Value

If I had a dime for every word you just said,
well, I wouldn't have a dime, or a nickel, or a penny.
Since your words value nothing, and sum me to nothing.
But pages have turned
I won't despair.
There's better words here than for any you care.

High Heels

Open window, Sunday afternoon
A prize fish displayed along the mantle.
Creak, sighs the widowed chess board
A breaking step of silence, as her hesitation
mumbles across valleys of squares.
He said, "Don't you know that regular people
never do
these things?"
And she said, "Don't you know I never cared?"
The pawns were fighting Pretty, side by side
and the Queen stood defiant, unconventional- an arrow-headed
woman, glancing gracefully across
her kingdom.
When they won the war, there was nothing left
but him and her on their opposing cliffs
"It's a shame they weren't high-heeled
for the occasion."
She drew the curtains, and then she left.

Hummingbird

High above the sky
My feet weave in, then out
like silky strands of amethyst drawing
a sedentary
little life.
Perched, and not far from
friends, a fond disinterest,
branches lined with jay birds
teeter, in cornflaked sun.
It's strange the deep hole
that floods spacious forests
the icy, echo winds of
misplaced, once seeded, Grace
--sipping from creaking barstools
and chucking wine over
leaning, characterizingly hunched
with her elbows engraved.
Yet there's a stranger strange, even
in the flight of my peripheral portrait--
I smell sweaty exclusion, lift-off, and
dark, molten anxiety.
Looking back, I see
feathers, left by nothing.
Well it's terribly strange,
whatever we are now
living in a stark, humming tree.

Rayna Sunshone

I just gotta say that, God, I'm tired of trying for people. I'm tired of trying to look pretty for people I don't know, that I won't know, and for trying to impress the ones that I do. I'm tired of trying to prove that my outsides are not a reflection of my insides, or that they are; either or. I'm tired of wondering, and never knowing, and tiredtiredtired of not doing a darn thing about anything. I'm tired of wandering, I'm tired, simply tired, of these people I know. I want something different, and I want something beautiful. Something tangibly intangible, something intangibly tangible.

Cherry

Got this feeling in my head, that
God, I'll love you 'til I'm dead.
And got that stirring in my soul, that
God, you'll never, ever know.

Discursive

The waves, my goodbye friends
shave wind in ripe turbulence
It's strange fate, how they end
in affection's wrestled permanence.

While dangling, they are high
With rocks bathing in sand below
And with Fate's stone hand, held nigh
I pray with every raking blow.

Father warned me not to trust
Anything that ever leaves you.
But sore are my feet, Father,
planted in dust
With rusted arms, I can't believe you.

Nothing Less True

Reel in the colored trailors
that jar and shine the lights of my mind, and in them
find, the fine wines, where we dine
where we'll plot our points of trouble.
Don't trace your stationary hand on my neck
on my back, on my sides, but sell your mark, cause I must
feel that I'm this real
I'm more real than you
And enclosed is this print, that
Circumstance has drowned me
drawn in deep blue,
what weathered conditions we've seen

they've sorted nothing less true