowing myself only to
drip
until I run dry

my secret

poor fetal girl in a language small
soothe softly into sleep to celebrate her moon
in only which a softer pale befalls her eyelids
enrapture brightness in her eyes so futile in their light
for incandescence marks her like blackness marks the night
obscurity so sweet encode me in my ache
for truth is cold and copper
and what i feel is gold
the bright god of sun falls crashing in my mind
trampled by my thoughts of sweet dark loathings
self or otherwise
to bathe in bitter femininity so sweet in fragrance pink
and sleep in the chasm of dark womanhood
in tasting truth I drown as the rivers in me overflow
all my embankments crashed into my elements
whitewashed away in flesh
oh cryptic captive words haunt so faintly in your mind
the laburinth of this poem leads to
unclimactic end
in the very ache and throb of truth so bittersweet
enigma takes it hazy course
and wins this battle once again

Paul's Ghost

I evaded you in my
gasp
I departed from you as I
breathed deep the scent of
silence engulfing my lungs

as I refused to exhale

white smog
from my asthmatic ovaries, you
unknowingly coughed another
speck of me
onto the ground

and I got stuck
under, your
shoe

My female Vonnegut

(in the web of sleep)
such fetal warmth so dangerous in pleasure
gets you all tangled up in your
cats cradle
dancing on string games
high-wire bliss
with no net underneath your apocalypse
you make your bow /break
and let your will fall
down come your baby-dream candy-cream walls
tearing
             you
                            down
from your
                      card-castle
                       pedestal
high
on
desire
you

fall

but your cats cradle caught you
in its sticky*web
shiny with sap it enraptured your rage
like cotton catharsis
dried up your empathy
hung by the string of your
childless yo-yo
I threw;;;;;; sympathy at you like stones
and pummeled you raw
like the crucifixion concept you always were

some Vonnegut dream child

d
a
n
g
l
i
n
g            from your
inconsequential:
existential;
(laughable)                                                         cats 
cradle.

Musicians

Same little song but in varying keys
Tones and octaves slam against one another
Like an old record repeating repeating
A little nursery rhyme skipping and scratching
A youth playing quickly into age

Jingles play into requiems
As one minute rhythms entwine through your skin
And the next a slow sonata moans in your veins

Sometimes your smile is a high school garage band
And your eyes are teenagers laughing
Clear loud boisterous adolescents
Raging freely writhing to music
That constantly plays in your head
Your mind is a crowded party hall
Glittery drunk loud and exciting
Packed tightly but always alive

Sometimes your young heart and old soul
Like a mother and child dance together
Waltzing on tiptoes around in your mind
When the crowd quiets down
And you play soft and slow like a cello

And you are full of music

Young Girl

cherry chapstick is inviting
on pale pink lips
flushed newly with a fevered ache
sucking sweet
sap from evergreen girls
cut to drip syrup
into tin cans
bleed so sweet
the beautiful scars
fucked softly into existence
weep so sour
the lemon time paper cut tears
severed pigtails
like stripping ivory tusks
trip on rocks
to break great falls
skin pink knees to bleed
drip with loving
bleeding hearts wrapping tendrils
around her trunks
chopping down her cherry trees
swallowing pits of longing
to sprout new harvests

new seasons of growing
for newly sewn emotions
reaping in the sunrise of

Thismorning