Tuesday, February 23, 2010


Throwing mothballs into eaves and corners,
Caverns of my mind,
These are meant for you to find,
So the places that you flutter--
Since you've chosen to ignore
And ghost across my borderlines--
Will reject your soft appearance.

While your presence here has gentled,
You have come to think you're welcome,
Weaving in and out of everything
That floats between my temples--
Striking, still, the strength
And stomach ache of ancient recollection.

We had spoken of a cord
Keeping our two hearts connected
(No matter how we stretched it)
Til you cut it perfunctorily
(With much torquing, pull-and-tugging,
It still felt somewhat abrupt, we
Weren't bored, and plus you loved me).

I can't seem to close the door on this
While yours is locked, the key is lost,
Forgotten in the folds of clothing
Left on someone else's floor.
Now I'm talking to the corpse
Whose foot has propped open the door
So the lazy draft of memory
Is free to wend and wind its way
Through every eave and corner,
All the caverns of my mind.

Foxy Lizzy 1


Monday, February 22, 2010

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

I have built a brick wall

I have built a brick wall,
(Impenetrable and tall)
Made strong with tokens from my lovers
(I've loved them one and all).
And here I do myself a favor,
Where once felt fresh and raw,
I've packed my wounds with sand and straw--
A flesh price, paid in full.
(I saw you pull the wool
Over my eyes, I say I saw!)
Blinded still, blindsided too,
Eyes shrouded, closed in awe,
Surprise felt twice
(Not twice as nice),
For blindfolds, too, are flawed.

And since I fail to learn, each brick
(No matter large or small)
Fits snug inside the same damn mold
So blind, you see, I saw.
Contained, exchanged in glances thrown
Across fluorescent halls,
While first surprise is quick to bloom
(Or sometimes at a crawl)
The seeded ground that thrives in Spring
Too soon is felled in Fall.
It's then I'm on familiar ground
I somehow don't recall
And there I find the second round,
Surprise both winged and clawed.

These bricks lie in a patterned stack
(Professionally installed)
So well-rehearsed, and so I come
For every curtain call.
(The bricklayer sets his burden
At my feet, it seems I'm certain
I have earned all this applause,
While he turns, and leaves, appalled.)
And thus with bricks stacked at my feet
I'm once more in the wrong--
While I had thought myself a queen,
It seems I'm but a pawn.
(But still, I have the gall
To step up to the stage to play
My role, I know which lines to say,
I'll smile then, to demonstrate
That I have learned nothing at all.)