I'm a lot of things. But for the time you read this, you can call me yours :)

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


Tonight, the DJ’s got us falling in love again. . .
I ushered your noise into existence.
My basket-woven flesh tingled at your presence
my wooden legs stood tall as stone towers and my fingertip
rode along ridges and valleys of vinyl until both hummed your heartbeat.
You made me fingerpaint with the colors of the wind in the corner of the family room.
Somewhere, beyond the sea
your hands found my memoirs stacked like a stairway to Heaven in the basement.
They lay on the plastic rack that sagged until its two backs arched in ecstacy
and you talked to me in croons and songs about low-tide.
Every night, I sang you lullabies,
cradled you until the dust danced for a room empty save for your breaths
and in those days, the biggest worry was if you finally wore that Raffi record straight down to the bone.
I shone, in the corner of the family room
Stevie Wonder tickling my ivories
Charlie Daniels caressing my skin
Jam Master Jay playing with my mind until I spoke in tongues
but time will seal all things
and the popping faded
the dust settled
and I stood as a queen’s guard.
I guess
you weren’t my prince any more.
Middle school
Prom. . .
Somewhere over the rainbow. . .
You brought her down here. Hand on hip, firm grip and gaze to your shoes.
Clicked the Stacy Adams heels together 3 times
There’s no place like home there’s no place like home there’s no place like home
and then you look up to her face and realize there never was
setting the floor on fire, cutting rug until my grooves became grooves
and my life had purpose again.
Can we get much higher?
Do not ask questions to which you do not want the answer.
Shots of whiskey
Shots of friendly fire
The shared syringe
The unemployment line
Seasons don’t fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun or the rain. . .
What is it about you that makes you break so many silences and never heal them?
A child never forgets his first toy and we played
and talked
and wept
and slept
and now the room is empty save for your breaths,
fast and ragged on the front porch.
Home is the place
where if you have to go there they have to let you in.
This isn’t home anymore.
I watched you crying in the rain
would break to make the cacophony to blow out a window
I’m sorry
my volume knob does not go to 11
I’m sorry
I can only speak in others’ inspirations.
Strumming my pain with his fingers. . .
One time, you got your hair fixed. Beard trimmed. She told you
she found a new dance partner and you imagined her
clutching his back like a B-side bearing all his back-masking.
Singing my life with his words. . .
2 times the dosage, swallowing pills and swan songs until hope floats and you capsize it.
Killing me softly with his song, killing me softly, with his song. . .
I never asked to be somebody’s funeral march.
For 38 years, I taught you needles should scratch the surface
like the fingertips of a safecracker,
not break through vinyl
or crack through barriers
sending brains into overdrive, neurotransmitters skipping like a broken record
fight fuck flee
fight fight fufuckfuck flee
fleeeeee fight fuck flee
Skip, I was collecting these discs to make another backbone
in case you ever needed it.
But there is some brokenness even angel song cannot fix,
some beasts that music cannot soothe.
Carry on my wayward son,
There’ll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest,
Don’t you cry no more.

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