TheCourtRose

His skin is cold on this cold winter night The longest night is too long Blue and bloodless You hold vigil a thousand miles away for the man who once held you high It could've been you instead in his frost covered grave The tracks of a thousand regrets line his lifeless limbs One path too many I am here, wishing I was there Not for him, but for you because it could've been you It may have been you It could still be you Tears are ice down my cheeks I am helpless tonight to help you and I hate every moment of this longest night Winter ground and fallowed fields, frozen lakes and forded rivers stand between us Never has there been so much distance before Yet I can feel you weeping and tearing in my chest The cold catches clouds from your mouth and puffs of air blow through me You are in me You have always been in me If you follow him to the grave I will not be far behind For the sake of us both, please live Forge a different path and lay different ...

Wicked, tripping, useless words I cannot abide them today So when you slip inside me No please, no thank you No here, no, no there Only want and need When my spine arches, you'll know I want you When my toes curl, you'll know I need you When I come hard, clenching and surrounding you I'll kiss away the words tumbling on repeat from your lips Wiping them against the paleness of my belly There they will stay and dry, for a later day When I actually care to see them

How did your voice already become soundtrack? All at once this song rumbles and humbles me A floating, free-falling baritone thrumming in the background So quickly, this music begins I cannot let you be the melody but neither are you simply a rhythm for me to dance upon You can be my harmony, though and between the two of us we can cover all of sound together

Her half smile looks on and no one meets her gaze Trapped in feaux '60s Paris We all know acrylic and canvas cannot hold her for long A virgin and a candle would set her free One we have, the other I haven't seen in years

Down a highway with 8 full wheels Leona's, it says and the average Joe rightly believes it filled with food But on the inside there's a life There's the patch of quilt his friend from Nicaragua says looks like the River of Blood A collage I made him for his 30th birthday There's a papsan chair that has followed him everywhere and will come home again As he does, every time In a borrowed truck now, maybe a duct-tape car next Makes you wonder what else those trucks are carrying down the road It's been so easy to assume until now Leona's was carrying his life and because I love him it was carrying my life, too

1 We don't have funerals for the living No cedar box to lay those tired bones to rest No quiet urn or shading tomb of granite Stone angels shed no tears for us I am dying again Longing only for respite from the pain I am not who I was and who I loved is gone Even now as the earth is freshly turned a part of me is mourning Place a sugar skull in my coffin and board me away for a time I am breathing euology She who lies here... She who loved him... The earth is new and full of oxygen Underneath the dandelions is a corpse's breath, fertilizing the soil with heart sinews, old limbs and emaciated mistakes Funerals are not for the living but always and only for the dead May the stone angels weep for me nonetheless I may bare scars of a thousand deaths or more before I truly meet the grave 2 In the drum circle, though I was only one beat, the sound entire was playing my dirge. I could feel it pulling me away on the dark, flowing river. I let it carry me. ...

I can smell you in my mouth, still Echoes of your scent on my skin, clinging to my hair How did we let it come to this? We've talked so much of thirst but are yet afraid to drink

Snow has clever fingers, I watch them move while she talks and always feel the tug of familiarity Ice blonde hair and blue-grey eyes light up and smile We live so far away from each other now but I chased her across the city this week because this is what she loves Nothing compares to Snow in flight I am shaped like harvest, the smell of apples in my wake So hard to keep up with her but we follow each other and play tag across oceans We catch up and say farewell again She is so warm when we hug to say goodbye and I am left a little colder as I watch her leave The leaves are falling golden and bright It is my time now, but as always, I feel a little lost without her

I am am severely occupied and preoccupied with survival and dignity Lost my bus pass last night, means of getting around this city with an inch of independence A wonky, cascading domino effect Use food money to get to work, tired at work because you didn't eat Gotta walk home now and save on that one bit of faire None of it's fair, but we knew that going in Praying at night that some of the struggle lets up- not all of it (I'm not greedy) just some Big hearts, strong souls and working hands Wanting, needing to contribute But how not to worry about the next day? How not to worry about children yet to be? How not to worry about looming loans in the distance? I am preoccupied with humility One hand, two hands, three hands offering to pull me up Wipe the dust off my back and remind me of less rain ahead They say, I know what it's like to struggle How much it means to buy that one cup of coffee So I hitch a ride with the windows down, relishing time of...

