April 29, 2010

the buzz

my skin tingles
at your buzz
i am
a worker, a drone
a perfect twin to millions
you accept and allow into 
your presence
i move slowly near your stripes
pretending even 
to stick to the honeycomb.
when i fly away to float
among the smiling faces
and pink
and yellow
stealing the delicious spice of rumors
i move quickly
dripping with loyalty
a giant i would attack
and die
to save you from blushing death
it is my nature, you see
i serve
my queen bee

April 28, 2010

Preacher Girl

You were there, when I fell through a galaxy to the bottom of a black hole and into the valley of my life. It was your spirit that found me dead on some deserted moon. It was your spirit that warmed my chest and turned the light on again behind my eyes.

I caught up with you in Paris. We slept on a busted futon. We held hands. I touched your face. We rode bicycles around the city. We got to share in that grown-up moment together when the Love and Peace Hostel told us we were too old to lodge there. (Though just barely:)

It is indeed true that you have led at times, and I have led at times. Partnership is what it's called.

How exactly am I supposed to guage my rising tide of love for you, with seismic meters and gadgets?

I cherish our history, all of it, in Los Angeles and Portland. It's the special people that can place the pain behind them and evolve into the next level of their relationship. Of course, everything I know about being special I learned from your French spirit. My love, when you brought me back to life, I became your personal artist forever. And more. I'm blowing a kiss into the northern sky as I post this and it ought to be arriving on your lips right about...now.

April 27, 2010

Voice Box Recognition

Seagulls own the beach in the winter. Wild horses will always capture our imagination. Squirrels continue to freak me out.

Dogs will love you, no matter if you leave them alone for 12 hours and yell at them for chewing on the cabinets when you return home, or if they're being led to the gas chamber at the local pound.

Nothing is quicker than a fish, except a quicker fish.

Nothing is as awesome as a hawk blurring downward.

Dairy cows don't complain, and they could complain about a lot of things in this here industrialized world in which they live.

A fox once breezed across the trail in front of me deep in the woods. She moved like a tuft of red vapor below my knees and disappeared into the green. The next day I saw a coyote loping near the river, waiting for something. Then I saw another coyote hopping along on three legs, keeping up.

What's prettier, a cardinal or a blue bird? I don't know.

Elephants cover twenty miles a day in the wild. They live in chains in the circus.

People say don't run if you encounter a bear in the woods, but let me explain something: I will run my ass off.

There's a flock of wild green parrots with red faces where I live, and when they congregate and chatter in my sister's backyard fruit tree, time stands still.

The crows watch everything from their perch. My dog used to chase deer in the woods as if he actually had a chance.

Once there was a laboratory monkey that was confined to a cage his entire life and somehow a sanctuary got hold of him, and you know how he spent his very first day outside the walls of the labratory? He sat on a hill, watched the sun rise, watched it traverse the sky, and then watched it set.

Someday I hope to see a Bengal Tiger and a pride of lions but it won't be at the zoo because I don't go to zoos.

I feel better knowing we come from apes rather than God creating Adam and Eve out of thin air. I mean, what's more magical? What's more honorable? What binds us to the earth other than evolution? Ignoring evolution separates us from our brothers and sisters watching our every move but keeping quiet because the largest difference between us and the animals is the development of our voice boxes. I'm just sayin'.

See, the animals are my people. They've been there for me when no one else was. I have a lot more than a little bit of love for them.

April 26, 2010

The Goddess Hunter

I've tracked you for thousands of years. You left a sheet of ice across the far side of Saturn. You burned a path through the sun. You touched my face during a sandstorm in the Sahara.

I read the terrain and followed.

Every century, since the birth of life, the stars have said to carry on. And so I have.

Along the way I have lost everything, gladly. For I am a goddess hunter. And now, finally, this journey of epochs is coming to a close.

The scars through my heart are real. Yet it beats. I have lived the prophecy. Dark forces could not stop me. I walked through demons. I cured ghosts. Witches sat at my feet.

And now I am knocking at your door. You live in this smog city among these ordinary people who have no idea who you really are. But I do.

The door is open. I enter. A thousand candles are burning on the floor. You are waiting, with a flower in your hair. The search, my darling, is truly over. 


April 25, 2010

A Trillion Years

You smell sweetest here, just above your temple. I love kissing your closed eye because it's the softest kiss in the world. I need to lick your lips for my own daily sanity. Still, I must be careful not to devour you entirely. There won't be anything left for later!

