TheCourtRose

Her skin is the sand             tan and free running She curls her body around purple mountains, holding them to her breasts Her breath, the icy air moving between leaves Her hair, muddy brown blue             beckoning in its movement Gilded liquid fingers, tickling sucking toes There is dawn in her hair             and sunset in her eyes Orange, pink, yellow twilight ribbons, flecks of liquid turquoise Bits of starlight             glazing the sand             in the crooks of her elbows,             behind her knees Piercing, bedazzled loops and stones She lies, a contented desert cat Her paws, the rocks Her nails, the cactus Her ...

If love was a place, you and I took a pretty fantastic trip. Neither one remembered a passport, or bothered to check tickets for a return flight. But it ended, as many good things do, and now we're back. One slightly distracted, rumbling call and I remember naps and drinks and sun-drenched skin, at our place, the place where we loved each other. Slowly sat down between my bedroom door and the couch, using my hardwood floor as an anchor against a swooping tide of longing. A knowing look from my roommate that said, Uh oh, girl and I had to admit, I was a little taken aback. I didn't count on your blue eyes or slender fingers, or missing your lips, missing your dick, missing those hip bones beneath my teeth. I forgot the way you so casually understand me and accept all the mismatched, neurotic, ambitious parts. Yet knowing this does not make me sad. Sitting on my floor, longing for you again, looking back at the months together, stories sewn between us, I can smil...

I am a hanging scarecrow next to the yellow brick road. All good intentions and thunderstruck, twiddling thumbs. I want so desperately to keep that pen in your hand, force fairy tales from your tongues, but coercion does not produce inspiration. You will forget this once the term is done, but my nightmares will linger on. Terror that I did not teach enough. Fear you will reach again for a gun instead of a book by Keats or Baum or Whitman. A remote will replace your paper, advertisements instead of thoughts. That you will turn off what I have so wildly been trying to turn on. I am a tin man dancing, clunking, rigid in front of you. Putting golden bricks beneath your boots, asking you to pick them up and lay down a different path. We've already seen where the red brick goes. I know where my heart is on this silver suited sleeve. (I would twirl and pirouette like a fool to keep your focus.) Make you listen; make you believe. Be an oil for these rusty, hopeful hing...

I'm going to weave you a story tonight. There will be a hint, a flutter of gossamer indiscretion. It will touch lightly upon your lips, setting a delicate line of fire down your throat. A kiss of memory, whispers, secrets, threaded together quickly, an expelled breath at the first evening's touch. Stand still. I will murmur this close to your ear. When I give you a story, when I place these words together just so for you, your desires are my fantasies and your waking hours solely my pleasure.  I am sliding my tongue not just over the dip of your hipbones , not enough to bite my name away from your trembling lips, I want to be inside your skull, swelling the veins of your heart. When you wake, you will remember me. When you sleep, you will dream of me. When your heart beats, you hear the echo of my footsteps on your floor. Only then will I begin to be satisfied.

Didn't dawn on me that the bottle looks stained in blood until the box was discarded on the counter I put the glasses away (blood dipped too) because they unhinged me You can take those back whenever you want I should lay claim to half though, considering what we went through to get the bottle Too many arms have dropped me before in one form or another (I have enough issues with men to float a psychologist's barge) For whatever reason, I knew you wouldn't let me fall, and in the liquor aisle, we managed to avoid acute financial disaster and judicial arraignment when you lifted me by my hips to the top shelf The victory was a bright corn maze in a whirlwind adulthood Blood dipped for Halloween, I suppose The one day a year I let myself feel how much death there's been You pour out a libation for yet another fallen friend tonight The care lines on your face stand out so much in the dark (or perhaps now I know what to look for) When you do open up ...

Strapped to my back are words My shoulder blades twitch, my spinal column aches I want nothing more than to drop the lot and lay down to rest But they were entrusted to me, you see So I carry and care for them, worry and wait for the ones to come From your lips to my back, I keep moving I am carrying us up the road, around the next bend, over this hovering hill to a place you've never been before But I have I know the way It's what I do Follow me up and when we get to the top I will hand back those heavy, precious words and you will see just how far you've come The issue being (of course) what so caustically and casually falls from your pens is my burden to hold So when I say, dear students, choose your words wisely, I mean that quite literally

On Friday there was a man named Friday I sat in his lap and kissed his mouth 3 days later and counting and not a drop to drink Meeting Friday on Friday turned my world upside down and all the mead fell out I wonder if Odin will let me keep writing poetry without his drink in hand I worry so, for myself Wonder if I had not met a man named Friday on Friday, if I ever would have stopped blurred tripping feet stand still Stop Despite my misgivings, it was a good kiss From what I can remember Which isn't much Which is the problem, after all

