Now they’re starting to get a little more abstract, the way that I like them.

—-

Under the bird,

a startling cat.

When did you grow so silent?

A small gift

tells me what I’d rather not know.

The possibility of a real and terrible love.

The ability to sense the snap of a twig

from the other side of the wood.

What say the preacher?  And

what of it?

I am the great and miserable mistake

of the Clown God.

I am a symphony of dark and shadow.

I tell all to anyone

and everyone

who will listen.

I have always been this beautiful.

It is not only when you lift up my skirt

that I am beautiful.

It is not a secret.  It is not a prize.

My beauty is not waiting

for your praise.  It’s not yours

to give or take.

I am a silver cloud

dancing among curls of black smoke.

A beauty like mine is undying.

It is all mine

and I will not apologize.

Here’s another one that I’m working on.  I’m having a hard time shaping it into something that I really like.  I feel like it somehow goes in the wrong direction after the first four lines, but I can’t figure out what direction it should go in.  I’d really appreciate some comments.

—–

I have always been this beautiful.

It is not only when you lift up my skirt

that I am beautiful.

It is not a secret.  It is not a prize.

Come closer, dear.  Take a look

at what you’ve left behind.

I am a silver cloud

dancing among curls of black smoke.

I am a lone red poppy

sprouting up through the snow.

I am the woman who dives back in

after nearly drowning.  The great beast within me

is afraid of nothing.

For me, the best part about a break-up is the poetry that pours out of my head.  Here’s what I’ve been working on.  I don’t think they’re my best poems, but they needed to be written.  They also probably need some editing, so critique is welcome.

————————————————————

I remember a river.

I remember rocks in the river.

I remember cutting my foot on the rocks in the river.

What you don’t understand is that my nakedness

is not the same as your nudity.

My hunger has nothing to do

with the taste of your mouth.  My moods

are not cyclic, nor shaped like stars,

nor will I ever bemoan the coming of darkness.

You must know by now that my swimming

is very much like floating,

but my running is a dream that has no end.

You were always there.  I remember you there.

I remember finding you like a shiny penny

and cutting my foot on the rocks in the river.

No one said I love you, but somewhere

a baby is crying.

————————————————————

I’m drawing a map of the city.

You’re always in it but I never know where you are.

I’m always in it but I’m usually alone.

There was a time when things were different –

the two of us pressed up against the bathroom wall

in that gay bar downtown.

Afterwards, you held my hand in the snow.

The terrific pink night sky

nearly swallowed us whole.

There is no route back to where we started.

The city will never remember us tomorrow.

————————————————————

The other day in the supermarket, I saw your deodorant

on the shelf.  I couldn’t stop myself from opening it

and smelling you.

There are so many things I want to tell you.

I’ve started painting again.  I’m trying to write poems

even if they are all about you.

This week alone I’ve had four first dates.

The best part always seems to be

coming home alone, undressing,

and eating crackers in my underwear.

No one kisses like you do.  There’s nothing more depressing

than a terrible kiss.

The seasons are changing.  Yes,

the seasons are changing.