that's mrs. mediocrity to you

i am the leaves
that skitter on pavement
touching toe and ankle
bare and boot
and you don’t listen
to the crackle of my skin
or bear witness
to the whisper
of my decay

i feed you anyway

i am the crow
robbing blue eggs
black circling sound
from the ring
on the right-hand finger
of fortune
and you
cannot reach
the beak that bites you

i feed you anyway

i am the seeds
buried ripe beneath rows
cold arrows of root
reaching deep
through tall darkness
as you nibble buds
in the light drowning rain
of hypocrisy’s
overdrawn bloom

i feed you anyway

…

i’ve burned through all the memories

walked through fire
sifted ash

blackened fingers drawing hieroglyphs
to guide me through the grief that buries living

i light candles at dawn and bonfires at dusk
build a fortress of flame
and sleep on embers

i’ve been phoenix so many times
my house is strewn with feathers
(ankle-deep and sharp as quills)

i’ve put you out and opened windows
always feeding the desire to breathe
(which i think is the same as freedom)

i remember the night i woke in terror at the blanket of smoke swirling over my bed
i remember the way i laughed later, when it turned out to be a dream
i remember the way it still feels entirely exactly undeniably

real

truth always finds a way to be revealed

and here we are
again
endings and beginnings
blooming full
in the light of forgotten

darkness is the edge
our eye is drawn to
bleakblank horizon
lined with trees
and trepidation

the air filled
with hope’s perfume
as if anyone could hold
the scent
of silence

on a morning
carved by will
and blind resilience
into something
resembling peace

or patterned joy
dancing shadows
on the wall
of blanket rhyme
and repetition

. . .

the avenue where
you ate the last fish

as it held your lost stare
(contemplation’s false glare)

and the dark apple
current
pulling luck under

in the back row seat
of certainty’s corner

we fed our fill
on the silence of empty

and burnished long scars
still shiny with memory

until sky led to sea
in the bed that was always
losing its way

we reached for warm hands
over-stuffed
with the blind weight
of grief

grasping for sand

as it spilled down
clean sheets

and returned to the water

salt bled us

…

eating nothing

but these hours

that devour

and the

black hole distance

between full

and fortified

in the night sky

lost eye

feast

of raw

subsistence

…

scarred scared and disrepaired
the tagline of last soldiers
loss holders
heart boulders

we are the collection
of collectors
gathering bones and
burying stones

building cairns
in bare memory
corners

and backing away
ever so gently
despite the premise promise
of tumble
and tremor

. . .

and deep dark
late night lists
of the ways we are all
just a little bit
broken

and the revelation
that all we can do
is open our arms
our minds
our fear closed
scared scarred
sacred
hearts

and face the sun

one more time
one more day
one more moment

today
today

today
and love

that’s
all there is

ever

not forever

just this
minefield mountain
of now

the present
of presence

and these shard blue
sheltering smithereens
of moving sky

…

…

like the gathering jay
landing indigo dark
at this goodbye leaves fly sky

waving summer’s
last muleta

…

and this hollow black horizon
fielding landings
for cold flight frenzy bright geese

holding court
in a flurry of age

…

and you treading merlin’s tall night
through a landmine
of lost forest season

no frame can contain
or define

…

and the brink of soft light
through these brittle bone trees
of tender sight not quite description

guiding current the truest
way home

…

listen here

it’s dawn
and the mockingbird
is spinning

suddenly i want

to fly again
straight off the ends
of this square peg earth
into the winding path
of freedom’s glee

burrow deep into the heart
of day-blind skunk
and know the strength
that builds red bricks
from beasts of prey

ripple down
across the shoulder
of this rolled-boulder current
pounded smooth against
a blanket of doused flame

no longer
broken
but
broken open

open

and mirrored
plain

yet again

i climbed a mountain to return a heart-shaped rock,
walked a forest and forgave the past of everything,
broke a leg and knitted living back together,
skirted vulture cliffs and jumped only with my smile,
buried crack-lipped hallelujahs beneath the twisted tree of pain

it’s morning
and the mockingbird

is singing

. . . . .

in that hole in my heart
(you know the one)
left behind in the wake
of a wave

core scoured clean
scored by sand
and detritus
scars scratched
into every blind surface

echo etchings
scratched
into permanent
reminder

water always runs
to the lost lowest point
filling crack and crevice
with surface reflection

magnifying truth
and creating mirage
in the desert
of dutiful
destruction