All of Us

Eyes closing, closing

body horizontal

breathing, breathing

Lift your voice

and lay it down

softly over my ears

like a red sheet escaping the laundry line

to play costume dress-up with the wind

Send me someplace--

express it in the mail;

 or better yet,

 take me anywhere

Let's run like our legs won't meet never

Let's skip like our hearts are pretend

Our hands a round-trip ticket

We'll see if we could bend

the time between now and the end

until it becomes a hula hoop

that we will throw over the moon

and laugh, and laugh

and smile so loud

that the lost will find our lips

and be kissed back in tune

All of us

the sad, the lonely, 

the weary, 

the lower,

the higher,

December's cold

August's fire

the full,

the hollow,

the giant's lead

and the young to follow

 the all rights and okays

the sapphire blues

and sea of grays

All of us

 all at once,

link our keys
all on the same ring

then toss them up high
and hear the jingle cry

until prison lets us out

and home lets us in

Dark Lies

Each sleep falls flat on a nightmare
my mind feels deceived
over lies
the darkness forced me to believe

It's been ages
since I've gone to my bed
to lift the comforter of hope
over my aching head...
It's just not like that anymore

I suppose the shooting pain
came quick like a fallen light
once secure with unreachable height.
I was counting on those stars
 to stay where they were
but I lost count
and it all became a blur.

Each morning is a routine,
digesting time between sips of coffee
and the usual waking from a coma
to a list of personal questions
followed by groggy answers
 to assure the world
(or perhaps myself)
that I made it safely back

just in time for some philosophy:

who am I?
where am I?
Why am I here?

The answers never change
but the calendar flips
like one of those flick books,
turning pages to life;
though, my days are far less animated.

I think it hurts worse
not being far enough away
from how it used to be
so close
 the past doesn't even have to chase me.

The night and the memory
 must be co-conspirators;
they can both be
such slick intruders--
creeping in and waiting beneath my pillow,
all without a sound.

I used to be a fan of sleep
until dark lies
replaced lullabies.

Tumbling

Today has been a day
of continuous tumbling
down a never-ending hill
while my poor body collects
every rich thing the grass offers

I am no artist
and yet I have the colors of the world
dripping off of my hands

I am not mud
and yet all that touches me
leaves its curious shape on my flesh

I am no crowd.
I stand alone
waiting for a single shadow
that will move
 in sync with my rhythm

I am no angel
and yet eternity
dances a slow waltz with me--
stepping on my toes
each time a soul is promised forever

I am no cloud
still sometimes
on a good day,
I feel close to heaven

I am not anyone.
I am somebody.
And sometimes
just a passing thought--
nobody worth mentioning out loud.
However, there is that solemn silence
of which I am most proud.

Ugly Art

You've got a fancy way
of saying I'm not good enough;
you paint the picture
like ugly art
that would sell for millions.
But all I have is a half chipped cent
and an ounce of pride
that I'll soon be selling
for a taxi ride

Fired

You said you'd be my savior
but all of these years later
these eyes never witnessed you
walking on water;
though, you sure did
walk all over me

And now when I open the door
I don't drag your footprints
out with me anymore

You said you felt so lucky to find me
but you threw the pennies back,
and now they're just tails on the floor


So tell me...
Do you feel poor?

Perhaps I'll admit,
 I'm a little broke,
but I'm far from broken.
When I said you were my everything
I was just joking
When I said I think I love you
I was heavily drinking
and really wasn't thinking.

I may be unemployed and tired
but my arms still have the strength
to dump my tears
over this heart you fired

So when the smoke
leaves my lungs,
and my good intentions fall
while I'm dusting the sky,
my burned heart
will give love another try.

Why Do I Write?

Why do I write?

I answer with this absolute truth:

My mind has received an open invitation
to a place where it can explode
and become more than just itself;

where it can burst through everything
with the heated impatience of fire--
in a perplexed panic rising
 from the earth to the sky
finding the whole
by spreading the pieces
of a highly combustive heart
that kissed summer like a forbidden lover

I have an autumn home
that was grown instead of built
blessed by the scent of change and chance
fresh out of heaven's shower

Where reason is defied
by a little girl on a trampoline
insisting she can reach the moon ...
even offers to gift me a star,
and when a firefly leaves her hands
faith greets my life

Where a cradled dream
open its eyes for the first time
and discovers mine,
 asks me for its name...
to whisper it
and softly breathe it true

I write
Because a word by itself
cannot define a thousand emotions,
but a chain of them
 can lace around my neck
and rest
a shiny, love-shaped charm
 on my restless chest


I write
 because my soul
has made a promise
to visit a place not of this life.
Because this pen is the only vehicle
capable of taking me there,
and this ink is the only camera
that can capture  images to take back
and show you where I've been.

Hope

Hope is a beautiful thing
more real than any words define;
It offers our desperate eyes
a vision to kiss,
and some stars
to connect some character
to the straight lines.


Hope gives our minds a boost
While we attempt to climb
the invisible air
to see the other side--
what we think might be there.


And since no lovely thing
has ever been created
before Hope's birth--
I sometimes catch myself
calling it God;
I sprinkle it in my soul
before I taste my worth.

Matchbook Years

Some gifts aren't meant to be played with;
still, I fooled around with all of mine
like every morning was Christmas time.
I struck the chords of untuned years
like a match to a palm full of prayers
then extinguished the flames
with my regretful tears

Every day was a wildfire
looking back at a past
of useless ash

If spring can be reborn
Why can't I?

If God says no,
take a broom and dustpan to me,
and toss me like pepper on the fallen snow.

If I'm to be long gone and forgotten
I choose to freeze where the crystals glow.
I don't want to be beneath the earth
if I can't ever grow.