an invitation

come in, and sit awhile. normally, i would ask how you are...but tonight is different. tonight i want to tell you things. i want to tell you stories. i want you to listen...but you dont have to, you may go if you wish, and spend time elsewhere...but you will miss something. i will tell you stories of life and love. of who i am...not the mask that others know so well...but me. the central part of self that is always hidden from view for fear of pain...for fear of the light. for fear that the most valuable part of oneself would not be valued. i would tell you these things in the words of my mind, but his smell is washing over me...and tonight i must speak with my heart. for though he is gone now...the silent song still echoes in my ears...with all its pain...and all its joy. i wouldnt take it back. this is your chance. the sun is gone now...and the chill is settling into the night. and the secret thoughts and feelings that are veiled during the day are exposed...raw to the moonlight (for as everyone knows...moonlight is far better to coax the tender dreams from their hiding places deep in the heart than sunlight) so here i will sing my silent song...weave my web of shimmering thread that, when you look closely, is not really shimmering at all, but wavering in the light of your eyes. this is a place where the deep note of the guitar sounds in your chest as another heartbeat...deep and rhythmic, and the lullabies are really songs of sorrow made to sound sweet to lull the little ones to sleep, as the tears fall on the mother's cheeks. a place where the paper roses bloom and thrive in the fertile ground, then wither and die as the real roses take over the gardens. watered with dreams and misplaced trust.

she keeps his picture behind the one of her father on the mantle...and only looks at it when no one will see her tears. the paper rose he gave her sits in a blue glass vase that she found in the attic of her grandmother's house when she was ten. she begged her grandmother to let her have it. the vase was given to her grandmother from an old beau...lost in the war. she can still remember her confusion at the tears on her nana's smiling face as she said yes. its been so long, and the paper has faded...but she wont throw it away. the vase would look too empty, nana's vase must not be empty or abandoned. no, not abandoned...

the storm

the walls muffle the sound of the thunder as it creeps closer and closer. the windows dim the lightning as it cuts through the sky like a razor. they contain it to four small rectangles of glass that silouhette on the bare walls. the wildness of the storm is stifled by the curtains and the smell that always engulfs me...is not there. it cannot make it through the window panes. but the storm grows stronger, and i can feel the house shake at the voice of the thunder. growing closer and closer...speaking words of destruction...telling how it could rip this house apart...how easily it could tear the tin roof from the frame. the wind drives the rain harder and harder on the roof and batters the side of the house. blue-white lightning circles the house, adding its threats to those of the thunder. still the house stands. in one last burst of violence, the air screams unearthily as the lightning curls down from the storm, and touches the roof. the windows crack but all is muffled by the nearly instantaneous noise that mirrors deafness in its intensity. the blinding flash lights up the greyness that has fallen over everything to such a degree, that all color is bleached away, and for that fraction of a second, the grey is gone and the world is caught in black and white...but mostly white. fear rises, and the heart has yet to slow...now, every time the thunder growls its warning, know that it does not bluff of its bite; and fear. with every crash, the hair on her arms rises and a chill runs through her body. had she been outside for this storm, she would have lost all concious thought and have been carried away with the storm as helplessly as a small bird. she would have been engulfed by a power so much larger than herself, and she would have enjoyed the helplessness and the power that consumed her more than the arms of any she has loved. no past, no future, and no present. only the storm...fleeting and instantaneous, but an enternity when it overcomes all of the senses, and blots thought from the mind. there is nothing outside the storm, nothing before or after...only the storm...and its strength. yet she sits, with the thunder still rumbling in her chest...competing with her heart for control of her body, and she regrets that she did not get carried away...she regrets that the storm did not tear the roof off the house to reach to her; that the wind did not peel away the walls to find her, and the lightning shear the frame to touch her. she scorns the stifling walls and curses the cloudy windows. and she lusts for the storm's return.

ripping out the seams

so, i am quitting the scary job and applying at the hospital as an MRI technician. i got my first paycheck of the summer...and most of it went to pay off my overdraft fees. but today, im gonna go out and buy the new white stripes cd and a new pair of jeans to destroy...hahaha...maybe some spray paint too. today will be a good day.

our poor trampoline

yes, it died...it blew away into the cornfield...and died. it lasted for quite a few years though, and now we have a new one that is staked down to the ground. the old one had blown away quite a few times...but this last time finally killed it (and quite thoroughly i might add).

track 9

everybody's watching you
breathing in your every move.
look around when the world is empty
look around if you're guilty

its over
theres nothing you can do
theres nothing you can say
to keep me here
its over
you say we're just friends
we're playing pretend
to keep me here

every night i lay in bed
i think about the things you said
look around im the one your only
look around it still kills me

its over
theres nothing you can do
theres nothing you can say
to keep me here
its over
you say we're just friends
we're playing pretend
to keep me here

everybody's watching you
and counting down your every move
look around if your heart beats empty
look around if its guilty

im outta here

deeply shining oily light covers the ceiling
blackness of creeping spider
shadow crawling up your arm and onto your face
barely breathing as you sing softly to the night
to drown out those voices in your mind
calling you, slowly calling you away
to deeper and deeper darkness
before the thief of sleep steals away the world
and sets you free into your mind
only to wake with the sheets strangling
your claustrophobic body
panicking as the soft, clean cotton
gently tightens around your chest
and your legs kick
and your eyes glaze
and the shroud is cold and soft

but it was all a dream
and i cant go back to sleep

the grass, it feels like ice as i walk
and wander through the yard
summer's heat stolen from the ground as if by some spirit
who wishes me to walk in the cold grass
i remember the grass when it was warm
but the heat of the sun is fading from my mind
and slowly careening through my head are the slight,
ribbon-like tendrils of the night
and all is wrong
and all is lost
and all is waiting and waiting for something
and no one can know until it comes
and the tidal wave will wash us all to the top of the mountain
where we will finally know why it only snows on the peaks
the closer we are to the sun, the colder it gets
and the closer we are to the earth, the nearer the flames
the warmth from the furnace will warm our hands
before it explodes and we are swallowed in its burning embrace

but it was all a dream
and i cant go back to sleep

drift away...

