Love-Laced (poem)

Our fingers laced in a warm crochet of human flesh,

leaving me able to recall lonely trembling hands,



wrapped around nothing, cracking in the cold air.

and before that, holding a book.  One hand thumbing



pages--passing proverbs.  The other, spread, across

the spine: pinky and ring working to hold up the bulk,



pointer lying flush against the cross indent in the cover,

trying to figure it out like a braille cell.  Still unsuccessful.



The day began hunched in thought over a desk,

light from a computer screen illuminating my chest



pumping so that I may know the answers, forgetting

constantly of their nonexistence.  My hands hold my head



from hanging too low.  A prop to hold my chin up 

so lethargy can wait until nightfall, and I may rest then.



Underneath our soft protective awning my arm looms

over your body and my fingers stretch once more,

and find the woven cradle that holds the only thing

of which I'm sure.

Pen and Paper (poem)

No god could show me what my mother did...
a heart to roll out, but god forbid,
I show any weakness or the clouds will roll In.

No hopes and prayers to keep me from sin,
just my own slice of heaven created
from paper and pen.

And I paint thoughts of heaven that I pulled from a whim,
a dangling idea cast down from within.

No fire and flame to make my life feel grim
and devil to rule and scare the children.

No light to approach in a tunnel so dim,
connecting heaven and earth with an idea
so thin.
The real light that guides flows from
paper and pen.

Hate (poem)

My attempt at describing a feeling...another request poem.


A dark blot of ink sinks into my chest
a dot...
hardly even a visible spot, but
with every breath it grows.
Oily, shiny sludge in my heart.
Lungs pumping harder, heavier
while the dot is gaining volume
becoming thicker and my mentality:
sicker and sicker and sicker.

And my eyes fill veiny red
instead of tearing,
which is in relation to sadness...
but this is not...this inner slimy
sludge is simmering and
consuming.
This is sadness plus a violent
push.
This is out of my hands
and in yours.