How am I supposed to let go?
You can call it a cage
but I know it as my haven
The lights only come through
in slats
from bars that
keep me safe
It’s cold sometimes
but my shivering
won’t bother anyone else
down here
But to be honest
I despise my own company
And this voice
her voice
my voice
is becoming too much
She remembers everything
their angry faces
their pressing hands
Sticks and stones
do break bones
but those can mend
Words are like knives
cutting holes and
leaving scars
So what do you do
when all that
is gone?



Wings must be an awful thing
leather & cord & bastard ambre
or isoflurane blue
It’s not like there are jackets
for that sort of thing
To conceal buoyancy?
To keep flight a secret?
They must grow heavy over time
like long hair, wet with shampoo
tipping your chin up
like a pendulum
swinging towards
Would I do it?
Could I fly?
Afraid of heights, but not of falling
Falling, I’ve done.
Fear, I’ve known.
& heights…
That’s just perspective, isn’t it.


If I lit a candle
on this sleepless night
would you wake?
There’s so much
I could tell you
if the words hadn’t been
The wind on the sill
whispered the steps
to a movement
that only you know
That only You’ve ever
Such that this glow
in the dark
might lead me to trip
Can’t this body
sprout wings
so that one day
I’d catch up
And before you
I would bow
and ask, finally,
“Would’st thou dance with me?”


Or cowardly
Depends on the day
(and the years of refuse
circling the drain)
Is it bravery?
To take it in silence?
Or is it just
It hurts like hell
the verbage, the blows
the sickening crunch of realization
that I am NOT rubber
nor are you glue
We are both flesh
as much as I hate to
have something in common
So it’s just pain
at the end of the day
I understand now why you do it
Because you’re addicted
to addiction
to distraction
from the truth
You. are. not. a. worthwhile. person.
How’s that for passive.

wait your turn

you’ll need a ticket
there’s quite a line
each one’s got a different complaint
“cold” “monster” “how could you”
“liar” “not good enough” “who are you”
so much saliva goes into
spitting insults
doesn’t your mouth
ever get dry?
no, I bet you always have
a pocketful of lozenges
all labeled with
different complaints
i wonder if you’ll realize
that gavel is no more
than a hacking ax
and you’re no glorified queen
no tamer of dragons
but a mother, oh yes
with dried up teats and
grudges to keep you