the man on juniper hill.

an alphabet poem from 2007.

After she was left and gone, he
Backed away, and fell onto the red plaid
Chesterfield. As he looked up, a chickadee
Drew up to the window, down from the crumbling
Eaves of his peeling, rotted house.
For years now, he had waited, for
Good or bad,
He couldn't yet say.
In his made up mind, it was all alright, but here, on the top of
Juniper Hill, in the light of the moon, without
Knowing how, he had
Lost himself to his
Mind. Now his paranoid mind pulled him away, deaf to the screams of
NO silently ringing through the
Open midnight air,
Penned up by the moon. His
Queries continued to confuse and
Razzle the friendly neighborhood police,
Stopping them in their
Tracks, leaving them scratching their
Unhaired heads. This
Very day, his
Words had pierced them like an
X-ray in an operating room.
Why? they asked, as he fell, dying in the air, the roundness of his stomach a
Zero on the concrete floor.

heart monitors.

how can i tell you
that my strength
is failing.
all at once,
in a sudden
shudder of my lungs.

they gave out twice before,
and i might not have recovered.

if not for...
if not for what?!
if not for nothing.

i know this life
is not my own,
i am afraid of it.

how can i tell you
that this does
not lessen my fear,
only makes it bigger,
because it's one more
heart to lose.

my denial is slowly
catching up with me,
i'm afraid.
but i cannot
tell you what this means.

you are my silver lining,
my apollo, my adonis.

but how can i tell you,
that even that way,
i don't know
if i can hold on.

these bleary eyes.

her eyes were hazel,
that much i remember.

she made it hard to look at anything else.

she was younger than me,
knew more of the world
than i ever would.

i knew i had to let her know,
that the times without her
were the hardest thing to go through...

i knew i couldn't last much longer.

every time she touched me,
it burned my skin,
because i knew, and she knew,
that she did not truly care,
she simply ran her fingers
down my spine,
softly touched my face-
just to see my look.

this woman makes me cry.
and i can't last much longer,
now that i'm without her.

your life.

my city burns like fire,
heedless of its dangers
heedless of the troubles
that it causes.

it is a trouble,
my city.
it is killing me,
and it does not need a reason.

this universe is bigger
than the stars,
and it's eating
all your souls.

there will be nothing left,
nothing left of skyscrapers
or towers, or long metal bridges,
when i'm through with it.

does it open its heart
to anyone?
or is it cold,
like steel?
it turns us all to stone
with just one look,
one glance.

this is real,
this is cold.
it is killing me,
at the same moment
it is dying itself.

boom bang baby.

my future does not change my past,
will not make me weaker,
by staring this in the face.

i realize the rain makes
these things heavier,
and what i carry
will grow deeper,
more important.

i wipe this look away,
because you look like you're not ready yet.
you are hell to help -
this is not a question.
i don't think it ever was.

i will give what i give,
despite what
you tell me.
you can whisper your lies,
i'm no longer listening.
i don't think i ever was.

i will not let my future change,
despite the things you say,
i will not let you change
my future.

sestina sestina.

Sestina from 2007

your silent truth roars like the river
breaking down the dam of lies your mind houses,
taking root in early winter and sprouting like a tulip.
this truth is too old and brittle for your mind to hold,
but in its glory is as beautiful as a shooting star
that flashes through the sky, like a petticoat.

your silent untold truth has now become a grown up petticoat.
look at her standing on the corner, as loud and graceful as the river
that runs through the city. one day, she says, she will be a star.
she will be rich and famous and own many houses.
she says this to you, and also that she wants to hold
her father’s hand. like she did when she was young, when he gave her tulips,

her favorite flower. now the yellow of the tulips
glances off her walls and onto the hidden layers of her petticoat.
this precious moment you have of her is the most wonderful thing held
in your mind’s eye, with her sitting in the corner, with the river
sounding through the window. roaring through the streets of houses,
it seems as near as it is, and as far as the stars.

you feel like shouting your truth to the stars,
those cold unfeeling stars, as yellow as the sun-dried tulips
sitting on your daughter’s kitchen table, in her big empty house.
on the wall is a black and white photograph of a girl on a swing, you can see her petticoat
as she pumps her legs and swings back and forth, as wild as the river
behind her, longs for her to hold

just like you long for your little girl to hold
in your arms, your little star
she walks with you along the riverbank
as she walks, she picks up tulips
from among the flowers, coloured petticoat red
to keep in her empty house.

when you look at her house,
you wonder how long she fought to hold
it in her eyes, so she could wear a petticoat
alone under the burning stars.
blossoming nebulas of interstellar tulips
running through the milky way river.

the house of your little star
pulls you in and holds you like it did the flowers, the tulips, while the petticoat drifts slowly down the river.

[uhb-skyoor]

Obscure. -adjective
1. indistinct to the sight or any other sense; not readily seen, heard, etc.; faint.
2. inconspicuous or unnoticeable: the obscure beginnings of a great movement.

this is a thought that feeds on my mind,
creeps over the
thoughts i'm told matter most.

sometimes it gets to be too much,
and i stop,
and the thought comes
"This is not my mind."

this is hidden, it is obscure,
these thoughts are inconspicuous
(or unnoticeable) even to me.

they are notes in a melody,
ones you do not notice
until they disappear.

this is the way it's always been,
the way it always will be.

i cannot see it,
i cannot hear it,
but these thoughts,
in the mind that is not my own,
they make room
for the mistakes.

and yet,
it continues to hide in the
shadows,
behind the lights.

soon now,
i will let it know.
these mistakes are not my own.

broken promises.

just like me,
the wind runs.

runs like the ocean,
because i do not know his name.

he whispers in my ears,
he knows my secrets,
my truths.

he taunts me,
tells me i will never
know anything of his life.

he whistles now,
shouts at the sky.
he cannot get out,
so he runs.

he begs the sky to let him go,
to let him swim the oceans.

but the sky is holding him
too tightly.
the sky is afraid of a love
too big for her,
because the wind
is afraid to love her back.