The center cannot hold, (or so they said) An acute understanding why, now Roiling guts, a vacant heart Nothing good comes from a liquid filled center But when you finally tip over, there is nothing left

Belly White, dipped expanse Laying flat on my back, watching a lowered curve with every inhale Ribs, hip bones, mountains to this valley An unexpected lily-pale softness Not hard, nor unforgiving Silvery striped and waiting A caverned belly button, built for tongue and smile, proffered jewels An unexpected lily-pale softness- an unexpected love Toes   Paint by number crayola parts Stubby,  stubborn 10 Little Piggies disappearing one by one Calloused, not at all fond of socks or shoes Curl carpet deep with a full good kiss Plant me firm when love sways my back With your faces painted red to face the world Lips Swollen again Always crooked slightly to one side Tight tipped peaking points and want to pierce the Medusa, walk around top heavy with white gold Learned a great way to kiss in Brazil (Slide your tongue behind their top lip, against the gum) Remembering makes my lips ache and swell again Made for kissing, absolutely Not enough to...

Apple picking tuckered out The lull of a quiet warm back seat Drifting Away The gravel road beneath the tires- sounds of childhood countryside Backwoods Texas, dried snail shells and oil rigs in the distance Southwest driveways and scratching hayrides Whickering horses, the squeak of too new saddles Sounds, smells that cannot be found between concrete and glass A car can only hold so much Ears are brimful with memory, holding so much life built in vast open spaces Calloused feet now softened by boots Shock in a handful of stars now outweighs the old acceptance of a night filled sky Teenage years wound about like wanderin' vines, still searching for purchase in the earth Don't mind now an adult exhausted from winning a corn maze race and sleepy in the car with a quiet smile A little thing grown up country wild was bound to make for an interesting adult

Fool How else do you learn about desire, except to choose and choose again? Follow the blazing fire igniting the depths of murky waters Even if it burns, singes, stings and fizzles out, at least then you will know Curiosity will not erode your skin, the sound of what ifs won't flutter and flux inside your lungs Raging to escape, coloring all your words and deeds with hunger Fall into the flames, over and over and over Let them call you crazy Let them yell from their cold and quiet corners Let them laugh and jeer, and shake their heavy heads In the reflecting waters only jagged teeth and hesitation will shine back upon them Choose the flames, choose the fire Until it consumes you whole, until it no longer burns, until you no longer want its warmth at all Only then will it truly be over

Late night Sidewalk and shadows A heavy blue moon swinging above Alone and the wondering of you and me Neither one saying "we" these days We disintegrated or finally exhaled that long, swollen sigh The moon puffed out its breath Deflated, a balloon sinking to earth The way we softly let go of each other again We were a once, a falling slowly blue moon love Neither bad nor good Not intended to endure (They say blue is the color of healing, the moon a guardian of hearts) If there had to be a story of us, it was a complete one But now the sky is empty and I stand alone Moon in hand Shadows on the sidewalk cast from stars Grasping at our story But it slips away from me, strands of ribboned moonlight sliding through my fingers like warm milk I cannot truly catch it, or hold fast to it (You cannot quantify the light of a blue moon) One deep breath for you- releasing a balloon back into a starlit sky My heart is quiet now that I let ...

Burnt cardboard lingers in the air Soaking wet ash and carbon swept down the drain in reddened handfuls No one will look to find a funeral pyre in the kitchen sink So much tied to such a little thing A binding that never truly belonged Flames devour acrylic peeling back layers of life All to reveal underneath a very quiet story So in the darkened rooms with only the slight smell of memory Scorch marks are wiped away from the sink Nothing left but a lingering Soon to be dispelled by morning air and light

In 2 days it would've been 8 years together but 7 months and 26 days ago we hit the 1 year mark of breaking I added it up one night 7 different kisses I shared with someone else and I would trade every one Not for more time, not for more love but for you to believe me when I say I'm sorry I'm sorry for the 3 times I broke up with you without the backbone to make it stick For the countless times I evaded and dodged, each one building into a lie For every okay I mumbled, when I was far from fine with you For the 1,349.3 miles I moved, from there to here because at 23 years old I was running away from home For every time I didn't believe you when you said I was pretty and each  man I found to prove myself wrong For the 1 glistening knife I put in your back after we broke up because the depth of my insecurity can justify almost anything For those key moments when I chose surrender instead of fight, never completely insisting you be the man I neede...

