5 AM

Five-o-clock comes early
day light is reluctant
even when eight hours
was enough

cats scratch at a crack
they know the routine
almost better than myself

when the warmth of bed layers
starts a battle with snooze buttons
the toss and turn of the sheets
finally settles into a secure arm
wrapping itself around
the most
inopportune time

5am is early
when his chest is
more comfortable than the pillow
when the deep rhythm of his heart
more soothing, alluring than
the most hypnotic of sounds

the air feels almost arctic
so early that coffee
isn't even worth the effort

5am is early.
5am pays the bills.

When Dreams Interpret Themselves

I could charge Circe De Sole admission
for such chaos could not be choreographed
but under the ruse of beauty,
There must be a master.

I'm late leaving work.
Classic frustration.
Textbook stress.
Millions of things stopping me
from my goal. Will I get coached?
I wasn't supposed to be here anyways.
I slip, trip, and fall
and teach old people new things
and rush and rush and rush
but get no where
walking under ladders
and around puddles
seeing lightning and familiar faces

My mind knows this is a farce
But humors the stagehands
with a traveling act
amazing how many people
can fit on this stage
that wasn't here the last time I turned around
But now I move with a purpose
to be first against the railing
separating spectators and performers
in this street show.

The lights dim
we all hush
fidget
become still
then


Too many things to look at once.
I must ignore some
focus on other
There are people in a box
Judge/Jury/Executioner/Accused
All crying out for help
People I know
reaching for my arms
Puritans, Indians, clowns
I hate clowns
All running and turning
around without a purpose
An old friend looks around desperately
he screams
"I'M GOING TO COMMIT SUICIDE! SEE?!"
and lifts a page tied

around his neck with a string

An old lady

with running makeup

blond hair piled high 

and falling in tired pieces

sits slumped at a school desk crying,

"I'M SCARED! I'M ALONE! 

Another wanders through the crowd
White robe falling open
dazed and confused
as a still drugged rape victim

Boys dressed in black
stand still and staring among
the constant movement
strobe lights flash
colors fade in and out
they are unmoving

Until they all disappear
and then start marching
flipping
cartwheeling
walking on their hands
in a great moving grid

chimes and bells simultaneously
speeding up
and slowing down
to tinkle into the rapid crescendo
of an end.
Everything
pirouettes into the air
hanging on an easy breath
and pauses in a prolonged moment
of perfectly posed stillness

As I leave the arena
clumsily tripping over air
and stairs and climbing
awkwardly placed fences and rails
just to make my way to the parking lot
where a slew of kids are playing naked
in a cage
while their parents wave for a bus.

After all, I didn't want to stay this late anyways...


Why was I in such a hurry?

A young Asian boy smiles
the soft and shy flirty smile
that says,
"I've noticed you,
now you've noticed me
we'll probably never speak
but I'll think of you a lot..."
Have I seen him before?
Mayhaps he was next to the mute
with a similarly silly grin and
nothing but grunts
as I tumbled down after the show
onto his shoes

An old boss calls me
interupting this moment between strangers.
WHY?
It's been years since we spoke
Am i thinking of her?
or she of me?

I still know you're all hanging there by threads

finished in a floating swan 

downward facing dog 

with MC Escher's stairs all tucked under your arms

like brief cases 

disguised as an elegantly suspended thoughts 

ready to resume with the cut of the string

but the chaos that will ensue 

will never again be the same as it was 

for those two minutes on stage

which was probably three hours of REM

I almost forget

Sometimes when I call,
I almost ask my mom
how are you?
I haven't called you in so long

I know your house is empty,
but it haunts my dreams
playing host to more
than birthdays and christmas

Your face is a ghost

watching silently from the walls

lasting memories of happiness

cheering on my own

I remember

my mother

attempting to cultivate interest

In all things green.

I remember trekking

through woods

searching for

dry land fish

or rare wild flowers

with heavy feet and

long dramatic sighs

sitting on rotting logs

as chiggers and ticks

Made me host.

I remember planting a ring

around a bird bath

but losing the interest

and dedication

to water

or weed

And eventually just forgot.

I've killed a cactus.

Not once.

But twice.

After promises that it was

Virtually impossible.

But I'm trying.

The birthday daisies

Aren't dead yet.

And the tomatoes I got

just this week

aren't lonely

or sad a

Or soft yet.

Just need a new bed

To rest their roots.

I'm trying to fertilize

this black thumb of death

into something more productive

now that I have a few more rings

On my own trunk.

Accident

Every time I see lights turning red

I resist the temptation to

speed on through,

hoping that maybe

some unobservant driver

in a hurry

speeds off the line.

As I sit patiently

waiting my turn,

I watch my tiny fiberglass bubble

skidding across the intersection,

wrapping itself around

the steel grill

of some old indestructible carriage,

heavy with time.

I can almost hear

the sound of my own head

smacking against the window,

feel the warm red stickiness

bleeding into my vision.

Its hard not to tempt fate.

Driving fast on those

dark roller coaster rural roads.

Especially in Fall.

Knowing somewhere there is a

many pointed buck

leading his lady across the road.

I find myself wishing to see

the proverbial

"deer in the headlights."

I can almost sense my muscles reacting,

the surge of adrenaline,

swerving at the last second.

A second too late.

I can hear the tires squealing

in protest

against the change of inertia.

Centrifugal force

pinning me to my seat

to watch with

anticipating gleeful horror

an antler or maybe a tree branch

shatter through the windshield.

But I drive on wondering,

what its like

gasping for air

through a punctured windpipe

and choking on your own blood

when no one is around.

Is a mind like this

still under warranty?

My car may have full coverage

but my body does not.

Unless you count a body bag.

Language Barrier

We sit in silence,

me only slightly uncomfortable,

in the palatable air.

Because what do you say

to someone

when you hate small talk,

and that someone's presence

in your life only adds up

to less than a year?

Less than a month.

Maybe less than the hours in the week or

your number of yearbook photos?

Sometimes silence is better

than trying to decipher

broken english,

or staring blankly as they

babble on in native tongues

more eloquent than my own.

Neither of us really trying

to understand the other

because it will be years

or maybe just months

before we meet again.

This silence is golden,

the only unilingual here,

and everyone speaks it

but not frequently,

awkwardly,

and it only softly says

"I'm sorry."

If these walls could talk

would they tell me of the tears

shed from my absence?

Of the longing families feel

for lost daughters?

Would I even be able to understand?

or only nod acknowledgment in

with appropriately cued inflection?

Bees

evil insects
necessary of botany
you haunt my dreams still
even though unwarranted
since we rarely had a run in
or should I say sting in
I remember that time
running barefoot through the yard
just trying to help my grandmother
by taking out the trash
early summer heat drew you out
for sweet dandelions.
I probably hurt you more
considering my country feet
were your death sentence
I tried hard not to cry
as i dumped a bag as large myself
and hobbled back to my grandpa's lap
so he could spit out a
warm wad of his favorite tobacco
to waste between my toes

Or how bout that time you got my cousin?
I was a bit older
grimaced at her shrill shriek from the pool
I remember the bittersweet slime
streaking my teeth
grinning at my mother
who dared me to chew this time
someone had to take the sting out

but your innocent accidents
aren't what haunt me
but your ducking and dodging
and the promises from my father
that you wouldn't attack
as i stood paralyzed on our porch
petrified, holding my breath
eyes squeezed shut
trying to find some little bit of courage
to sprint off the porch
past those large swinging archs
where every now and then
you would pause
to hover right in my face
almost as if taunting
I wanted to smack you right from the air
but could never over come
the fear of your fury

I know now you don't even have a stinger.