bad customer service

oooookay, lets see...if you are helping someone, you should HELP them...not say, im sorry, you already paid...but you can keep you coupon! oh joy, excuse me but i did tell you to wait and i did tell you that i had a coupon but no, you didnt listen...you just shut the cash drawer and said..."oops sorry!" oh well! sucks for me! these ppl need ppl who understand customer service. damn. im so much better qualified for her job and yet...factory work. damn. i hate bad customer service.

strawberry sunsets

the strawberries were sweet.


the gravel was blue.


and the sunset was golden...and i forgot that there was a yesterday, and i forgot there will be a tomorrow. time stood still, and i ate strawberries.

the sun it shines on yesterday

i am sitting here and the sun is shining. the sun is still shining and i cant speak of the deep thoughts in my heart because it is day. the sunlight is harsh and public and these thoughts and fears are fragile. these little pieces of myself are allergic to the bright sunlight streaming in through my window. so i hide them, and the smell of honeysuckle spreads through the air. i remember walking up the hill and seeing the berry bushes blooming. instead of baring my tender heart, i think i will go for a walk...perhaps the sweetness of the wild strawberries will distract my mind from...myself...perhaps i will be able to forget everything except the grass and the juice of the berries and the sunset...but night will come and again the sweet release of sleep. if i cant find strawberries, blackberries will do. and tomorrow will be a happy day...filled with things and family and people i love. its the endless days filled with nothing that scare the hell out of me. so im going to go eat berries now and forget that life goes on and pain is coming and remember that the berries taste good.

peur

little ehiley sits with tears streaming down her face. the tears make clean streaks down her dirty face. she always comes back dirty from playing in the woods. the scabs on her knees have not yet healed. her blue-green eyes search His face, finding the sympathy and love He always has for her.

"Daddy, they hurt me! they were mean to me and they hurt me and it's not fair!!"

her Father gathers her in His arms...

"Shhh, dear one. I know, I'm sorry you are hurt, it's okay. Shhh. Cry sweetheart, it's okay"

"Daddy, will you get them back for me?"

"If you ask me to, I will."

"Okay."

"Do you want me to?"

"no..."

"What do you want then?"

her voice is muffled as she buries her face in His arm. His sleeve is wet from her tears. quietly she mumbles, "a kitten..."

true story

today i raced with a machine...and i won
then another came to take my place...and she lost

today i came home and saw a cut-glass bowl, filled with old rosepetals...fallen from the wild roses in the window.
then i saw the flowers she sent from the internet...cold, yellow, hard

today i ran outside in the night when the grass was still dry
the dew wont come til morning

now i sit and eat icecream from a bowl with high sides...it is the only high sided bowl we have
i dont like it, but tonight i chose it...i dont know why

today he smiled at me.

today i cried

where is the storm

the wet, sticky air covered her skin like a blanket. the brightness of the cloud-covered sky stung her eyes and made them ache in her head; but she could go nowhere. the shade of the maple was as offensive to her as the cloudy sunlight she stood in now, and wherever she went, she would still be there. there was no running from her own existence.

the thickness of the air gave the sensation of drowning as she stood there, quietly breathing. she was aware that the land around her could be perceived as beautiful, indeed, she tried to see it herself, but all she saw was the deformity that sometimes masquerades as beauty. the trees were green, but their green was that of indifference to her plight and her pain. the green of the grass that should speak to her of cool, lush life, only spoke of a hot, dry sensation on her dirty, bare feet which were beginning to sweat.

where was the rain? where was the storm that should be on her at this very moment? the thrill of the thunder and lightning that made her heart race and her spirits chase the raidrops held captive in the wild wind. where was the storm? it should be here today, she thought. i can even feel the ground speak of it as one speaks of a punctual friend that is hours late. the trees too; they reach their arms to the sky, trying to feel for that first hint of energy in the air, that first scent of the storm. yet nothing came. not the smell nor the distant call of thunder. only more heat.

the sun could still reach her through the wet blanket of clouds, and she felt the hot sensation on the back of her neck as if of a stare from a stranger who wishes you ill. her frustration escalated, mixing in her head with the dry, dirtiness of her feet and punctuated by the musky smell of her own sweat which began to moisten the groove of her spine and the back of her neck.

valiant

"goodnight my friends, and drift away/ as the sun, it shines on yesterday/ and takes us to the children's dreams/ where the world is finally as it seems"

~ valiant

morning wonderings

gently rising, the lovers' moon
quickly come the dreams too soon
and strumming now a slow, soft tune
awake, and find me here

chasity catches final breath
and innocence is slow to death
again we come to final rest
awake, and find me here

the radio

i turned on the radio on my way over to the library...and this is what i heard

i tear my heart open
and sew myself shut
my weakness is
that i care too much
the scars remind us
that the past is real
i tear my heart open
just to feel