congratulations

a fox hangs in the notch between my collar bones
painted on a small glass tile
he is the cruelty in the glance over my shoulder
the sin behind my smile
the sly-er, sleeker version of the ash cross
on my forehead

a more mature version of myself
the reformed and saved
refined and 'changed'
will one day remove the dangling fox
from it's dangerous closeness to the heart inside my ribs
replace the childish arrogance of display with
shame
and remorse

delicate the ferocity of cynical delight
quiet as skilled paws on the forest floor

poisonously elegant the coy remarks of a still-proud ghost
deceitfully gentle as the soft snout that curtains fangs

a fox rests heavy on bone
claws not quite ready to crush

resting in the notch between my collar bones

yellow dress

I fell asleep
in my yellow dress
hours after choosing it
to impress
them


no quality of garments
could improve my rest
and my empty bed's a funny place
to invest
them

maybe just as stark
my other attempts
an empty hand's another funny place
to test them

even nights like this
the ones that left you carefree
laughing
even they exist
only in their brief
passing

the simple truth is this
very few have ever
done it
started out in bliss
to find the end is never
coming

CVP

Rock your heels on the edge of a step
Unhurried descent
Into the gap between
Soft and unthreatening like the blurred horizon of a grassy hill
All can remember the itch of grass on sandaled feet
But this is your stride
The choice of your feet stepping gently and unthinkingly into the itch of stalks and stems
Amidst the gap between…
The earth is packed hard
Others have gone ahead
But this is the scuff of your tread
And the dirt you scatter in your shuffling
Note the beetled air and the shades of brilliance caught in each minute’s blue
Twist your heels into the dirt to feel the grit of your new platform
An uneven sort of solid
formed
Rock your heels
Feel them, now that they’ve been set to motion
Dismantled from the perch
Atop the edge of a step
Into the gap between

colder

you know the brilliance of it
that sure footed fleeting that makes me want

to quit speaking

and your blaringly Hellenistic beauty
sharp jawed ferocities canvasing flawlessness
even your painted smiles makes me want

to ration my own

the wolves have shed the sheep's clothing
traded them for long
sleek
jackets and patterned leggings down to the
tall
leather
boot

the fangs are gone and the only threat
is the deep scar carved into the straightness of my posture
and the strong confidence in the way i held my neck

bones won't break though they will shiver
flesh in tact; though it will cool to a perplexed and fidgeting
disturbance
something turbid under stillness

something fierce and gruesome in the thick of the wild
about to blood-stain the pristine glitter of fresh snow
and spoil it with crimson beauty that far surpasses
the natural

you know the brilliance of it

everything that is out of reach and exquisite in its composure
blindingly unfamiliar like the brilliance of red
statuesque in its beauty

and far

far

colder than i can ever

hope
to be

confession

all cynicism aside

mine will be different
where the heels of hard-worn shoes have smoothed the grain of old wood
and birds lift tenderly from rafter to rafter as though they are nothing more than shadow and light

dust thick spaces
making air lucid and visible in beams of light
like lace and vellum parchment

and maybe i won't say
i
do
as others
do
but there will be thunder and anxiety held back in the slightest touch of my toes to the floor towards some stage-like corner
invisible pulpit
and the energy that shakes in my smile will say
"i give it up"
At last

and i will inhale deeply
the way i do when the air quenches some trembling joy between my ribs and lungs

spiritual

nothing less

only the miracle drug is worth
distracting
diverting
submitting
my wanderlust
wonderlust

lonely and aimless is not a good enough reason


yes i want it: that slow-motion dance in the dim of the morning
under the eyes of the Witness
but not the desperate way a runner wants a cool drink of water
i want it the way the painter
wants just the right shade of hue for the patient brush
or she won't put a single stroke upon the canvas


no one will fulfill my needs
there is One who already does that all too sufficiently
but someone
perhaps
one day
will fulfill my
beauty

i speak like some to and fro past has me world-wizened and cynical
laughing smugly at the dreams of young
but the truth under the bark

though i don't need it
or long for it

there's a young part of me
seeking

the miracle drug