The Color of Dusk

When I was a child
I wanted to tell the angels
invisible in their gossamer dresses
to shake loose the kernels of meaness
from my tormentor's heart
and feed them to pigeons
with purple breasts that
hung out in the shady churchyard.I wanted to reach into the sky
and eat the color of dusk
for I was sure that I would
turn into something
graceful and shimmering
as beautiful as the moon; not ready to believe that
I was forever trapped
in this deformed body
my useless legs hanging,
not about to run anytime,
anywhere soon.

Tall Windows

You live where flowers twist
into strange patterns on the wall,
tall windows protect you from
silence that crouches and
shadows that fall.
When the horizon shines just right
and the night wind blows lonely and fast
grand prayers flow from your tongue
and God bends toward you at last

Smoke Curls

Filling the blue room
cigarette smoke curls around
light hearted laughter,
the regulars comment on
how it all worked out for the best,
I watch their giddy self importance
through the eye of my pen
sip my smooth black coffee
and miss you, my friend.

(First published inMiPo Poetry Zine)

"Baymont Inn"

hours later we switch
from this bed to the one on the left
you drown in my surges and my deeps
minutes are intensely splendid paragraphs
to keep