my wealth is pebbles

My Wealth, is pebbles

and love notes strewn across this desk.
A candle - lit, says enough
and the beaded pouch hanging round my neck stuffed with - That Prayer.

My Wealth...

is invested in the ones watching from other worlds;
keeping tabs for me. That's right...taking care of my tab.

bowls full of sage

a bell

the book with worn pages

the dust I let stay

a sense of giving

to be

Sure Thing

So far/in some ways...
I may have chosen a harder path

But I forgive it.

The jackhammer of missteps
carved me out from the
Princess Snot I would have been

Humbled by Happenstance
I grew fine long hair
transparent sight
and ears worth lending

It's better like this I think

as now,
my laugh is a sure thing

*

Heavier Shoes Please

Hold me still so I can kiss you more,
because it's strange,
and I want to.

Despite this glaring tyrant of distraction.


SUN

SHINES too much light,
on restless thoughts toward redemption.


Can
you
buy
me
heavier
shoes
please?

Conception

DREAMS cough up stories startling poets into finding pens.

Fumbling for a light switch.

paper.

Oh yes...paper.

ANY KIND: cardboard, envelopes, business cards, junk mail.

A notebook is called "getting lucky."

If I was a real poet I would sleep on paper and feel LUCKY all the time.

But then I would still have to find a pen.

I would BE the pen.

A-pen-lying-on-a-bed-of-paper.

A garden of words my fortress, or my folly. both.

but what to-do about having ink?

CATCH

good things.  yes.
 

heaps of them.

I'm learning to be greedy like that.

B.O.L.D

attraction.

attracting.

good 


and many 


a good many.

right now.

yup.

yes.

~~~

Fall DOWN

Fire. brings it. FALL.
Dry winds, parched lips. Hot dusty air. And FIRE.
Colors do change in California...they go from brown, to sparks, to orange and red. smoke.

And temperature changes. yes. It starts when:

summer is almost ending
- and jumps to -
summer has only just begun

dead summer. like falling down.
we too renounce our leaves.

The hills have to burn.

Chancing loss of that which feeds them.

The greenest parts, the wildest creatures.

FALL DOWN
Like you've never felt any pain small leaf.

go to dirt

Bones.

FATHOMS
under blood and skin,
there is this place.

I don't know the scientific term,

but i do know it's between things.

Wedged.

Easily forgotten -

like dishes and dirty laundry.

It sets our pace,
makes us walk funny,
with our shoulders forward and our head back.

Or our pelvis in and belly out.

Like a groan. That's what it's like.
An ancient howl. But a private one.
It's the way we breathe. But in our bones.

yes.

bones.

Under blood and skin.

Where lifetimes lodge ~ and sometimes you get to feel them.
The ones that make eyes twitch and hairs gray.

The ones we thought we lost.

but didn't.

Because of fathoms.

And not wanting to.

The Passion of Akka b.

There are times when LOVE requires window cleaner. rags. a rake.

There are times when LOVE requires getting filthy. While wearing a skirt.

and a white-top.
and a manicure.

There are times when LOVE asks us to be ferocious and unrelenting.

I know, you know.

Tonight required all of those things.
and sweat
and compulsion
and even a pinched back

I had to.

under the canopy of night
oak leaves
spider webs

I had to.

Make
+
+
+
Room


*

YOU.

Oh yeah.

This is for you.

yes.

YOU.

Cutting and Pasting

Going away from it.

because why?

Well, the story is like a thousand times more stubborn than me.

and also.

because why not?

It doesn't fit under my hat.

or my belt buckle.

or in my shoe.

and also.

It's not that becoming.

Plus it weighs a lot.

and also.

It never wants to let me go.

Even though I am sure it's not my fault.

well, it might be.

But anyway, I'm still going to go away from it.

Rocking it.

the way you are
is what i hope to be
old
dirty
somewhat enlightened
somewhat nonchalant

always unconventional
and
never perfect

but close

*

sometimes i throw tantrums

no. i really do.

sometimes people get in my way and i want to bite their ears off.

i also glare a lot.

and growl a little.

flinging under-digested weight around like a boulder.

an invisible one.

and invincible too.

i'd like to think.

anyway ~ i'm sorry if it makes you cry.

kind of.

Let it be Weeds

Oh honey, you don't need anything tidy - that's for dang sure.

Let it be wild. Let it be weeds.

Time to paste some tears to the bathroom floor.

and

Time to burn some stuff.

Make some ashes and roll in them.

Cracked Heals and a Dirty Heart

It had a heart-on. it.

One dirty foot that walked a long long way...
got a blister
and had to wear a band-aid.

one sweet little dirty foot that doesn't like to be confined

with cracked heals

and funny toes

rubbed up against a stubborn shoe.

and old shoe - that wasn't made for walking.

BUT - it was a willing shoe and a willing foot and so they went ahead.

and walked.

as feet and shoes tend to do.

and at the end of the night...

that sweet little dirty foot was sore, but satisfied.

cracked, but unconfined.

tired, but funny tired.

and at the end of the next day when it was time to undress the blister...
well, it turns out it wasn't much of a blister at all.

after all.

and well worth the little rub --- with that old stubborn shoe.

MS. BED HEAD ~ and the WILD NIGHTS

Ms. Bed-Head rubbed out pebbles from her sunrise eyes, yawned and fell back on her pillow. Her hair - entwined with thorny midnight brambles, was still littered with subconscious suggestions, dreams and whatnot.

She found it much easier to forgive her puffy face having come to realize the apparent necessity of these strange midnight visitations.

encounters with demons and such

a few fires, water, lovers, the knowing,
the unknown, some bliss, regret

the usual

going, coming, staying

longing

*