Someday I'll have the courage.
Someday I'll get this right.
Brightly colored walls and bylines.
Thick thighs and tired eyes.
Someday all these paved roads will end.
And the trees will tower overhead
and the dirt will
guide the way and
I'll get this right.
And pull all the good cards.
And call every wildflower by name.
And wake each day the same.

Vibrant.

And happy.

-

With sacred
indigo
galaxies
as friends,
the enemies
look so
tiny
to me.

-

Listen,
sometimes you sit with your crawling skin
and you just learn to love it.

-

I need to sit at the table with reckless,
offer abandon some more wine.
Because this could go all night.
I guess I'm afraid of what might come out..
spiders crawling out the coffee grounds.
Listen...
it isn't my intention, they just hang around.
And who am I to complain?
I like the company.
We get up early,
do tai chi on the back deck,
harness all the energy.
I was seven when Arachnophobia came out.
We watched it at a slumber party
and I ended up crying on my friend's mom's lap.
Listen...
it wasn't my intention, I just knew they were coming for me.
And even if they didn't leap out the screen,
I knew one day they'd find me,
and we'd live together in a hollowed out tree,
pulling tarot cards under a full moon.
Listen...
it wasn't my intention, they just smile more than you do.
String this card up with the last one.
It's a keeper.

-

It's about movement.
Street signs and bike paths
and always moving forward.
Here is easy.
Comfortable.
There is daunting.
And necessary.
The only time expectation
has ever moved me.
But to reach, when the ground's still shaking,
is to know before the earth drops beneath you.
I once followed a stranger
for miles,
walked from Naples
to Belmont Pier,
just because I felt a pull.
The only time I ever left
my inhibition at the corner store.
Exhanged it for some quarters,
caught a bus,
and never questioned
myself again.

-

are you chasing me like i'm chasing you?
in between the notes,
the hushed pauses in life
are you wading through the hues?
i'm smashing full pastels to find you.
smudging charcoal sticks
are you blaming the pages?
i'm pleading with crushed petals,
silk dripping through my fingertips.
these dreams fall like shiny, copper wishes,
thrown in desperate fleeting envy
(lying rusted on the fountain floor)
hope strung feverishly around the christmas tree
(pacing in front of the front door)
like i'm in anticipation of company
lights still twinkling in February
like i'll be waiting
eternally

-

You're addicted to pain, aren't you?
I can't say that I'm not the same.
It started out feeling like pleasure, right?
But ended up changing its name.

I fell in love with the process,
the anticipation upstaging the game.
And eventually you don't even notice
when the cycle starts over again.

-

the lock on my bedroom door broke
and if that isn't my cue, i dont know what is
so i'm moving into the attic
i can see how that would sound like a step backwards
but there are no walls up there
only exposed beams and boards that aren't nailed in to the floor
so you have to pick up your feet and be intentional with your steps
or you'll slide one of them out of place and then it's through the ceiling
and back down into the room you just escaped from
this isn't a metaphor
but it could be

-

It's
probably
not
a
sign.

-

This gray dead place is killing my spirit and the inspiration has left my fingertips.
Which is to say, its flowing freely.
I imagine her out there, painting golds and blues across the rocks.
Looking back at you while you take a thousand snapshots because you see her from every angle.
But most of all, I imagine her pushing us... nudging not so subtly, and suddenly we are wrapped up in lust that turns into love and the stars light up and my eyelashes touch and I never want to open my eyes again.

-