?

I swear my shower curtain once tried to suffocate me after slipping in the shower!

1998

That trail of broken beer bottles

Will lead you to my passed out body

On a city bus bench

On the edge of a boisterous sunrise

As the beggar plays his wooden guitar

He does not attend Church this Sunday

He stands outside a store

Where my body lays near

He is old and slightly shaking

He remembers his castle and young wife

She used to wear a red rose in her hair

That resembled a single starburst

That could light up the entire galaxy

With its vibrant shimmer

He remembers her dark eyes

And how they shone as they met

Secretly in an aristocrats garden

And vowed eternal love

As the gathering of people around them

Disappeared in the glistening

Of their hearts pirouetting together

He opens his mouth to sing

Each gentle guitar strum

With his ancient fingers

Is bigger than everyone

That meets him with indifference

& pity

Each sung word

Carries her memory

In his hushed breath

His eyes beaming with years

Of tears never uncurled

The wind carries those rose petals

She wore so majestically in her hair

Into his soul

He can sense her scent

As his voice sings to her elsewhere

He sings only for her

The spears puncturing deep

The microphone crackles

As his words become bolts of lightning

Inflicting a sense of loss

As my head lifts up from the cathedral of washed up dreams

His voice carrying me

To follow the busted beer bottle glass

Back to the home

Where I dreamed of meeting a girl

With a flower in her hair

That could make me sing forever

Just with the celestial fireworks

Of her slowly materializing smile.

Or are you completely sick of it?

Suggest Category

Social Life>Sidewalk skippers

I would take a pencil eraser or Styrofoam Exxon cooler.

*suggest category*

family > jaded brothers

I sleep with three. Two to roll my head on..and one to hug tightly as the circus clown flashbacks haunt my dreams.

*suggest category*

insomnia > pillow sexuality

For me, usually when I am on a first name basis with the head raccoon ransacking my room for garbage.

*suggest category*

hoarders > agoraphobia anonymous

I have seen some oddly shaped heads while waiting to give the bi-lingual Subway restaurant worker my order in Spanglish.

*suggest category*

peeping tom > sandwich artists

I AM THINKING I SHOULD EITHER BUY A 2 YR SUBSCRIPTION TO QUILTING ARTS MAGAZINE OR GET SOME SELF-HELP BOOKS SUCH AS 'CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET OUTSIDE? - DEALING WITH AGORAPHOBIA". ANY SUGGESTIONS?

SUGGESTED CATEGORY:

SOCIETY AND CULTURE > NITWITS WITH GIFT CARDS>

ANY CELEBRATORY IDEAS?

EDITH, I AM WONDERING IF SHE THOUGHT MY FLOWERS WERE TOO MUCH!

I align my stare

To virgin mountain peaks

And frothing skies

Near the shore of the fire

That we must cross

To reach the land

where we will become

apparitions with contemptuous hearts

where we will become

connoisseurs of evening news crime waves

We will pretend to feel blissful

As we move from the hunger-scarring slums

Into neighborhoods with body bag stores

Leaving the land I was born in

I realize in an icy sweat

That I will never close my eyes here again

That I will never let these winds lull me to sleep

Or see those paralyzing stars

as I grasp on the shoulder of giant hills

Or dive headfirst into the endless waterfalls

That eased my indecent poverty

with crashing harmony and raucous

wetness

I will never hold hands with innocence again

I wonder if the spirit left by my departure

Is still a being haunting the many levels of night

Wandering alone on the muddy hills

and hoping for the return of my flesh

I still remember

As we eased our bodies against the current

Violently rocking us to the new land

When I turned my eyes towards my eventual past

And thought in a rather symphonic manner

That this land will never feel the pressure of my feet

Against its strange mountainous rocks

Nor will I ever feel its violent sun

Eat away at my youthful shoulder blades