Gratitude is defined as "The quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness." I've been starting to shut down a bit lately. Not in huge amounts, but getting up later and later for work, having a harder and harder time waking up, not doing as much around the apartment. I don't think I'm depressed (been there, done that) but I am bone-weary and very frustrated. My life simply is not what I thought it would be, or what I think it should be. But should is a very, very dangerous word. Should is defined as "1) Used to indicate obligation, duty, or correctness, typically when criticizing someone's actions- He should have been careful . 2) Indicating a desirable or expected state- By now students should be able to read . However, looking back, I can't identify the point when I knew exactly where my life was going, or having any specific goal in mind. All I know is that I wanted it to be easy. (Even reading my own c...

The word body makes me uncomfortable a here-ness an earthy-ness You simply cannot deny physical existence when you say this I don't want it on my tongue or in my mouth I don't want it near me at all I've watched her my whole life Closed bathrooms door, hours logged away- shaving, plucking, pulling, yanking I wonder who it's all for It may never be for her A tiny ivory body topped with pitch dark hair lost in the current of needles and noise

What do you tell a man in constant pursuit of gold? With wild eyes and desperate hands A mad craving in the depths of his belly Always searching, never stopping Just around the next corner Hidden in an unfound stream There is gold! he says Mountains and mountains of lustrous gold! It's a dangerous fever that's overtaken him He sold the house and left his dog No time for family, no time for friends The hunger pushes him forward, alone What do you say to such a man? Tell him there is no gold? Of course there is The world is full of gold Maybe not around this corner, but the next Maybe not in this stream, but one more over He is not wrong in his dreaming but neither is he right You tell him that he will find his gold and fill his pockets to the brim He will find even more yet Bags bursting from the weight of it all But there is no one at home to bring the treasure to An empty house awaits after his cravings are done It is this and this alone that ...

They gave me a handful of rubies and said, Now build your life with these What was I to do? I knew no better So I begged and borrowed and whored until I amassed a pile of jewels bright and pretty I hoarded and discarded little bits of love at my whim I played games on the beach and learned how to win I became very, very good at the bluff and dodge and evade Surrounded by cold, lifeless gems and nothing else My heart now at a loss Where did I go wrong then? I played the hand dealt to me without question Who now is to blame- the woman or the girl? the peddler of jewels? With a handful of rubies- scant few treasures, handed out meagerly over years of sweat and strain and pleasing- Built a sandcastle of reflection and pleasure with naught but buckets and rocks This is what I know of rubies Have not let myself know anything else and soon the tide will come again

The Stories say that in a man's soul the war rages on A Red Stallion strains against its tethers A Yellow pulls in the opposite direction The integrity of their owner begins to split down the middle while holding fast to both Experience is key! Knowledge and pursuit! cries the Yellow Stallion, shaking its golden mane Let's go and see! Let's explore! Too many sights and sounds, too many new touches and smells to stay in one place No! cries the Red Stallion, ruby eyes rolling Passion and roots are more important Deep abiding love is true What about lives built in blood, sweat and tears? And so they argue day after day Only quieting down to sleep and sometimes not even then Knowledge and Love The battle ensues The owner's limbs grow weary of holding on, wondering tiredly Should I let go of just one? Both? Will the fighting never cease? Leather snaps inside metal rings Blood froths on equine mouths This will rend me in two , he thinks H...

