Fountain Of Confessions On Amazon

fountain of confessionsFountain 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!

    Fountain Of Confessions

    Hi Everyone!!

    My 2nd book, Fountain Of Confessions, is going to be available through Amazon this week. I am so excited to share it with you. I am going through my emails for reviewers and getting in touch with some of you if you are still available.

    If you’d like to do a review to post on your blog, I will be happy to send you an e-copy of the new book.

    Thank you all so much for being here. Some of you have been here since the time I started this blog nearly 4 years ago!!!

    I’ll be posting soon. Until then….


    Center Of Time

    Welcome home, a strawberry plant
    grows out back
    for you, but it
    has twisted to fingernails
    to scratch away the bugs.

    It has a heart, ready for transplant.
    I promised to die,
    I admit, I’m in the habit,
    but it just sat in one spot,
    sucking on water cells

    reminding me what it
    would feel like to overheat.
    Now you are here, hiding in
    the desert, my fruit not fertile
    enough for you
    to eat.

    So, you say it’s the center of time,
    one hand holds it,
    the other says good-bye.

    This Sickness

    Sickness comes at interludes, when
    light burns brighter than
    sun stars, when Anger dashes in
    to catch the aftermath.

    We battle for the scenery.
    Touching base, both reaching for
    the flag, for proclamation.

    It is mine. This sickness is mine
    to water or see to wilt.
    I find no fault in either,
    both are stars of polar regions,

    imploding a billion light years away
    from me. I will awake with sweaty palms,
    the enemy dripping down my back.

    I sit in the night, like a sauna,
    saluting the grace of the Gods
    for keeping what is meant for the skies
    quietly away from these hands.

    My medicine will come clockwise, sneaking up
    on me, on little twinkling toes.
    I never miss this time because there is no
    better place to live or to die.

    The Sun Chases The Moon

    I spend a thousand blinks on old memories.
    Each taste like cocaine
    broken teeth, pressing
    truth against my cheek, a cold shock

    like this one – 
    crying on the beach, sleeping in empty sea shells.
    My mother eats her hands,
    choking on emptiness,
    on regret –  I understand,
    then –

    fireflies above my nose.
    Bathing with my naked sisters,
    collecting our shadows full
    of sea water – and with a rush of the moon
    a tip of years comes rushing back
    and I choke, not on emptiness
    but on regret, and I understand
    then –

    it’s the same sun that passed away,
    roasting flames with me on
    Sunday; and what does He do?

    He moves.



    Oh, dear Satan, your delicious
    merchandise finds me

    I am a raw sunflower gasping for
    clean air, for rare light
    to open my thin arms
    and feed my beginning.

    I could be a generous gift,
    a miracle fragrance in the breeze
    of a season,
    but I was stomped deep
    in the Earth, fed on by worms
    before I knew how to dream.

    When dreams slipped in to my feeble
    stem, they were
    manipulated, filling my roots with
    Now, I sleep with deadly seeds
    growing in my brain, too weak to survive
    cold seasons,
    surrendering to dark demons, until
    spring brings back
    the warm light of hope.

    It’s Not December Anymore

    Your good beauty is suffering
    on my nightstand. Here, you are
    gray sand; a sleeping portrait
    framed for mortality, unworthy
    of a name.

    I miss that one sunset. I gathered you
    after the rain;
    a bouquet of loose eyes
    and tight words. My hair curled
    around my face.
    I watched you watch the sun
    burst around my pupils
    and we both wanted…

    you were distinct like
    wet leaves crushed under our feet,
    like stained lips’ plumb kiss.
    Silent admissions were made
    under our spirited breath.
    I inhaled for
    you, exhaled for…

    I did you no wrong.

    We made storms that carved
    time and
    broke wind chimes.
    I painted your hands over mine,
    then erased them.
    You gave up.

    seasons have exchanged
    heated glances; volcanic disregard
    erupted from our mouths, but
    there were not words,

    and silence could have been generous,
    but it was not. Not
    to you,
    nor to I.

    That season has come back and I feel
    the sunset waiting,
    time has dug a cave in
    new clouds.
    I am silent no more,
    my voice is a proud thunder

    I am waiting for you!

    The Twins

    I have been brought a morning in bed,
    yellow hands expand my eyes.
    I rise as a vulture,
    slender billed, nut beaked,
    baking for a sun day.
    The night salted me; an open wound,

    the darkness delivered my twins.
    She was duplicated, the little girl,
    the golden daughter of heroin and hope,
    she was on ice,
    waiting for me, to grow.

    It was a discrete joy, a time to prevent
    a murdered life, to create
    an identical heaven.
    This time, she was mine.

    But, the golden splatter was received
    as the sun rose above
    shadow boxes, as my blemished hands
    become liver,

    and we yellowed.
    With tattered feathers, “we”
    became “I”.
    No duplication.
    No sweet, heavenly replication
    waiting for me, to grow.

    Your Darkness

    Are you just out of mind? Or have
    you lost bed, too?
    I’ll lay you down with straw and
    help catch your rogue.

    The passage to sleep
    is in a cottage, as bare
    as birthed privates, down a
    cottaged street. The seeker has treats
    in that darkness! The darkness
    where we meet.

    You collected loneliness
    in places that I jog in. I
    watched you paint,
    I watched you slice your flesh
    with window,
    I watched you crawl under his
    sheets at night, to
    ward off  the darkness.

    Still it comes, a happy thief,
    painted like a victim,
    no matter your age, it never will
    outgrow you.
    Though, your flowers bloom and
    your pumpkins grow,
    though you scrub light into
    your palms,
    it never will outgrow you.

    I taught you a language, a long time ago, a
    protection from the shadows,
    before sun marked your
    pale skin,
    before your lips touched a sugar breast,
    you were my garden,
    you were my flower;
    a light, all of your own, to light your darkness.

    I Was Born To A Gray World

    I was born to a gray world.
    Void of sunlight.
    Barricaded by ice.
    Hunters have come for me. I watched them
    gobble up
    sisters, a brother,
    and the woman who birthed me.

    I stayed, under rocks, under dirt,
    for sixteen years. I washed myself
    in sin,
    couldn’t come clean.
    Stained with nights that smothered me
    in the devils
    chest hairs.

    My hair grew to the length of
    a woman. Sweeping me
    out from
    the dirt, standing me on
    one foot,
    then two.

    Then, my breasts grew,
    not much larger,
    but wiser!

    For some time, I lived out
    Screaming in sleep.
    Silent during the dull day.
    Grinding coffee beans
    with quiet grips of rage.

    I sliced each strand of woman from
    my head,
    became a man. I cut tears out of my arms
    till I forgot how to
    smashed my head heavy till
    I forgot
    everything else…

    except that the world is gray.

    My hair has grown back out
    to the size of a woman
    and my breasts haven’t grown
    anything but heavy,
    in a heavy body,
    in a heavy gray body.