Boiling Over Rev 1

Colorless Crayons

I move like mercury bobbing lightly just under
 

the surface of thought

I am the breeze that caresses 

the white washed linen curtain

whispering belief that it can fly

I pacify the inevitable until it relents 

to the crack of a new dawn

I kiss time until the moments pass and embrace still

I am the space between the end and remembrance of what is

I linger softly just under the moons glow

 
Watching

I amuse my maker 

as I taunt between love and hate

I am the breath of the awakening

Just at the moment of revelation

Radiant colors descend and soothe slowly

Washing judgement into rainbows of purity

Why do only the colorless crayons 

The Broken It

puncturing glass cases 
with the back of a plastic spoon

the injustice toward 
the powder blue box
on the corner of 
57th and a sliver studded moon

extending the divide  
between wealth and
everyone else 

back around the way

the number 3 bus
had a stop
just outside
the old shabby 
half shingled house
that was called 
home
 
its passengers enjoyed 
rubbernecking and mocking
 
the second hand 
charlie brown 
size 13 shoes
worn by the size 13 girl
sitting on the 
second stair stoop 
when she was just 13

no one heard 
her scream 

no one saw 
her run

and hide in shame 
 
under the rough wool 
of poverty 
that...

Child Scream Out

it’s abysmal down the way
these days
 
but the only path

is through
 
they say
 

an intruder in the midst
 
blowing his cold still drip 
 
into the

i-vy

tear drops

overwhelm tilted ice trays

gently gathering each

hoping 

for a catch and release

a heavy hand

presenting an uncertain voice
 
faint in the distance

pestering its presence
 
time slowing its pace
but not in charge
of winning the race

 
a family stands fixed inside time

  
a child cries out

a sister screams

as it marches through cells
demanding to conquer
every hope
not yet
dreamed
 
pouring rain

pouring d...

Vertical Binds

seven lines of light

cast a silhouette through my window

on the rise of a hazy dawn

slanted white picket fences

edge through unfulfilled spaces

piercing within my vertical binds

a delicate sway of shadow and play

as a warm breeze floats

like lethargic anchored dingy boats

I exhale a faint whisper into the oblivious

circle of life hovering above

energy awakens and begins its dizzy dance

the sun searches for my presence in this otherwise dim space

a hot touch finds my face

I squint as if staring at the abusive hand

of a dead lover

I recoil in a harsh memory laid to rest

I lay stoic listening for time to move

I step up on a stair spiraling down

to a door of self doubt

that has rotted with age

the hinges have rusted

only a drunken handle is left dangling

She

she always knew
her greyed shape 
would only enjoy
moments
of amber gold and olive

her residence had been a tapestry
of silent tolerance
questioned by fear
of who she really was

she shuffled
from place to place
and back
committing only if she new
a way out

so often
no one really knew of her worth

it would get erased
each time she closed a door

as she often did

for most
she arrived
as a magnificent spark
burning incredible moments
of forever imprints

just as quickly
a candle quivering 
unsettled afterthoughts
to those who tried
to latch to her light

but

she had never lived
what others considered

life

it was an illusion that she
never understood
...

The Decayed Ballerina

calcium yellowed fingernails
scratched against the splint hairs
of a weathered wooden elbow

an impatient clock had sapped
a once supple leather coat
now requiring constant mending
as homeless unravelling posed an inevitable ending

torn pockets spilled over
with a plethora of dead letters

hope had long ago delivered
its final walking papers
without care of return receipt

handmade trees with news of unease
spun unmercifully
into the arms of a brisk fall breeze

birds began their escape
into the mouth of another sun

a slow rise from a gilded throne
on a benched parked seat

a myopic vision of how cracks
are formed on over used and forgotten streets

she walks alone

to nowhere

a decaying ballerina

the place she is seen as most complete...

Fat Bellied Man

Fat bellied man

It seems we have a

Miss

Under

Standing

What you huntin?

Nothing in there for you

The vault is bare

How dare

                     You

          Not

                            Be aware

I was inclined

                                    To go out and dine

             ...

1000 And 11 Steps To The Metro

deciding to take a look
within

scary bones fighting
trying to escape
the ethereal lighting

not ready to accept
the walls of wailed writing

and dim
sounds of angels flying
just outside my window
to places
that pissed my bones to go

So what

i forgot how to see
i’m trying desperately

i know
that
the black bird
that smacked into my head
the other day

sure could

So what

blocks of concrete fever
now just sinking into a lotion
of grey dust

click clack click clap

don’t mask those eyes
sun won't shine today
taste that breath
until it's ready to fly anyway

there's my tribe

bowed heads praying yes praying
into cells
containing minds
...

Heavy Splendor

so there I was hanging out
between the door jam
in between the
crack and sunlight
hoping to grow like the skinny weed
trying to break free of the concrete
to be better for whoever
or worse
but lost that diamond ring actually now
pushing daisies back up
to the sixth floor window somewhere
between the street below and hell if I know
I had carried that mountain for you
wrapped in a big ole lazy bow
and waded for you in heavy splendor
until that day you came home
carrying that poem
and said that I should
plant my own flowers
because you had found
another rose
 

Flow

I watched a glass goblet clean itself in patience of beauty

The tingling ring in sparkle water

was the evidence

of the slow enfold of a flower

I imagined a symphony of open palms

swaying

spreading winged tips

flowing blankets of kindness

caressing

golden light that never flamed

but shined

The measure of humanity

clearly defined