Idle Moments

Those early mornings
When dark lies heavy across morning
And the rush of life
Takes away the enjoyment
Of coffee steam and sleepy squirrels
By 7 am you’ve sweated and cleaned and watered and laundered
Somewhere along the way
You lost the joys of small things
Passions that once defined you have become
Ancient history
If you had idle moments you would wonder
How the hell that happened
But idle moments
Are ancient history too


There is
a lot to be said
about the little things
& how much
they really mean

the small gifts
that are
a little silly
& a lot sweet
last in your heart

a dancing flower
to sit on your dash
a note on your windshield
for your crappy day
even though
it wasn’t their fault

those things
inside you
where you can pull them up
when you want
to remind yourself that
people can still be kind
can still take time
away from themselves
to be

a friend

The Morning After Wednesday

In the aftermath I sat cross-legged in the shower in desperate need of cleaning & picked at blue toe nail polish that clung stubbornly despite two weeks of age – wondered why I always run – I sat with the water running hot over shivering flesh & dripping from my forehead to the wet & stained tub bottom beneath me – tried to follow each drop – they bled into the wet tub bottom with its stains from hair dye & years of use so beautifully that I lost them in the tears I didn’t have – I tried to smile but the lips wouldn’t work like what happens after the dentist’s office – remembered C.P. from the night before flashing me to get a watery smile from wine stained lips – another smile came because friends will do anything to erase your sadness.

In the aftermath I hugged a trash can stained with green wax & wondered how a stomach with nothing in it can continuously heave – wondered if others definitions of me are more accurate because they are less biased – I like their definitions of me better anyway.

In the aftermath I pulled on sweats & continued with life – thought about repainting the blue I had destroyed – wanted to gather the tears that I couldn’t cry – but I couldn’t.


I like living with other women
Catching a quick look at someone else’s’ interest
To see if he passes approval.

If I move to Seattle
I don’t think my brother would do that.

I bought a birthday card for him two years ago
But never mailed it.

When I look at it on my tack board
I think of the Thanksgiving I went to see him
We made dinner together.

I told him last week that I finally finished reading The Prince
It reminded me of dad.

He said, “Jesus Christ don’t tell him that!”
We both laughed
We were both serious.

The god he made me sits on the black headboard against the blue wall
It seems to fit
Next to empty coffee mugs
Championship buckles
The Bearcat
That stays loaded
Out of habit.

I hang castoff jewelry around its neck
The other women in the house look at it funny
But say nothing.

They are used to me by now.

They went through the new stuff
I got in the mail & laughed in approval
My brother would have freaked
But it would have been worth it.

In the End

Free floating
Away from it all
Lies & blood gone bad on hands
Hotels & deadly powder
White mansions with sinister interiors
To be whatever & whomever
Something never experienced
The novelty awes
Until clouds darken & thunder starts
Realize it was another haunted dream of impossible things
Life will never be the fairytale
Seen too much
Done too much
Some things cannot be forgotten
Follow old habits
Old rituals
Black metal shows three white lines
Soul shrivels a little more on inhalation
Body shivers on its delighted ride
Downer highlights bitter truth
You can never escape ur past
White lines
Past becomes present
Continue down
Twisted path of dark woods
Shadowed faces
Don’t remember why or how
Ignore crazy laughter from somewhere
White lines from the dream
Were as real as the fact they are gone
Yet again
Night falls in the middle of day
Darkens pre-existing shadows
Never leaves

Wondering 2

I wonder if I should sell my horse now before I get attached and then move to somewhere else where it’s too expensive to have him and I am forced to sell him anyway

I wonder why my mother stays with a man she doesn’t love

I wonder how either of them who are great people individually can stand the shadows they become when around each other

I wonder if I should mail them the printed and bound compilation of poetry that I have written in the last two years so that they can know me as a I truly am

I wonder what their reaction to the poetry that their eyes have never touched would be

I wonder if he and I will ever figure things out because he is the one person in my life that has ever made my heart race and my legs go soft and that fascinates and terrifies me at the same time and I wonder if he feels the same way or if it’s just me

I wonder and I wonder but no answers come.

A Touch of Irish

Blame it on the Irish
An urge to see
New places
New things
Not new people
People are never new
Just different
Somewhere else beckons
When I go
Another place will give
No peace
Want to see waves crash on another coast
Glaciers inch along unhurried
Grape fields stretch
Sand singes air with heat & temper
The Irish won’t go away
Regardless of its roots
Won’t leave
One day
I’ll listen.


Time fades away until nothing remains
Chews at life until death replaces it
Sinister truths evade desperate minds
What are we is a better question
Than who are we.

A question of ur chances
Soiled by dirty
Lifeless answers
Misery in tatters & shreds attracts
No pity from above
Nothing from below
You are as far down as is possible
No doubt remains of ur molded heart’s desires
Just of reality.

To be happy
Long fleeting memories
Maybe to stay

What you have here
What you have there
Make a choice of what you want
Can’t have both no matter how much
You wish it
Close ur eyes & decide
Both are gone

Squish the mud between ur toes
Smile at the innocence of the act
Water urges you to enter the current
Too late you realize you can’t swim in its rage
Pulls you down
Blocks out air
Holds you in its iron grasp
You can never escape it.

Time corrodes ideals like rust on metal
Dark diamonds & lightning universes of abysmal nothing
Beckon “come”
Beg “stay”
Use a red bandana to staunch the blood flow
Crimson blood does not show so starkly on red fabric
As on white
Answer questions from the top
Or bottom
Never from the middle.