Music flowed stronger than the whiskey and wine Voices and strings plucked together by the unseen hand Your eyes, never meeting mine You heard my song from across the room and said my name Unstrung, unsung and smiling that I was seen among so many without being seen at all

There's a woman in my mind She's wearing my red heels with polka dots Long dark hair tied with ribbon White skin a slash in the darkness There's a man there too Poor soul Naked, hands bound with chord Not red chord though She doesn't seem the type for cliches There's a plain wooden chair It's the chair she'll ride him on Pushing his flesh against her flesh against the grains of wood Her thighs twin pistons of milk and ivory I wonder if she ever unties him I wonder why she's wearing my shoes

got here again vicious cul de sac veins of the heart breathe me, forgive me fell for a liquid blue unavailable love in creeps the dissatisfaction wakeful night and groggy morning no man has yet to walk those 500 miles maybe this love story is a once, or maybe a forever right now is not the time to know already heard all the songs wish it could just be a kiss in the moonlight but the fall already happened slowly no where to go from here back to the same street walking to the soundtrack

We've only met once You were too little to hold your head up, I was too scared to hold you for long I'm painting your bedroom mint green, hoping your Mom will keep the wood trims black Nothing like a bedroom that looks like mint and chocolate chip ice cream The apartment is quiet now I'm wondering why I'm here It's Sunday, it's hot I should have something better to do than to sit on a stained, gray carpet covered in paint (Sorry about the stains, by the way.) writing to a baby who can't even read When you're old enough you'll wonder whose half-toe print is on the carpet near the door maybe You probably won't ever know it's mine, unless I stay here and get a chance to watch you grow Me staying put is never a guarantee Hopefully I'll finish your room tonight, give your Mom one less thing to worry about Even now I'm being selfish, curious if you'll think of the random woman who painted your bedroom I shoul...

Never did see a lightning bug until I moved here and I've lived everywhere Until here, they were just a fairy tale Even through a cloudy lens of heartache and confusion they light up the summer sky I learned how to catch them- always catch and release No jars, no lids No watching as the sparks die away Sitting at dusk and overlooking the neighborhood of my new life, she said that in some places there are whole fields of fireflies That's where I wanna go I need a night-time road trip Steal away into inky blackness and follow the lights down south That's where they are, supposedly These whole fields of fireflies My face will reflect their light I'll close the car door quietly, because it'll be one of those sacred, hushed moments that only a fool would disturb I will stand, surrounded by silent, iridescent wings Lightning will strike against my skin Again and again and again Until I am whole, until I am healed It's silly, I know ...

She's still in there in the country house off the dirt road 30 minutes from the red, tower lights She's wandering around in there touching the fraying carpets and splintering doors waiting to be saved wondering why no one believes her I can see her through the grimy, caked window No amount of flesh and love can erase her from my mind I walk the hallway behind her a grown-woman shadow of what is to come following what has already been She's still in there She's still in me

There was an arrogance in my withholding A brass assumption you would always want me even after I left for good You were an anchor for my sailing ship Afraid you would drag me under even as you saved me from the wind You move on and I am broken open Maybe if I had the strength to pull you up Maybe if you had the courage to let me go Maybe this story would be different I miss you tonight and how you held me in your sleep Wishing I could kiss your bronze eyelashes and regretting every time I walked out Ashamed I sought in someone else what I should have found in you I am sailing away, too Perhaps it is fear of the unknown that storm tosses my dreams or the knowledge that I gave you so many reasons to be glad I'm gone There is no more pretending, no avoiding the deeply rolling waves, no way to not see I was half the problem After these gales you may never know how much I loved you, or believe me when I say I know you loved me too Wishing if we ...

No money for food and nowhere to go. Wash this all away and sing to me today. Empty living room floor- barefeet on bare wooden planks. Ain't got no place to be, so why don't you sing to me? Take your voice and lift me up, a merry cloud in a cloudless sky. Only your words can set me free. Why won't you sing for me? When all else fails and the world is old, tired faces and tired hands, take me in your arms and sing to me. Ain't no place I'd rather be.

I hate your love Bitter-wife and envy I need your love A chronic taste of longing I will never be satiated I am your undoing A slow, psychotic unravel of both Wicked, sickened cocained smiles Full of promise and charm and up-tucked beauty Handing-holding wiles Obligation, with unwanted duty Who am I to you? Two silver tongues dancing their silver dance Ever touching, ever leaving A moonlit kiss to fade away in daylight

a storm rages on recession, regression, regret there was a softer way I could've chosen a path without thunder or brambles or thorns but I am finding the metal of me wind rips away hair rending flesh from skeleton exposing sinew, bone and organ to the elements of fate there is no shelter here I will find the metal of me unsure, insecure, scrambled footing in the screaming gall one surety ripped away from another counting lightning strikes inside the silence will I be steel, or silver, or gold when this is through? already my reflection is a brass-filled stranger

