Fortune cookie

A girl who used to look forward to dinner and a movie

The simple pleasure of walking hand in hand with stillness and a harvest moon

was handed a poisoned fortune cookie

caught a virus, and that virus crawled into her stomach, like a ray gun

it changed the waves until, her stomach like arrythmia of the heart

was fitful and lurched

she was instantly sickened, from a person of health she turned


her body shut down and said

no, I don’t want to eat

dimly she remembered the days

she would lust and long for food

her appetite completely gone, the acidic growl of her stomach

held all dominion

she was slave to nausea 24/7

like a merciless dictator it left her no peace

even in the lingering hours of night

she woke bathed in sweat

her stomach somersaulting in wicked mirth

such a terrible feeling of imbalance and sickness

her hands gripped the sides of the toilet

she prayed until her head ached

for nothing could have prepared her

nothing assuaged the constant torture

every day of every day

she began to imagine

her death

fondly like a fantasy

and then when she realized what she was doing

she would cry until the crying

made her sicker and she had to stop

bottle all the anquish up

but there was nowhere to throw it, or store it or let it free

it built higher like a fortress

locking her out of life

days, weeks, months went by

she was captured between glass

unable to eat or drink without throwing up

or wishing she never had to try to chew, force food in green bilious mouth

perhaps it was punishment for a former life

where she was greedy and ate too much

or tormented the Fates with the heal of her shoe

it seemed definitely karmic punishment

just as her will to live, ran thin and irregular

sometimes imperceptable

like arrythmia pulses below the surface

that would not quiet or return to normal

disturbing former calm we take for granted

a girl who used to look forward to dinner

sits at a quayside cafe, drinking empty glasses

eating plates without food

staring at turbulent water rise and fall

waves crashing without sequence, into wet wood

holding back or pushing forward, who knows?

one day either the sea will admit defeat, or erode everything

and that is how I will be free, she says

to carefree birds overhead, yet to be struck down

they know not their good fortune


Let her out

The wax in your wane

Needle on smooth track

A song from twenty years back

When you didn’t have

The holes you have now

Crocheting skin with doubt

When you just threw yourself open

Dancing in a crowd with long wick

Breasts high, chin tight, feet on tiptoe

The candle lasted all through night 

And we spilled, like red polinated seeds

Out into dark city streets

Bra straps, cyclist legs, powdered glee

It’s not the bravado of youth 

But the absence of ghosts

Keeps us free


I am you 

I am the flicker of past who asks

What did you do with your true self?

Packaged up in trepidation so soft

Lulled yourself to sleepwalking 

Years passed like finger on fast forward

Before you know 


On the cusp of memory

A girl with an open smile

Running towards you

Gone, not lost

Unpick the confine

Let her out

That she may find again


The borderlands of your mind

christian-schloe-94There’s a look in her eye

it says I am strong and I do not know

yet how deep this goes

to join with protective arm in the moist earth those who stand before and after

except there will be no after

my child lies sleeping eternal sleep, my womb will no more facsimile

it ends with me

I stand alone when you pass and I remain when you are gone

It is the sorrow you always saw in my eyes

I knew

the price of freedom is to be alone at the last hurdle

a strange familiar pain, turned to in twisted recognition

strength usually accompanied numbers, other families look on

you can hear them with their dismay

she is the poor one who inherits isolation

and what I have learned, is the truth of this and the lie

you may share a name, a legacy, a generation or a string around your finger

and still within you


nobody thinks to inquire in a room-full of noise

you may be speaking loudly, no-one will listen

captivated by their carousel of cacophony

so when you said I was formed of my choices

you were right

and what you missed, was your own price

for we all believe ourselves immortal to obscurity

it is my fate to understand this

it is your torment to chase

the dragon you seek and avoid

he will never let you catch him

you will never discover why

the borderlands of your mind

make enemies of love so well

New door

ab332e761de8e5a56511dfaa85aa5c8aDisease of heart grows rancorous sore

What we hold closest we teach them to fear

When good people do not stir we hear plaintive call


Moving not to change their fates in acted chore

Disturbing freedom of those we keep too near

Standing still without moving, perhaps worst sore


Entreating fate to stir our oracle toward peace

given to all beginning their walk beneath light

Else we bequeath only lamenting ashes of war


Radiantly our faith shall support our walk

creating hopeful worlds within own might

Whom among us can we know to be sure?


gathering what we learn within our reach

fleeing old echoes we go into raptured night

If we leave it open slightly we protect the door


Those who have come far-reaching distant shore

The gravity of will, the impossibility of might

Whom among us can with certain heart be sure?

another shall perhaps close, offering new door

Her will

She is her own past and future

her knees bent behind her

muscles fattened with lethargy

why do I want her? his voice in the distance

why would I want those breasts that sling

slow about her bones like sorrow

those eyes that look as if they have cried

once too often

she is imperfect

she is not new and clean

nor ready for your molding

she is broken and fused and broken and fused

some of her will never knit back together

where gaps form there are questions

how did it come to this?

what made you think you could?

and she defies him with her knees

bent beneath

her proud back

arched taut, ready for arrow

he may think he is in control

he knows

nothing of her will

Pull down the night

ffffComing sudden

over hill

scraped light

makes one last trill

before diminishing

beneath black rock

born from ire in

molten wrath

who so ever

dares stand up

to speak truth

will taste their lash

they who fear

forever burdened with ash

it is their weft to

make pillage of attempt

they would pull down the night

forever if it were a fabric

and not the entirety of the world

disguising sight