Motherf*cking Encouragement

Not going to let me stop
let me drop out of the moment
or cancel my subscription.
Not going to let me tear out the pages
give in to rages more spectacular
than not
Not going to tell me the answers
or dance around the cast
of characters you know I need to see
Not going to take away my direction
arrest my inflection of thought
or take my power from me,

are you?


From you, I sought, I want

From you I sought instruction
the transfer of flora to canvas
the transfer of minds onto surface

I wanted your instruction.

From you I sought understanding
the development of my change
the communication of your needs

I wanted your understanding.

From you I sought community
the sharing of like feelings
the caring of our hearts

I wanted your community.

From you I sought intimacy
the spilling of my blood
the painting of my trees

I wanted your intimacy.

I wanted those trees we brought into being
I wanted you to be there when they came out of me
I wanted your eyes to be the first to see
I wanted you to know a deeper part of me.

Shareable Sister

Altars are not unique
no invention of mine to exalt or extinct.

The world celebrates this day in an infinite amount of
necessary or neglect

and yet

you and I, shareable sister,
celebrate the same in our fate.

Indistinguishable at times, other than
the larger than life one’s mate.

We cannot even unique our way in our call,
as the syllables uttered to our face
are the same.

Inevitable, we share our hearts
we share our length and breadth of bearing
our undivided and insatiable parts
our outlooks and unlimited caring.

In darkness we both hold out our arms
in light our laughter runs unchecked
our hearts beat madly at the blink of his eyes

Our yin and yang pulling together to make
his world.

Scatter us to the sides of the universe
and he would stretch his limbs to the point of breaking
his torture voluntary

He would overextend his reach for me
if it meant he could hold onto you

His endeavor admirable but unnecessary
because the universe of our axes



I’m shifting,
a coiled wire of writhing,
stretched like a slinky from edge to edge, waiting for you to walk through me
But you never do
You unhook me from each edge, recoil me
return me to my natural shape
and rest me on the countertop.

You don’t dump me in a box of odds and ends
or shove me in a drawer
You don’t coil me as tightly as I can go and try to thrust me back into the box
I came in

You set me next to the window, the light shines onto my pliable
The air slinks through my slats
I can feel you smiling from here.

I want this shift to change me, the nuance of nestled between understanding
and understatement
I want the change to shift me, from old to new
from carotid to cauterized
from matter to energy
to substance.

Canvas of Choice

Sometimes I get
why the lazy shut out the town
of creation and reason and motivation

why they crawl onto the couch
and nurse their second draught of despair
and tv their way into the dawn

instead of dripping blood on their canvas of choice.

It is easier to be miserable
than to be free.