My new friend calls me Songbird Elvis Presley is close to my lips while I work The others laugh and I smile- worthy of the hour and a half of trains and buses both ways Now I recognize the sweet face of the driver who picks me up at night Her familiarity is comforting as are the other commuters on the train We talk about the movie “Hair Show” One apologizes when he curses in front of me These new things are green, overturned leaves, unexpected colors in a life I thought I knew My choices are now off the already beaten path She calls me Songbird I am following the sounds of this bird to something completely different

Let’s play a game I say Temptress             and you call my name But I’m tired now of trying to be Snow White I am no raven and alabaster beauty I’ve tasted many kisses and tossed many dice I am lonely now, weary of pretty princesses and their 7 little men Too long have I waited to be saved from the dark recesses of my bloody, beating heart I don’t want to sing Manzana’s Song or fly from mouth to mouth in a frozen dream Caramel cannot mask the taste of poison I am done with this fairy tale What I was- broke The ceramic apple fell from my chest, rolled to my feet and when my tears fall in regret I cut it in half to find the hidden star Even though I chose a bitter path in the dark, it was the right path for once such as me So, drop a word, write a line, give a rhyme that mirror, mirrors salvation I say Redemption           ...

The prince hid amongst the cow herd with the entire Universe down his throat and hope inside his chest, fluttering on white wings So they say And I drank that tale like ice-cold milk from a pale green cup Always, there was room in my heart for the adventure of it all- for believing in the wondrous There is room still to find the key to that secret garden to feel wind whip through my hair as I travel to the edge of the compass If a prince living among the cows is hiding the Universe then I stole my eyes from a sleeping tiger and my tongue will sing a thousand starry lullabies My heart beats for the story and there is room enough for it all Too long have I stayed behind white picket fences When I come to my end throat full to bursting, my chest fluttering slowly I want to be stretched around the world so thin, cradling every inch of earth until I am transparent as a pale, jade cup Ice cold milk will pour forth between my teeth and...

Wishing today that love wasn’t the ichor in my veins or the driving force inside every sandy step Wishing that I could want what is good for me or perhaps what others are convinced is right Looking for that guarantee- that what I desire will long for me too Seeing so clearly to the other side of the water with no path in between but waves and wind Yet that’s the way it’s always been for me A map-less and certain vision With a bloody compass etched into my arm and a mighty star to guide the way, I may yet sail from these familiar shores closer to the heartbeat of it all closer to the truth closer to what I always dreamed I yet have hope for me

Hot Bridesmaid Gowns Another fun shoot for Aleah's "Fashion Express" on WCIU. Only problem is they never let you keep the clothes...

Slimming Styles Video segment and shoot I did for the wonderful Aleah on WCIU's morning segment "Fashion Express"! It was ridiculously fun getting to play around in Lane Bryant for the afternoon. :)

one day we'll collide you and I our dance will bring us together out of the vast chaos of space moving toward destinations twirling in dust and light and sound there will be another star moving in the same direction, at the same velocity as me it will be a miracle this collision that of the millions and billions of stars and planets in untold galaxies and universes two stars find each other at all like the love between heaven and earth like the gravity holding every foot to the floor I will wait for this collision 'cause everything else is milk pale in comparison

No successful words to say today Glowing, mismatched pieces all scrambling to find their place again A swaying jinga tower and upturned puzzle cascaded on the carpet Put the metal tweezer next to the funny bone and was buzzed away from the board Seems, sometimes, no matter how carefully words are chosen, it all comes tumbling down Thing is though, if it falls and cracks so easily and so fast it would never have survived Words are the heaviest pieces to play but I was never playing

Smile for me, Sunshine. 48 colored crayons. I used to repair bicycles. What's your name? You sure you don't wanna drink and smoke with me? You're an English teacher. Can I be your student, Sunshine? 48 colored crayons! Need any chapstick? Did you tell me your name? 48 colored crayons... How you feeling, Sunshine? See? See what you gone and did? You made my day. You wanna know a secret? If I told you it wouldn't be a secret.

