mmmmm sleeeep

The stars are shiny,
the snow is fresh
my bed-roll calls me,
"Come get some rest!"

The Moose Part 2

One plump flake fell like a feather from the sky and landed on the tip of the moose’s furry nose. He could feel it land with a gentle plink that rhymed with the glass chime. Another thick flake landed on Bridget’s ripe, red cheek. Soon, the air around was filled with thick flecks. Bridget stirred slowly as they speckled her bare face, neck, and hands. She felt the deep hurt and tried to see through closed eyes. She whimpered.

The moose turned his head to look at her; he was not alone. She was wiggling her fingers, started to ease the left hand towards her cracked eyebrow where a black bruise was already forming. The right eye fluttered open, looked down. She groaned as she pushed gently against the tender skin.

In the same instant that she tried to move she cried out. The moose started and huffed in alarm. Her head snapped up at him, and she cried out from the menace of pain and surprise.

“Jesus CHRIST!” She drew away from him, and then cried out, reached down to her legs, howled again when she felt the broken bottom ribs. “Ohhh my God…” she whispered and saw the black seeping into her eyes again. She slumped against the window.

The moose snorted and wiggled, shaking the car as he tried in desperation to flee. Bridget shook and moaned with each movement. His back legs would not move underneath. Sound gurgled from him, the fear instinctively gearing him to run, the pain of the back leg preventing it.

“Shhhh, no, no, don’t,” Bridget mustered. “Don’t shake us…”

The moose made one last strain, the back right leg found the strength to push up and the left faltered. He fell back with a quitter’s grunting sigh that pulled her eyes open. Like a dream, the clown sat next to her, staring at her with wide, wild eyes.

“Yeah. Just stay put.” The moose stared back at her, his huffing nostrils flaring as big as his thick brown eyes. He started to move again and she dragged him back. “Shhh, no, no. It’s okay. Don’t move.” He didn’t. “What happened, eh?” She put her head back against the window. “This is totally insane. Am I dead?” She rolled her neck to look at him. “Are we dead?” He stared at her, puffing the cold air in and out. She closed her eyes. “We must be dead.” She was starting to go numb all over. She felt the cold creeping in, the darkness came with it, and she drooped with weariness.

Questions

How is it that
I can feel your absence—
a black hole spinning in my gut—
but I cannot feel Earth turning?

You are gone, I know—
empty dark carves out a proof—
yet, the questions suck at my belly while
the world lies still beneath my feet.

The Guitar Man

He accompanies the clatter of dishes
and the whirring cappuccino machine,
the ornament of laughing voices,
the clicking of keys,
the clean sounds of creation
muddled by grubby restaurant hands.

His gentle fingers pluck stretched strings,
stroking the body of an old spanish guitar,
fingers I have seen somewhere before.

He strums,
one knee raised like a prayer,
fighting the noise,
but then there is nothing else
in the world but fingers
and familiar songs
and the silence between.

dark purple

(yes, like a red veil across the blue sky)
walls
stifling a fiery spark (I’m suffocating
in here, the walls closing in, and
no one can hear me scream,
but I’m screaming and
screaming,
into wordless music,
ART EVERYWHERE,
and I will stay alive,
will not surrender,
will keep burning bright)
a small solid box sits in the middle of the desert
baking in the sun. a
silent shriek echoes
through the dust shrouding the box,
lost.

from

Hug me, for I feel alone. Listen to me, for I feel unheard. Talk with me, and let’s laugh together, dancing naked in the snow underneath the singing stars. Accept me as I am, for I wish to be no other. Love me, for I am you.

empty shells

dancing shells on white sands
empty caverns, old homes
where have the souls flown?