I Sent My Ghost to the Party
Body stayed home and read three pages of a book and
sixteen Facebook memes
then went to bed early.
Ghost Me brought two bottles of wine,
scattered joy like a new queen tossing coins to the crowd.
She didn’t smile a half-baked smile
or speak in a crosshair-thin voice,
didn’t run out of words and
spend forty-five minutes watching Dr. Pimple Popper
while everyone else played games.
Ghost me was as cool as a housecat
eyeing fish shadows in a garden pond.
She entered the conversation on hawk-strong wings,
saw threads of thought like shimmering tinsel
picked them up and wove her own pattern back in.
She was everywhere at once like a hummingbird,
moving fast and in color.
Body wasn’t jealous and didn’t miss her.
Sometimes talk is a storm.
The blankets were sweet;
they erased all of the clatter.
Love-High
I’m going to hide in the trees
I’ll be down when the world dies
Life is a game and god keeps handing me the dice
The pine needles never looked so green or so damned happy
Rub me dry in my black tights
The flip side of the leaves match the blue sky
We get closer and closer with each sip
This is the way heaven gives me light:
Drop by drop at a time
I’m just so far from the truth
I’m a flower blossoming ahead of the storm
Don’t I deserve this sweetness?
Don’t I deserve these bees,
Even when the small clover lies empty?
Eat out of my hands and be happy just once:
You don’t know when you’ll trip on the strings.
See the way the wind bows down in the trees?
I could touch your hair and make you think you were dying
I’ll give you that piece of me
And all I want back is the moment filling up my lungs
Like a Van Gogh painting full of blue waves and depth and lust for life
I want to be a wild woman tearing words from the sky
And I want you
tying lines across my path,
mixing bread crumbs with the stones,
keeping me looking down
so I don’t fly up off of the earth.
Lunaria II
No matter how I catch the air or where I land I can’t feel the weight of my self
I’m going to drift across the leaves and keep on drifting
If I could feel real and know the truth I’d be ok
But life just throws me bones and not meat
That’s the problem with being high and above all the grass
You’re looking for things you can see
And I’m searching for vapors with certain flavors
I want them bad enough I’d leave earth for them
I’d turn away from the touch of human flesh for them
Don’t crush the mood
Don’t take the shimmering strings down from the trees
Where are the eyes that don’t see through me?
Where is the clear patch of peace?
Where is the soft touch of earth?
Where are the angels pressing me on?
I’ve never known anything but the hard leaning back on my own spine
I’ve never had one truth that didn’t get lost in the mix
But the point of living,
Yes, I’m sure I know this one thing:
The point of living isn’t to keep staying alive,
It’s to be filled up with light
And rest in flames on the hand of
a blood orange sky.
Alien Buddha Press 