mistress mary

Or am I just like Mary,
Moving round and round your wall?
Oh mistress bless me
With your key.
Let me into your secret garden.

You're so safe behind your wall.
You gaurd your self so well.
Your wild roses prick my fingers
biting into me .
You are not forbidden fruit
And this is not a maze;
Im sick of playing games
In your eden .

You hold your honeyed flowers
So high above my head,
Your sweetest words have poison tougues
hiding in your mouth.
When winter winds have withered
all the other flowerbeds dry
Will I find havens in your twisted paths
or sanctuary in your eyes

(Forgive me. Let's marry, Have babies, …)
Or am I still like Mary,
Moving round and round your wall...

my daughter

I hope she never knows disapoinment. Because it stings like falling stars hitting your cheek.
I hope she loves like tomorrow that same moon that held her love songs wont turn a cold shoulder to her.
And I hope for all the beauty in life that it sometimes brings her pain.
So she can know in the worth of the stars
When she wakes up next to a lover, with the early sun painting them gold, what it is like to be endless.

the deli

The over ripe little tomatos
swell like juicy placentas before me.
They bruise out the substance of their life,
Like greedy fat little pregnant whores
Grinning sly smiles of devious satisfaction and entrapment.

The carrots demand the attention of my eyes
in a way that is neither a whisper or a shout.
Their hard stalk straight bodies an awkward eighth grader
With acne scares and braces.
Shuffling from foot to foot on stork tall
knobby kneed legs. Corkscrew ragmop
(carrot top, ... carrot top,....)

Bread after mundane bread; a sea of crackling mulato
Opens its yeasty center to me.
Drops in clap bored thump
( flip flop, flip flop,)
The tear of its keening wrappings the low humdrum zip
Of a durex in a seedy underbelly hole
To the tune of its 12:59 am my little preteen
Trailer trash princess,
Does your daddy know where you are?

The sauces sigh and drip
Like apathy on an old worn mothers face.
Snot colored mucus rain, against a window pane,
Falls relentlessly.
Endlessly the pool of anothers eyes
Boil over into the bubbling cupped hands
Of a thousand secret volcanos
Just under the surface of things.
You would not look at me;
And I could not look away.

I've spoken the names of the stars by mistake
And if I did things its not by design.
I wonder though this forest
My minds a simpleton.
Lalala my wagging tongue
I drone on and on
Not minding where I step
Or that my words fall like bullets to some,
On houses and lives.

One hand weaves the tapestry of my dreams
And the other hand tears into disrepair.