Let ivy grow over my grave.
Let God make my body
a joy, a beauty; and a testament
to His power.
Make a place for birds to
nest in my headstone,
so that I may look back
and see new life
following my own.
SeashellsI found a matched pair
Of broken seashells.
They were halved, but not from the same whole.
Each orange half-moon had been trampled
By a careless tourist with eyes only for the waves;
Each had been bored through and gnawed at from the inside
By some seafaring worm;
Each had been beaten by water and stone,
Battered by wind, tossed by the gulls.
Their tips had been worn down to points like wings.
It was as thought hey flew together and met in my path.
I threaded wire through them to make earrings,
So that the pair would never be apart.
Ella Violo - Chapter 2Ella liked autumn. The sun didn't rise too early or too late, and the air was still warm while gaining an air of crispness. She rose on the morning of the thirteenth with an enormous yawn. A mouse in the corner echoed her sentiment.
"Good morning," she said to the little creature. The mouse skittered back into its home in an old holey chest against the wall. "Gotta get a cat," muttered Ella as she threw off her blankets and poked Tomas and Alejandro awake.
Maria was already up and about, frying eggs in the kitchen. She was only two years older than Ella, but she already looked like a mother. Her brown hair was tied up in a messy knot at the base of her head, and smile lines were appearing around her red lips. The smallest thief, a four-year-old boy with quick fingers, clung to Maria's apron as she swept around the room, stirring bubbling pots of porridge and soup.
"Up already, Ella? Must
SistersWe are the worriers, the wishers
on low-flying Boeings, willing them up and
away from our homes and businesses.
We found ourselves in old England in
New England, winters with no heat and
summers of more weight.
We see love in white and wrinkled faces,
in cupcakes and pencil boxes, in train schedules
and in ordinary time, cut time, and thyme patches.
We may sit quietly but we will never be
silenced save by shouts and each other's
We were the perfect girls, and we are the working
women of east and west, the white North,
wit and will and worship.
Panick 3Do you ever worry about going mad, Mother?
I do. It started one day
when my mind stopped sounding like poetry
or conversation. The transitions rambled.
I found that my head was off-kilter, or my eyes
wanted blue and red more than usual. Did you
ever feel that, Mother?
I had hoped it would go away, but internal
monologues don't stop when the script does.
The crazy, I mean. Why does
it linger? I would think that better minds
than mine need the twisting. But what if
we all went out of our heads for a while?
Could that fix things? If we could forget,
maybe problems would vanish like the ponies on the highway.
Wouldn't they? Like the posies? I've never
seen a posy, Mother.
Ella Violo - Chapter 1Chapter 1
So, you want a story? How about The girl who grew up too fast? Its one of my favorites. I know, youve heard it before, but theres so much you can learn from it. Especially if you want to grow up to be like me. Dont give me that look, Tomas, I saw you watching my hands on that job earlier. Good thieves dont come from nowhere.
Here goes. But you only get part of it tonight. Weve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow and you lads need your sleep.
Once upon a time, I had a little family. Just me, my Papa, and my Mami. We lived in a modest house in Caligari territory. Papa was a merchant, and Mami sewed and cooked. She and her friend Amelia made the most beautiful things with linen and lace, and Papa sold them to traders from Castille. I went to the market with him one day, when I was about four,
The Space Between DreamsI walk between the land
of gods and monsters
searching the space
between light and shadow
for a familiar face.
Every angel wears the
face of a demon
because Good and Evil
is all an illusion,
we all dream our own
Prostrate before the tree of life
here the Holy Grail waits,
Odin's own drinking cup,
this is where the seed
of knowledge begins.
The shaman knows
death and life are only
shades fading in and out
along the spiral which they
first dreamed into existence,
the place where all endings
and beginnings meet as one.
Wake in VegasIf I could drink you from the sky tonight
I would -
drink the brown bourbon blackness
with stars for ice -
as the moonlit-salty neon line
separates the land
from the lonely battered void.
I'll raise a glass to the sky tonight
while the neon splits and the world crashes through
like a broken neck
see me praying you were here - through tumbleweed canyons
through all the static porno waves
that crowd the space between us,
and in swollen spite
watch me clean my bony drunken theatre
of all your hungry, truant atoms.
Fear ebbs - a sober starlight wakes me
cold - inside paltry sobs
I gather you like kindling from the ground - tossed polaroids
in the wind
stack you upon your pedestal
with you watching down
through all this madness
through the bleached love/guilt curtains
like an angel.
Watch me drink to you in the sky tonight
with me still caught in this thickening land
like a quantum boxed-in slave,
like Schroder’s cat, like I might be alive
but I might be dea
The Anarchist SermonI like the silent church before the service begins, better than any preaching.
What fruit is left on Sunday morning?
Days have past since the last idea
to hear the pitch of life saw light.
The children pawn their sinew off
on unexamined vessels.
We gather up our thirsty voices
and watch as they are driven off
into the moorings of our hovel.
If I would teach them nothing more;
“savor this, these delicate miles”
until we sit along the pews
and stare into the quietus.
Pandora's CrackI breathed in a little dose(s)
of caster sugar and cocoa dust
before I leaped
I dove in ear-deep
to castrate this soured identity
"Who I am"
will no longer associate itself
"was" and "had been"
The rust that ran through my shackle
could not wear my ankle bones
nor the wings tucked in between
I licked off my salt-covered wounds
-all that once burned me, cured you
I will be my own
salve and salvation
This time I
the moons of mighty Neptune
Congenial LoveSomething resounds in me,
In my silence,
Infinity here and now.
It is you
Who is in me.
When I think of you,
When I feel yourself as mine,
Then I enter another world,
Where absolute silence prevails.
There, everything is different.
Is a gift.
It is inexplicable,
I feel this perfect silence in me
That seems to be everything.
And time and space become
Needs no words
It is beyond
Space and time.
From the significance of
Safety and certainty
Springs inner peace.
Is everlasting happiness.
Of you –
Given up for lost –
Dawns slowly up
In my silence.
seraphs and sinsyou can see that
this is a give-and-take warzone,
but somehow, we made it
a give-or-devour domain
and i'd tell you you were
beautiful in every language
known to humankind
if i could,
but there is no such word in your
book, only lists for
ranks of each side:
angel or demon,
succubus or cambion,
creators or destroyers,
weakness and strength,
the broken and the never-been-broken
the sad and the exulting
god forbid you ever decide
that keeping me
around was worth the fight
'cause if you wanted me,
there would have
been a word for love in that
you never untie from your cloak
(funnily enough, there was
never any mention of my race
in that little red book of yours)