transitions

wa whoosh wa whoosh wa whoosh…
the heart is full of holes,
paradoxically less than when brand new
fossa forming over bleeding os
losing virginity in reverse
closing up shop
nudging parasitic heart,
whispering
“you don’t need me anymore,
little heart,
use your lungs now,”

natal heart reaches
arterial highway
survives in vein
to beat and break
crazy little
two-toned organ
lub dubbing its
percussive journey
life-ward

that first breath
is a doozy
think of it as a cliff dive,
leaping
thoughtlessly
into here
and now

hello,
and welcome
we are all as fresh
and lost
as you

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lost

hours

grew

imperceptible

time
yawned and
g   a  p  e  d
swallowed lives
easy as inhaling

she was

diminished

fingers frozen into
question marks
thoughts
sssluggishhh
she felt

nothing

her face knew the act
recite,
react
nod and smile
an automaton
murmuring reassurance
singing lullabies
forever and forever
calling into the wind

“come”

she hid the

dissolution

of her soul
until whispers
penetrated…
her malaise

exhaling,

she blinked,
her image
resolving,
solidifying
once more.

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Mother of Pearl

Trapped in perpetual irritation
Fleeting thoughts fuel anxious
Adrenalin soaked nightmares
Lost children, slow-motion escapes,
Dead-end alleys, dark
And darker
Triggers
The mind dances nightly
Lurching and halting into dawn
Unable to form the write
Sentence
Structure
Damnit,
Theories scratch the cortex
Nano-particles racing to surround
And smooth,
A nacreous encapsulation
Turning ugly memory
Iridescent
I am full of pearls now,
Choking instead of speaking
Slowly turning to stone…

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Her

The lake smells ripe today
Sweet and rotting
Dead and reborn in this heat,
Gulls crying for scraps
White fluff like summer snow
Swirling
Dancing with eddies of sand
Sailboats, kite surfers
Awaiting the breeze
Laughter through the trees
Remind me of her

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Crone

She approached the periphery
Circling life slowly,
Life,
Ebbing into oceans
Vast and misunderstood
Her mind wandering into dark
Wet places
Beckoning her dissolving self
Back to shore
She fought the tide
In useless protest
Kneeling in shallows,
Fists pounding salty sand
Grabbing handfuls of hair
Moaning guttural protest
More seagull than human
Exhausted,
Falling into tide pools
Arms outstretched,
Warm ocean
Becoming her own blood
She became
New
Rising with the sun
Gathering pebbles and syllables
To roll around her tongue
As she stalked the shoreline
For one more
Glorious, golden
Day

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Oh, Life

Oh, Life
Let me taste your sweet sensuality
Suck a honey drop
From your sweating brow
Surrender mortality

Let me engulf you
Beginning to end
Let me love you and leave you
And come once again

Oh, Death
How you haunt me
All these long years
Reminding me daily
To let go my fears

For you wait in the shadows
As this body grows old
With adventures unfinished
And stories untold

So I wake each new day
With this vow on my tongue
I will live well today
For I’ve only begun.

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ever crying “O”

IMG_1566i walked the dog in winter
with senses open full
and heard a maddened moaning
in a symphony of wind
she called to me
this mourning tree
her naked arms outstretched
she drew me close
and whispered
a secret i now forget
but i see her
in my half-life dreams
a halo, red and gold,
children playing at her feet
laughing, running, growing old
the secret, the secret,
it haunts me
it had to do with life
or some other grand illusion
frozen now in time
why does she weep
my mourning tree
ever crying “O”
for children grown
or mothers gone
or a small blue planet’s
death?

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Progress

brackish bubbletub
saltines, soup
lexical loopholes
whirl topsy-scurvy
lyrics hum
orange orange
oh oh oh oh
slow
going
phenomes
fen
gnomes
phone me me me
memes
hurry hurry rabbit

hyperlink:
girl in mirror with thought bubble

no need to read the book
drift blisters

harmonic BOOM!

egregious epidemic
please disambiguate
what cleaves us

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At the root

A base topic;
Base, basic, basal, and
Hey!
Don’t touch my ganglia.
If one could only pay attention,
I am telling a story, convoluted though it may be.
At the core of the apple, idea, person,
Seeded within
The necessary flesh
Is: the truth;
Some arsenic, and the occasional worm
Wriggling its way surface-word,
To poison the lips.
We are flawed and pitted
One against the other
But I didn’t start out to write about that.
Back now
Back to the root.
A baby born to need and wail and love
Wrapped in a cloak of abuse and neglect and set free
May transcend
May reach deep within
May heal
May become something beautiful.
Or,
And here’s the difficulty,
May become a monster.
And when we meet them, how can we tell the difference?

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Dear Path Not Trodden

Dear path not trodden,
Unseen,
you wind tentacles of possibility,
Exploding
Nucleus, axon,
Dendrite,
Reaching into unknowable
Connection
More weft and weave than
Pointillism,
Yet occasionally sharp;
Sometimes a déjà-vu
Of a shadow
Of a broken bicycle which,
Though never seen,
Is known to have been red;
Dear possibility,
So effervescent, you
Pop and fizz with minute precision,
How does one decide?
And where is the red
Bicycle
The was never won
At that fair never attended
By the girl never born
Who,
Yet,
Crackles with life somewhere.

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