There's something about you that makes me want to move slow There's never a rush when we're close Slow like southern honey hills and long kisses in your car Seems like with me you have all the time in the world to make love Wage a slow, slick war against each other's bodies Makes me wonder where I was hurrying off to What all the fuss was about Slow like the first time I saw you across the room when everything stopped People and sound went into slow motion You make me want to move carefully- sweet and silky Stay forever on these southern honey hills

What clothes you had left I washed and placed on a high shelf I knew they were there, but could find no heart to return them Too final, I guess I sleep every night in your grey tank top Sometimes convinced it's actually mine Make up a story in my head that I had bought it,  then forgot Though I am not prone to forgetting much at all The toothbrush was the final straw A harsh blue reminder every morning and night Remembering your compulsive battle against nicotine breath It should've been the first to go, really when things ended between us But it's still there, too That should've been the dead give away

She would dance, but would not sing He did not know this when he found her on the edge of the wild woods Bloodied, savage, but alive Hair in tangles and green eyes blazing But he discovered this soon enough He had been walking alone for years now At first glance, one would say it was a saunter, but closer inspection clearly betrayed weariness in his tread He was lonely, you see and thinking he may be cursed after all But being of the cynical yet hopeful variety, he walked on- Hoping that being hopeful was right, but having lost too many times before, did not hold to hope at all Yet no part of his soul could leave a lady by the highway, so he offered to walk with her awhile Her feet were bleeding, her hands were raw but she carried herself well, so the wounds barely showed Like him, you would have to look twice It’d taken all the courage she’d had to fight through the woods and find her way clear She’d been lost for so long, so very long in ...

Nearly four years now and I only just found the compass Standing inside the spokes was like leveling up and recharging for the next round It pointed north, straight into Buckingham Fountain I looked at the now dark and quiet water, where only moments before I had put my adulthood aside and splashed about Through the darkness of the park, teenagers are playing hide-and-seek Their shadows cross paths with the statues of Peter Pan I can see all this feel all this from standing inside a compass I never knew was there This old/new city Once white, but now steel and sky I am seeing you with my own eyes now How am I finding bits of myself everywhere when before there were only memories belonging to someone else? I have not been paying attention And what does the compass tell me? Stay or go Home or just another stop on a longer road I still don't know for sure But I'll be damned if I didn't find my next step in the last place I expected

Another lonely night Purposefully silent except for a few chosen songs Talking is alien to my tongue Words fall useless and tired from my lips Tonight, if it's not honest, I want no part This room is dark except for a blue, white screen Writing even this connects me to painful choices Paths long forgotten and hazy memories Tears fall so easily  these days, I hardly recognize my mirror No buffer, you see No flesh and no hearts to dive into An acute withdrawal I once was a wicked queen of hearts But my long nails stain so easily now and all the games are draining

Saying your name over and over again was the only way I fell asleep last night Now I know what it means to ache for a person for a touch for a kiss for a scent I never understood before, but now I do And really wish I didn't

You're in my heart In my thoughts Crawling inside my blood and flooding my circuitry I try to shut you out Rip out my valves and empty myself of you if I could But I can't stop it I  count the days we're apart Like the age of a newborn infant  (22 days old and counting) Praying I'll reach a month, as if that will somehow make a difference Perhaps 4 solid weeks will mark the end of this searing pain But it doesn't stop I write, I walk, I think, I talk I put it on paper, I put it in words I am moving forward I am getting better but underneath it all I can't stop loving you I try to remember why I'm doing this But it took one look, one glance, seeing you just once, to bring me back to my knees I can't. Stop. At least, not today

Oh, you'll hear my coming and watch me pass by Will hear me long after But have I ever stopped to say hello? or look you in the eyes? When we made love, was I really there at all? I can't stand still because inside silence is the pain the uncertainty Quiet, clear, a bell ringing soft and urgent So, I keep moving Far and away, forever and ever Until I run around the world entire Each particle of past, present and future collide together I am either everything or nothing all at once For me, there's never been anything in between

She came upon me Blue-eyes blazing and flames dancing around her Holding a knife to my throat, with love and rage suffusing her features, my eyes and throat clogged with the smell of ash and brimstone Her wings encircled me, buffeting against my skin with a terrible sound My reflection gazed back at me from the blade she held aloft Look at it! she cried when I tried to turn away I fell to my knees My image was covered in muck and mire, blood and sinew I was struggling from the depths, scratching, slashing, crying out Weeping, I crawled along, like a worm Never looking up At what point will you stand up, my child? she asked When will you stand? Ashamed, embarrassed, exhausted with tears standing in my eyes I looked from the blade and into her burning face I am waiting for you to stand

