Elucidation

Falling from grace 
one pearl at a time 
Once      strung      along, 
all elegance and poise 
Now the stockings and stilettos 
leave a corpse in their wake 
A memorial 
of simpler days 
The little black dress hides 
in the back from my view, 
right next to the long 
forgotten 
shoe boxes 
It recoils from my touch 
and redirects me to the grey 
one toward the front 

Of course, I shake my head 

At the edge of my bed 
I sit looking at my things – 
all the while feeling like a stranger, 
an intruder in my own world 

Just above my head 
I sit looking at me 
looking at all those things, 
feeling like a stranger 
intruding on this world 

At the back of the closet 
sits the little black dress 
Peeking its long forgotten eyes 
around lace and cotton 
looking at the stranger 
and intruder now looking at it 

None of us noticed
the shadow on the wall 
lurking in timelessness 
Sliding the last pearl 
from the string in her hand, 
she grins and shakes her head 
“Interesting,” she says, 
extending her hand.

Grasping at New Life

Self Portrait

I do

I signed the deal that day in blood,
then sealed it with the kiss of birth.
Loyal. Faithful. Servant. Friend.
Wonder what that’s really worth.

Intoxication: love is grand.
Floating through the clouds on high.
Invincibility sets in, waving
in awe while Golden Eagles fly by.

Unveiled eyes begin to sting.
Ears that ring reach pressure points.
Innocence drowned in a paper bag,
suffocates mobility of tender joints.

There’s a glade I visit when I’m down,
to fall back upon the earth and weep.
I lie beneath the willows’ shade
and cast my cares for them to keep.

My tears, they fall from grace to dirt,
penetrating Gaia’s breast.
These tears are roots: they sow and reap.
Ash to beauty. Release most blessed.

How could I know the flowers trapped cares;
releasing them to the hummingbirds’ probe?
Nature’s nymphs, so innocent and sweet;
singing my secrets across the globe.

A melody sweet (to vultures in wait).
The mountains, they hear, along with the sky.
Once the crows catch wind, the fat lady sings.
And all I can do is eat some crow pie.

There’s a fly on the wall – no wait, there’s three:
their steely little eyes fixed upon me.
They watch as I pet that angry mutt,
and blink when it growls and pees on our tree.

Now what can I say to make any sense?
I guess I’ve got some explaining to do.
I grasp at the wind for answers in flight.
One day I might decode this thing I do.