troubled lullabies

Resignation sounds around you, rising up
from an exasperated earth, freezing fear
into languishing lips.

Gentle tremors rock a riven heart to sleep:
troubled lullabies from the other side.




Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a sweet creature of dreams.

The common body, buried beneath
a flimsy gauze of naught, is shared with
no one save the Devil.

Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a hellion of horrors.

What is revealed?
The darkest parts that have no shame.
What is concealed?
The golden parts that have no aim.

:::fly back::: (partial song lyrics)

Little Bird, fly back to bed.
Mama’s got a whisky head.
Close your eyes, then count to three,
dream a little dream for me.

Little Bird, fly back to bed.
Don’t you know the day is dead?
Hold your doll and squeeze her tight,
I’ll find you in the morning light.

“Little Bird, fly back to bed,”
Mama’s voice quite softly said.
But bellies cry for bits of bread;
they won’t sleep until their fed.

all thoughts and traces

Living is the daily removal of dust
from various places
and beloved faces,
tending to years as if
we could hold them within
our ever-shrinking hands.

Fingers fold, hardening into
shepherd’s crooks.

Wiping away time becomes
tedious, more trouble than it’s worth,
in a season when keeping one’s eyes
open can be a tremendous struggle.

various places
beloved faces
leave them alone
all thoughts and traces

shedding skin

Hawk eyes survey a cobbled square, teeming with tamed shadows.
Café noir in manicured hands, harsh rays from a cumbersome sun
fall upon her cobra-skinned boots.  She shields indigo eyelids with
bejeweled twigs, blocking out  far-off orchards with all her might.
Expectant limbs howl out her name; their sickly offspring are her
birthmark.  Invisible to the passing eye, they have marked her for