She made eye contact across the table and threw back her drink A gauntlet thrown for me to pick up I tipped mine back and my world tipped over The last discernable memory I have Evidently being carried across the street ass over end, retching down the side of a car, having newly colored locks held away from a heaving face, and one liquid-filled phone call later is how I finally managed to turn myself off Except a pocket of memory somewhere in between I had said, I'm standing on the edge of a blade On one side, I love him On the other side, I need freedom She looked at me and said, You're forgetting the third side There's a handle, love You can hold on to these two things It never occured to me, until several rounds in, that as out of control as I finally am I'm beginning to truly hang on to myself

#1. First- The tiger must realize that the cage is gone. When raised in captivity and used to confined spaces a tiger will pace the same square footage even when there are no bars to confine her This may be the hardest part of all Convincing a broken, neglected creature that there is nothing to fear any more is a monument to itself But once this is accomplished the pressure of the sky and the wide open spaces may send her seeking refuge shadow cover familiarity Anything to get her away from the wild unknown She doesn't know that she's a tiger, you see And under the power of handlers, seeing a black-and-white world through strips of a metal, her perspective is skewed off limited The world can see she's a tiger But she cannot Not yet anyway

Saying I love you, letting you go was not the hardest part Getting off my knees and closing the door behind me I thought would hurt more The stairs going down, it hit me Every step down was one more step away from you Sitting on your steps and crying for eternity seemed like my only option but your building echoes and there are babies sleeping and my tears tonight could wake the world Left foot, right foot, left foot My steps are hollow, bouncing goodbyes I never wanted The you that was mine tucked far away I watched him fade from your eyes You smiled for me, my friend once more, but my lover no longer We were the best of each other while breaking apart You put yourself aside, knowing I never meant to hurt you I was more honest with myself, and more brave The irony being that as we're ending, I only love you more I called my girlfriend a thousand miles away Her voice carried me down the stairs, pulled me up when I would've sat down and...

When Aunt Claudette died and her parlor was empty of playing poker I took down the wrinkling, yellowed, rose covered  wallpaper and made a backpack It smells cloyingly of cigarette smoke and bottled Sherry (She'd wink at me and say the bottle was only for cooking) Aunt Claudette wasn't really my aunt but she'd been in the family for so long, it's just the way it was Hunkered down for card games and her favorite radio shows, her stocking always ended up rolled down to her knees The edges of her wallpaper curled like her stockings I offered to scrape her walls clean, start anew She would say thank you and wave off the suggestion with mild irritation Her wallpaper was stained and curled Her poker games were on Friday nights and radio just wasn't the same after they stopped playing "The Shadow" It's just the way it was She heart stopped on a rainy Wednesday night They found her on the cream colored sofa, stockings askew, her radio in ...

Comics and coughing fits on the train He didn't have teeth, but a mile wide grin and asked politely about the pictures in my book A tight smile in response and terse replies Once there was room, like most Chicagoans do, he moved to a free double-seater Reading and coughing, moving along A long, wet, rattling sound from the depths A shaking cold, long held and long endured He turned around and handed over a peppermint For that cough in your chest , he says and turned back around Checking it over for mold and puncture holes (Can't blame a soul for being careful) Found nothing but white and red candied swirls Got off at the next stop and waved goodbye to him The cough got better as the day went on It was a pretty good peppermint Didn't expect to be on the train with Peppermint Man A shy, polite, caped crusader with pockets of candy Dispensing minty goodness to ward against the chill You'd never suspect the classy, toothless guy on the train ...

Wore your sweater today to cut the spring chill from my arms Your smell was sincere and sweet, and I'd forget and look for you behind me Come home to a messy bed with coins and a lighter tangled into sheets There will be jingling and clinking when I tuck myself away tonight I'll wear your sweater to sleep On my way to dreams I'll think how together we're burning away my scars and putting golden coins on my eyes In the end, I want them to whisper She had a good life

Crying there, hiding in the aisles I sent the dolls to the thrift store for safe-keeping No one would want them, I told myself But the store was sold and strangers came in and they tried to take the dolls away The dolls I sold myself, but had kept my eye on just the same Dodging movers right and left I needed to get them back Their ceramic faces and dirty dresses peeked out from boxes I bargained desperately, offering money that I didn't have, just to possess them again  I sold them, but never let them go I'd rather have their weight in my hands than just an empty memory

I'm going to staple your eyelids open so that I may gaze into you Hold still, so I can tighten the ropes about you I love having you close to me Hush, precious broken fingers mend I'll hold the glass to your lips when you thirst Do you thirst for me, lover? We have all the time in the world now to be together I will stroke your cheek and smile as tears of joy slide down your face This is what you wanted, right? To be with me? Your eyes say so The soul never lies