Riotous

The moon was a heavy drop of milk

in a creamy dark sky

and I sparkled, breaking free

of my cube, gloriously,

in a riot of color.

Of course, it was dark

so the moon made everything

glow like silver -or dead skin.

But oh, how the dance unfolded

beneath my feet! And my heart was full

of night, as night should always be:

forgiving, warm, dark, and open.

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I like to bury my mouth

in my scarf so I can hum

with abandon

and whisper awful things

amid an unknowing public.

Lunch bites

The apple stem hits my teeth

as I hungrily gnash at the flesh

and I imagine tasting other hands

that handled the apple before I did;

I didn’t bother washing it, just the

almost-acceptable polish-on-the-pants

technique, which leaves all the germs

yet a nice shiny denim glow.

I had the good sense to pull my hair back

or I’d be eating that too.

My curls taste a little like old showgirl,

with a dalliance of muppets.

My kisses taste of golden delicious

and chocolate. With a dash of mania.

I ate through to the seeds.

I look at the seeds, the possibilities,

the knowledge of fruit and skin

and all Eden held before we mucked it up.

I toss the whole core in the trash.

I unwrap another kiss.

Deep rumblings

The day was so long,

it took two and a half days

to finish it.

I discovered

sidewalks laugh

when you trip and

the house belly dances

late at night,

to the tune of white noise.

I’m rumbling sympathetically

in deep places like a bulldozer

aiming low, heavy, and strong.

Fearfully made

There are pieces of me

on the moon

and on the mountain

and floating with salt in the sea.

I’m never complete

because I have bits of fluff

feathering birds’ nests

and stuck inside the railing

of a high-rise fire escape.

I search horizons for colors

to add to my fading eyes.

I listen intently to wind

to learn the oldest songs.

There are memories of me

in a displaced book and

foraging fingers.

I am nowhere special

and no one to hold tightly.

My tethers are loose

and I will fly most quietly.