Wild Beauty

She watched him rage

with the rapid tide

like an oil painting

left to dry,

each stroke was wild

beauty, behind

him boats full throttle

calm as the horizon.

California September 2020

moving West

I flipped myself

like a coin

then flipped again

just to see

if heads or tails

would land twice

like a pollinating

honey bee

I figured if I had a

50/50 chance

I might as well

take a look see

and feel what lie on the

other side of dying

rather than spend another

long day trying

to convince myself

I’d be better off another house wife

crying

into coffee

or screaming into laundry

relying on the offerings

of innocent smiles

casting unintentional

shadows on my coffin

of denial

marred by my own

self loathing

which like a

preacher’s devotion

I took such pride

in approaching

solitude

like a potion

endlessly encroaching

on my own

well being

I admit I was broken

so I flipped that coin

heads

then I flipped myself

tails

and discovered

this notion

that

heads or tails I was going

Going

Gone

with the wind

not a rolling stone

or a tumbleweed

not a nickel or dime

not a honey bee

no I was a wreck

cast far out to sea

but that’s just the thing

it took all that to see

moving West wouldn’t be

all that easy for me

no nothing is lucky

nothing is free

except the glow of bonfire

in the dead of tree

where dancing shadows

take form and

I’m just

understandably me — hell

it’s already 1:03

and I’m hungry

but

I’ve got no food to eat —

so call it in the air

no

on second thought

I’ll just let this one be.

everything

just because you can get everything

doesn’t mean that you should get everything

because everything

doesn’t really mean everything

when it’s all you’ve got

places for people like us

There are places

for people like us

under bridges

gutters

dumpsters

caves

out of sight

and out of mind

naked and alone

where only those

with torches

pitchforks

and love

can find us.

Updates, Headaches, and Suppertime

The more my browser

tells me it’s out of date

the more, out of date

I feel. Perhaps

it’s time for an update.

Perhaps, it’s time for a meal.

Ourselves as liars.

Imagine

there are two sides to every story,

sometimes three, four,

most times there are twelve.

It depends,

on who we are, who we’ve been

and who we’re trying to be,

like auditioning for a role.

And it’s easy to say,

that you never tell a lie,

or that I’m always wrong.

If I were to believe that,

if you, are so able to believe that

then, clearly

somebodies a liar.

Conversations with myself.

I try to hang loose

but always end up

twisted, like a

damp dish towel.

Stained and tattered.

Are we really back here again?

Rinse and repeat.

Haven’t you learned anything yet?

Rinse and repeat.

I bet you like it this way, don’t you?

It’s quieter here…shh!

With voices in your head?  You’re too easy.

It’s alright if you sweat, just

don’t let them see you turn.

Are we really back here again?

Metaphorically speaking,

we never actually left.

Places just become new places.

People get replaced by other people.

Lies become fiction.

Truth becomes fantasy.

Like a damp dish towel,

twisting facts

until

they hang loose.