( "Woman Playing Cello" by Lara Bagdasarian ) I will play you like a cello- place you between my thighs pluck and prick and twist, until you hum to my satisfaction I will drag my bow across your belly until you weep and scream my song I will play you hard drive you up and down registers one octave to the next, until you shudder between me your wood glistening with tears and sweat My touch will be soft because I understand your nature I know the curve of neck and dip of your side and how much you love to be used I will play you so exquisitely you will beg for my hands to ignite you to cinders And when I am done when you are warped with condensation and lamenting with lust I will put you in your case and forget we ever made music at all (Published in Movement: The Arts Issue. Issue #131, Spring 2009)

When we meet like this, the lights low, the curtains always shut, she stands naked in front of her full-length mirror, face flushed from the wine we finished downstairs, and anxious for me. I kneel in front of her and begin to paint. I brush the soft bristles over her belly. She shivers. A ballad this time, line by line, down the swell of her stomach and around her navel. She turns slowly, slowly. I drip prose down her thigh. She drops her head back and a sigh escapes her mouth. Practice makes her turn again. I paint tanka on her lower back, her buttocks. Standing up behind her, my breath trailing her spine, she moves her hair. Haiku is caressed onto the nape of her neck where the dark hair curls. Her hands are braced flat on the mirror, the gold ring clinking against its reflection. Shoulder-blades bowed back and jutting, breath coming faster. Circling round her, I stroke iambic rhymes on the insides of her wrists and the crooks of her elbows. Sh...

the grip of winter is lessening through pink-shot morning skies I can hear the cry of gulls renting the moist air my bones shiver from the damp, from the cries as if every important memory is found in their call echoing inside me Galveston Island, with brownies and bright sandy buckets Swansea, Wales and creaking windows against stormy gales Chicago, Illinois and... waiting for winter to pass snuggling deeper under the covers while light fills the sky at every pivot point the gulls herald their arrival I think it should always be this way for me

the story of the phoenix doesn't mean much when it's told over and over again but no one stops to plan it means you gotta die no roll of the dye you have to choose to die in order to live again we keep talking of ashes and flames but it's just games until someone grabs the torch and makes the choice to expeditiously expand their own demise in order to move beyond simply surviving the story of the phoenix is bloody and lonely the song of the phoenix is melancholy and wondrous but we speak so easily of such things as if putting your Self on the altar is no mean feat no force no remorse your choice your voice screeches higher as flesh and blood sizzle away in self made fire cracked tears and dried lips praying you weren't wrong praying you'll wake up on the other side on the inside when the song of the phoenix cries better say goodbye 'cause swim or burn sink or fly either way you're gonna die

The crackling sound of falling rose petals while I'm trying to sleep Dried and hanging on the wall, a bundle of memories, incessantly talking Dark Pink, from coffee-guy at work who has yet to actually bring me coffee, is the newest and irritated with the Lonely White for being my own Valentine for the first time in 6 years. Yellow-With-Orange-Trim, from a friend who followed the trail of sunbeams and blood, is proud like a peacock still and overshadows the Sweet Blue Rose, simply because Blue Rose likes to read The Glass Menagerie before she goes to bed. The Red Rose, old and shy, traveled from desert to sea to city. Carried everywhere and shedding petals, she was loved so hard, doesn't say much because after 6 years there isn't much to say. Thinking I should learn how to press flowers, instead of dry them Suffocated blooms don't keep you up at night with self-important chatter

Wily Jack and Chapters 1, 2 and 3 Paper butterflies next to electric candles but they burn anyway Maybe there is some hope for the flowers after everything More music than I can remember tonight Strumming fingers whispering over strings, whispering through strung up paper hearts, papering the table next to the candles Put a heart down my shirt, one down my boot- so in the morning (after chapters 2, 3 and 1) I'd remember you and all the music Butterflies resurrect so easily, after all- dying and reemerging Wishing I could say the same for my pounding head and new found hearts, after my night with Wily Jack

