Certain Days I Place Dolls

Certain days I place dolls in dinner positions,
moving them in any position I want,
because certain dolls come with that ability,
to be moved by others.

They sit together
like perfect church goers,
never offending each other
with actions befitting their nice clothes.

But on occasion I am grasped
by my chest
and set into a child's playhouse
to sit and dine.

Sure, it seems entertaining,
but imagine never knowing
whether this day you will be
small and behaved

or big, like god above the clouds.
Staring with plastic eyes straight ahead
or running amuck with the world
at your finger tips.

She Died

She died

when she was twenty-two

Inside a room

made of plastic beads.

She slides the beads

along their strings

In order to form

windows that show

Oceans of steel and cotton linens.

At night shapes appear

in conglomerated shades

That look like faces

she knew at some point

With smiling lips.

The day the first string broke

felt like the rest.

Her feet looked like prisms

through clear color beads

Up to her pale ankles.

One, then another, they broke

like soldiers running from the enemy

Until they covered her completely.

Up, up, up;

she sank

Until her eyes could only see

a beadless room dirty in

Colors beyond any imaginable

bathing all corners and cracks.

The front door

now sitting at about her mid-section

Could no longer hold back any colors,

any beads.

They poured down the soupy grass

into the sea

And no girl remained.

Dark Horse Rider

A dark horse rider from the mountains
Came and took my baby, tore her away
Cocaine baby; pretty wedding.
"They didn't see the dark blue attaché."

Ice age mama from cold weather
Didn't see what she's going to be.
Liquor eyelash, sailor's daughter,
Forty and a fifth. Drink.
"Mary, don't you save my day."

A burning Cessna sinking slowly
But I see a fatter, fuller moon.
Dark white flashes. Shark bite cancer.
"Don't you see the end is coming soon?"

Tick -tock table. Lady lover.
A shattered, broken, busted, shattered display.
Dead receiver. Death receive me.
"You've got time, you've got lives to save."

Burning temple.
Rushing water.
Smoking ashes.

Rise, human-angel Cain.

Sometimes You Are a Wild West Warrior

Sometimes you are a Wild West warrior
Who drinks whiskey and wears black chaps
You ride steaming horses through cold water
On the cold mornings of hot days.

Other days you are Victorian,
Outfitted in pure silk dresses
That smell of tulips and fine social gatherings.

But today you are you

And I love it.