Category: Misc


What holds us in the still center of the storm,
what force drowns our voices
when we scream our desires
into the void
we know,
how to change
our lives, our world, our selves
this hurricane of fear
spiraling winds,
possible regret
will it forever imprison us
where is our courage to fly,
to risk the unknown eternity
to become who we are

when will we dare
to be free, to taste truth
to love beyond fear


see your face in the leaves outside my window

emerging in the green

clearer in the autumn twilight colors

Those ever present eyes see through my skin

the choice (would I have made it ?)

removed from me

I surrender to their knowing

speaking without fear

I struggle, hearing my own voice

unfamiliar sound, unasked thought

who is it that speaks

who will be here tomorrow

Memory dances thru the leaves

a gust of color floats then falls

it hurts to look

reds that torture and taunt

amber gold of promise

"When ?"

I whisper to the eyes that see my soul

reaching thru the ice glass boundary

for that part of me which lives in the leaves

outside my window


Each morning I weep ashes
taste the fire of injustice that no amount of water
washes away. I face in the mirror
a woman who looks unfamiliar, haunted
by shapeshifting images forming and reforming
in the smoke of her dreams. I touch
her face in the cool glass, wonder
if those scars, burns, and wounds
could be healed by magic
herbs and teas and tinctures,
but she would never allow it.

I brush nightmares from my hair
pulling and ripping tangled visions
until the sting of tears blurs my outline
and I see only color.

After hot bitter coffee
and a breakfast companion who
wears oatmeal as a hat
smiles with the angelic innocence
of love and trust
I begin again
to challenge this world
one fear at a time.

And or Not

There is a small dark part of me that
cherishes my disease of difference.
the tangled weaving of uniqueness
preens in mirrored rooms of my unconscious
dancing feverishly to the drumbeat
of what I am NOT

My body lives in AND
greedy, impatient passion
touching, thirsting for the
cocreative storms
AND more.

For Sale

I tear out pieces of my self
offer them to you
you the client, and you the faceless ones
who spend your attention
in this realm of ether and noise

these shoes, Play this game
the messages scream at streaming speed
burying the beauty, or the pain
that lies, beneath the movement.

do I continue?
pixels for sale, art is cheap
She is five
brilliant and trusting
she has only me.

Diffuse those masks
subdue those emotions
erase those dreams and shift these colors
Its your Money.
Its my soul.

work, my life
there is no difference
demons clawing quicksand
they do not require your permission.
Shred these images,
mark them with your money
you will never see
what lies beneath the watermark.
My work is there
in spite of you.

is five.