Oscar

In my deep place I birthed a dragon.
It wasn't real of course,
But it flew with terrible grace
Blew fire that burned the clutter away
Showed the secret door forward.

Through the door but slowly,
Sadly waving farewell, not
Knowing who my next guardian would be.

In the meadow I found a horse,
Sparks from her hooves,
Mane whipping in the harsh wind, and
On her back I rode and rode.
She crossed a desert with me, nearly,
Dying a day's walk from its edge.
I mourned.

Alone I walked from the desert, dry,
Calm, quiet, at peace.
At the edge of the city I found a
Mewling cat, demanding worship.
In his eyes, the desert remained.

In the market, in the bustle, I
Nestle into his fur and I
Still can find peace.

oh canada

I will never be warm

Block-hard feet in black boots

Mittened hands clutching my Otterbox as if

It could deliver me from this

Snow

As if I could tweet myself away. 

Creeping down, soft,

Innocuous, looking like Christmas,

Like childhood, like a white blanket.

Like a landslide that looks like clouds in the distance.

Smothering trees,

Lawns, roads, cars, 

Steps, hats, upward gazing churches.

Smothering hope of spring

Hope of light, gasps for help.

Smothering.

I close my eyes, imagine

A beach, the crystal blue Dominican sea,

The sharp explosion of a beach grape on my tongue,

Sand and sunburn and coconut.

Imagine Balinese breezes, 

Loose cotton pants, big hats, 

Grass thatch.

But my feet are clay, frozen to this place and 

I hate snow. 

Southern Cross

It's the imperfections that make it art.
That moment in Southern Cross where Stills' voice cracks
breaks my heart wide open to the salt sea
every time
every time

The messy people, the odd ones, the ones who don't fit
The stripper feminists, the androgynous ones pining for princess treatment
The ones who bluster and cuss and make uncomfortable spaces more
uncomfortable

80 feet of waterline.

read riot, blast on, trample your fucking etiquette
this is the stuff of life

nicely making way.

Punks and Stephen Stills
Feminists and arrogant men
Black hearts and bleeding hearts

I have been around the world

but I haven't, I haven't, I have been safe, here,
in the invisible buffers of everyday life, contained.

I may not get to the Marquesas but I can
be the mad one, love the differences, embrace the unusual
I can fall out of your polite society, push out, punch my way out,
I can rave with the ravers, rant with the newfoundlanders,

Spirits are using me
These things make life bearable.