thunder comes up over the hollow and lays down in the street
circles my yard and peaks at my feet
I try to wake my loved one to make her aware
then I realize that beside me she lays…rumpled here and there
to stay at home or not
no matter… the thunder rounds herself up
she will always be near
…condensed in the snow…as dark and sorrowful as the northern wind will blow…
…only the truth of distrust lies in the shadows…distant as a mother’s touch…
…pain knows I am a fool…no one understands this…better than I do…
…this discomfort…the blink of an icy pond…no longer lingered upon…
…agony taunts me…reminds me of who I used to be…
…pain is a constantly unraveling thread to the tapestry of my soul…
The turn off route 93 had been slight
This is what I remember of the night.
There had been no threadbare child’s strap to encase my dreams.
There had been no traveling movie…to allow normal to be sane.
I remember those star crusted memories as though, I could achieve, I could achieve, I could achieve.
After coming from nap time with Santa and no delivered good to be had.
Remember, remember, the polka dot, the low fashion, the plaid.
Adorable in strawberry blonde.
Cute with a nose like a knob.
These days I do not allow myself to be host.
Santa, with perception, can now be a ghost.
The Formica traced a trail of ruddy tears…to an unnamed room.
Deep inside the tomb…
my oblique glasses held visions of dull switch blades.
Daggers dancing through the corners of my soul like,
bloody sugar canes sent to alleviate my decay.
Sliding between the ceramic maze…
a hell to be razed.
Alas, the vow,
little do your tiny demons know,
it was written long ago,
upon a wall made of cork…
‘straight jackets cannot subdue the heart.’