1 Here was I again, in the mansion made of white. White walls, floors, furniture, ceiling, except for my lips. My lips were blood red. Everyone was there- friends, family, enemies, old lovers. Smiling teeth of bone white, circling each other with ivory limbs. Yet the storm raged outside and I knew something was coming. Snow was piling against the windows, the wind shrieking madly in wild gales. Bundled in scarves and kid gloves, they looked at me and smiled their bone smiles. Stop fretting, they say. You worry too much. So much drama over nothing. No one believed a word I said. They continued to sip their drinks from white trays, and glasses of the clearest crystal. And I, I was alone among them. 2 How long had I been here? A day? A year? An entire lifetime. Pushing against the throngs I made my way down a hallway. Could they not feel the beasts outside? Maybe only just miles from the house. Time was running out and my blood was going cold. Every glance to ...

Realized today that I was waiting Something missing in the wind 50 degrees with thick, chill air Took two days and nights to remember what it is ...Sea salt Wanting to smell sea salt on the breeze and hear the cry of gulls rent the air The quiet wind whirls around me in a cloak of memory Can't help but feel the deficit on my skin

so much more do I crave than the feel of someone's hands is a life of purpose independence, freedom autonomy are an aphrodisiac in my blood so much more than love do I crave fulfillment waking up complete instead of half-tired and unsure so much more do I crave than what I had than what I was given than what I've done and what was done to me so much more did people deserve from me and there was so much more that I should have asked of you more than anything more than a life without love do I fear never fully being myself always wanting so much more is something you never understood in me is a hunger I barely understand in myself

Let's hope when the Zombie Apocalypse hits you're not actually in a wheelchair 'Cause I'm not sure how good a shot you'll be when pushed around the blockaded mall We should have years 'til then Few months, at the very least Time enough to scrub that smoothie from the front seat of your car Even though smelling permanently like pomegranates isn't such a bad thing Almost want to leave the berry stains alone Won't matter anyway when our blood and brains are splattered everywhere Assuming, of course we make it to your car in time Assuming both of us are successfully running from the zombies Assuming you're not in that wheelchair 'Cause at one point in the dream I had to fireman carry you Not sure I'm down with that Let's sit in your car, get some more smoothies and make plans Never hurts to be prepared

Propped up with popsicle sticks and tape from my desk The show must go on (whether or not a Universe ceased to be last night) Broken hearts still beat, labored lungs wheeze and continue their work As should I Tear-puffed eyes labor against sympathetic glances Spare me your pity, fools I walked into this love of my own volition and I walked out the same There are bills still unpaid, plans yet unfinished Wooden sticks and sticky tape cannot heel every hounding thought, cannot shelter the entirety of this storm- So if you really want to help me, hand me a roll of barbed wire and a bucket of pigeon poop I will make of these miserable remnants a Venician citadel (with all due expectation of flooding and raining nights) This fortress need not last forever- just long enough to float me through the mire Eventually I'll let her sink, but for now, she's all I've got

the picture frames are empty now filing away photos to look at again one day but not today heartbeats echo in my chest reverberating against rattling bones there was so much of you inside me too much, probably starving for something that cannot be given only rediscovered in time what to do with an entire day ahead? the repercussion of handing you back your life was getting mine back in return it all feels so hollow empty hallways, empty picture frames, empty heartbeats waiting for the moment when I start to fill in all those lonely places to wake up and know exactly what to do with my day to find I am occupying all my own space without you

a pale, yellow sun is in the sky today double-wrapped scarves and watering eyes squint against the winter light- light clear as crystal and sharp as golden nails forced to look down, bent against the wind noticing large, indented footsteps on the sidewalk passed by so many times and never noticed them before in between the goth/punk clothing stores and the comic shop large steps, too long a stride to be human and on a day such as today when only soft eyelids and noses are peeking out the footsteps could only mean one thing Bigfoot is loose on the frigid streets of the city he is stomping massive feet into the concrete but moving quickly for such a large thing to get out of sight before being seen it was only a matter of time, really before Bigfoot showed up it's snow globe cold out here there's just enough room left for a lonely Sasquatch to press his mits against the glass before the city gets turned upside down with flu...