Confession From Heaven

Confession from Heaven

as you can see
we have potential

although hearts burst out in tears,
locked behind bars, in chains,
against a will of their own,

we carry every blink used
to wipe away the pain,
we stand guard when the Earth
shakes underneath feet full of breath

breathe easy
we have potential
we have not lost the sunlight
of yesterday,
or the smell of a growing world

childhood kisses are fresh on our
souls

we have not passed
we are not the past

we are your honest future
waiting
for our bound hearts
to hold each other
once again.

Fountain Of Confessions On Amazon

Fountain Of Confessions

Fountain Of Confessions is now available on Amazon and Amazon Kindle. I look forward to hearing any feedback on it. Thank you so much!

I Love Her More

She has a name hanging
in a back orchard somewhere.

Cowbells are ringing. I gave it up
like an omelet to a woman married
to perfection.

I am missing limbs for limbs,
heart for heart. Who am I to promise
life to another broken life?

Her name stands on a balance beam
between two tongues, heated tongues,
a melting puddle of ownership.
Where did she come from?
Where does she belong?

Tug-of-war. I own her more.
Someone who should have been born
is hanging in a back orchard somewhere.

I let her go. I love her more.

Old Memories Of Paris, Café Au Latte

Old memories of Paris, café au latte,
iron wrought on a kitchen sink
where she slimmed her figure
on a butcher block.

She dangled like a wind chime,
toes on pointe,
testing the winds and
the Gods on
Wisdom of Love.

Pretty little music box, my doll,
bathing in sunlight
through reflections of The Tower at
dawn. I asked her what she saw.

Her answer was as black as a widow
living off space between sun flower seeds.
I turned to her soul and spoke
to her in cotton,
she understood,
souls always understand what is next,
and why.
I led her to confession.

She rattled all the way,
dangling eight unworthy legs –
shooting silk like
it meant nothing,
because that is all she had ever known.

By sunset, she had dried up.
Everything that she had devoured
had taken over
and spit her spirit out.

DayDream

I can’t have you come back like August
without water. Your limbs shriveled and
cracking, bare knuckled,
moving like a tree
away from fire.

We built moons in the back of Cadillac’s,
coffee black leather seats
trimmed back – to make
room for the
others.

I wore thorns under my skirt, then.
I let the pure taste rise from your voice
and settle on the rhythm that
rocked us into daylight.
For you, sound lined up
and agreed with me.

You will come back like August always does;
a dirty deed to compliment me,
to bring me to naught!
But, the moon sails on
and without it,
I cannot.

Hot For War

I’m not so angry after all
this time, he smells like honey, hot roasting in the damp evening. 
His carpet moves like the sea. I might be breathing, but he’s not. 
His blood is worn out in deep veins, his secret time is up. 
I am not angry this time, he positions himself for love and I watch,
jammed with battle fever, I am hot for war. 
A soldier holds no fear, and there is no time to speak.
He engraves himself with yesterday and I wear him next to my heart.
I am not angry after all
this time. His blood dries up and my ache fades. 
We are both permanent in a temporary place. 

His Name

just the beginning,
slithers off wet lips with charm.

Mockingbirds use many tongues
to sing of slick footprints
stepping in,
stepping out.

At first blush they call,
crested blue, aggressive;
wild for the North,
where dragon fruit merges with devotion;
where I found his name.

We spread together as far as Summer could take us
until we melted into sunspots at the edge of the Earth,
high desert heat drying out our love.

Later, we flew south in high, asthmatic screams;
nocturnal – fugitive.
It is never the first time.
It is never the last.

His after tastes like a razor blade,
but I am a glutton and I cannot
let go of his name.

A Lifetime Of Love

pretty girl in peach giggles
making wishes,
blowing quiet whispers off
wild flowers
pick all the petals you
can find before they die

green ropes soak up air
from my lungs
I wish
I wish in silence
not for me – I am done

but for a lifetime of
blowing kisses in
spring winds,
making giggles grow faster
than wild flowers
and petals that live forever in
the yellow sunburst around
your pupils

pretty girl in my stilettos
wishing to grow and grow
I wish
I wish in silence
not for me – I am done

but for a slow life
of sweet summer banana juice
and rain
a garden of imagination and
when you are done

I wish
I wish in silence
not for me
but for a lifetime of love

Waiting For Me

From the top of the blizzard
with buzzards ablaze,
the reaper stands watching,

waiting for skin to drop
or lungs to fall

waiting for the right moment
to steal fingers imprinted on
the Universe,
hearts beating on the sun,
and moons kissing under the tender lights of love.

He stands waiting, in every dream I dream, where your hands are
more than a memory,
waiting for me.

The Fury Sisters

This desert is muddy today,
rats scamper under fury.
Little girls chew
off November toes. They kneel in provocation, stretched t-shirt
over back yard fences.

Dogs bark like bitches, I count them – they live free
with dirty kneecaps, laughing at me. It is fair, I know.
It’s the clock,
just; disgusting me.

The rats scurry down wet streets
where my sister plays with
spores. I stalk her like cat play
while she plucks
lice from her
eyes.

Her nudity is a familiar tub
where streetlights meet
sloppy abortionists. 

Once, she was me. We shared
charcoal milkshakes and
flirted with shapes of sour
angels. Now, great love,
is dust of dead skin.
She is piles of vomit under
cloistered stubbornness.

In twenty years, I will be solid.
Midnight will dream of my desert
and sick rats walking in
late, chasing yellow
mold across tarred gutters

where her soul growls empty,
nothing to spare.