The heavy beat

The heavy beat drowns the city

In black liquid

A noir kind of town 

With tall smoke stacks

And empty corridors 

Long, dark alleyways 

Leading nowhere 

Gates 

Chained off for years 

Somehow 

Sometimes 

Right beyond the bend 

When I can’t go on anymore 

When we’ve exhausted all the gifts 

And no one is willing to lend an ear anymore 

When the money’s gone 

The food has been eaten 

The song won’t play at all

I’ve learned a sliver of hope 

Will shine through 

Right past the bend 

Around the corner 

The dawn will break 

The Jazz horns will burst 

A new day will 

Lead us 

Through–

waking up 

Waking up to stretch 

To pull

To wipe the dusty nightmare cobwebs from my eyes 

I hear the distant morning birds

They chirp a new day lullaby 

The flit and jump and swim between 

The midwood branches 

Coming up for effervescent air 

And now 

I think I know I’ve 

Found my calling

Drifting in and out of consciousness 

Waiting for the day to 

Begin–

baby 

Rummaging through

So many poems

The prophets have written 

Swaying between the

I identify so much with this

And not so much that

The words 

Rimbaud

Like glue

Like quicksand

On my attention span 

Maybe I’m not as dark as I thought I was 

Or maybe his soul is not for me

Sitting here on my lap

Is the

Buh 

Baby–

The only one for me–

the train that isn’t there 

Waiting for the train.

There is none.

Here I stand with many other passengers.

They shuffle to the dangerous yellow edge

Looking over the precipice 

For a train that isn’t there.

I hear the crinkle of an empty water bottle. 

We’ve drank all the water

And now I’m getting thirsty 

Waiting for a train that isn’t there.

I wonder if I should I take out my book to pass the time

Or remain here present

Soaking up all the negativity around me

Manifesting into the pain that is slowly creeping its way into the back of my right knee

It reminds me of the pain I felt the day my grandmother died

Wondering what the pain meant 

In the same way I wonder

Where this missing train is

As we wait 

For the 

train that 

isn’t 

there–

Always Pray

Pink hat and pink shoes
we walk along green grass
to save the blues
from taking over
your sweet little heart

I love it when you smile
I love it when you fart

I’ve been wanting to look through my
old pregnancy journal
the one with beautiful gold leaf designs
and a regal peacock to boot–
what would you say ten, twenty, fifty years from now
about how you grew?

Would you say that you loved me more than
anyone
anything
would you berate me for the person
I would hate to become
weaving lies in front of classrooms
hiding broken dolls inside the
attic of your head…?

But I know,
dear, innocent child,
I know
that the next day will be brilliant
just as long as we stay
humble
child,
just as long as we always
pray–

and there you go

On the eve of the eve of the eve etc. etc. etc.

of your birthday

(we’ve got some more days to go!)

I contemplate what life was like last year

these days

today

tomorrow and the next

day

on my couch I lay

big and round and full of life

squatting for posterity

and praying for eternal breath

we all waited for you

the precious shining moment

the gift of God returned

and here we are again

full Gregorioan circle

I chant your name once more

Victoria Rose

and there you go

bloom —

Earthquake

thunderous breath
I can’t see out the passenger window
because my eyes are too wet
my eyes are too flooded
with the ocean of fear
of pain
of many many years
of suffering under a silent watch
no hugs
no love
quietly rioting inside.
I’ve gotten really good at pretending
that things are okay
and/or accepting that
this is the way that is has to be
as mother earth
makes way for more joy
she must destroy
her children–