I know we've just started sexing. But I must learn to touch your body better. I must know more places where you like the touch so soft it nearly tickles, but doesn't quite. Where you like the circles, where you enjoy the strumming, and where you like the flowering fingertips. You see, this was ordained my job from the beginning of time. God Almighty was assigning chores and said, "Ed, I want you to touch Bree in a trillion years." And I was like, "Right on, dude. I'll start asking the stars what's the best way to touch the most perfect tiny body. Word!"

And now you are my divine instrument to play, at long last. I've learned all I could since I was assigned my dream job way back when, and we're still getting in tune. The fact is, truly masterful performances are the result of patience and practice. So let's keep practicing.

Last night while the LAPD ghetto birds buzzed the rooftops you popped up in bed and demanded to know how is it I know exactly where to touch your body.

The answer is training. But you ain't felt nothing yet.

Come here, Sunshine Girl. Lay on your stomach. I want to show you one of a few thousand tricks I've learned over the years. This one Neptune taught me, but I think it might need a little refinement. Seriously, Bree, what are you doing for the next trillion years?

April 24, 2010

News Flash

I've got your news for the day right here:

Wages continue to stay flat. Cost of living continues to increase. More people lost their homes. The stock market was up again.

Some teams won. Some teams lost. Some player got traded. Some player said something stupid.

We've been at "war" now in the Mideast for far longer than it took to win World War II.

The weather will be sunny, unless it's not. Consult the sky in the morning, and then again in the afternoon.

Non-violent offenders continue to clog up the jails and prisons. They are almost exclusively poor. There is no serious effort to rectify this crime.

There might be another super flu coming out of Asia, possibly. No one knows for sure.

Another government agency was obeying the industry it was supposed to be regulating.

Every politician is running on the slogan of "change," for 30 years now.

Some celebrity has some new movie coming out.

And I am still madly in love with you.

April 23, 2010


You have only said "I love you" a few times. When I listen to what you do instead of what you say, though, it is there.

I was afraid, when I met you, of not being good enough, of being permanently broken. You sat with me, listened to me, worked through pain with me, and held me when I cried. You learned what hurt and you helped it heal. You made it safe for me to be myself without trying to fit to what you wanted; all you wanted, all you want, is me.

I came home in the cold and the snow one night, exhausted and sad. You told me to take a hot shower and relax. You fed me dinner you had made, adjusting spices to my taste instead of yours. You gave me a glass of wine and let me talk about the day, good and bad. You had warmed up the bed, so when we climbed in and turned off the lights we were in a comfortable, warm, safe cave, tucked into each other. You held me as I slept. You let me have the night to let go of everything.

We have been through joy, grief, laughter, and pain, and now a future we never imagined has opened up in front of us. It is different, but not necessarily worse. We are adjusting.

Despite it all, because of it all, we are still together.

I love you for your stability, your humor, your cooking, your patience. I love that I still smile every time I see you. I love that we make each other laugh, and I love that we can be each others' support when life hurts past bearing.

You are my center. You are what I come back to, what I yearn for, what brightens the day and makes the nights safe. You are my laughter and sometimes my anger. You are the safe place I never had, and you do not make me feel weak for wanting that safety.

You are stronger than you know; you have given me strength and loved me as myself.

April 22, 2010

Gypsy Soul

I undressed your raggae spirit. Yeah, I did it before we fell asleep for a thousand years in this sacred grove of olive trees. Then we took a leisurely swim in your jade-colored river before hunting for that tie-dye shirt hanging from a branch somewhere. Afterwards, we sailed toward the horizon of your gypsy soul, guided by the brightest stars in our sky.

When we hit land, we traded that sailboat in for how we prefer to travel: A 1992 black Porsche 911. We raced over the ribbon of asphalt through the desert, blasting through mirages to the outpost town where, when we did leave our room, it was only to use the pool and eat, briefly. I mean, who gambles in Las Vegas when the jackpot has hazel eyes and lives between the sheets, except to eat and use the pool, breifly.

We came awake as light leaked into the sky, softly breathing on each other's face. And then we set off again, this time blasting through cloud mountains to Paris. We had dinner with Louie, bicycled around the city, and woke up in Rome. When we couldn't find your shirt in Rome, we figured we'd try Hong Kong, Istanbul and Jupiter, always guided by the brightest stars in our blended sky, always sailing by the full canvass of your gypsy soul.

April 21, 2010

Dinner in the Garden

I didn't know we were allowed to live here in the sky, sipping on stars, lost in light, upside down and turned the fuck around. We waited our whole lives to discover the sweet fun of blindness.

Falling was ordained. Carve me up, woman. Dive inside my chest. And I'll crawl up your ass. Then we'll burst out at the same time and put the jeweled pieces back together for our daily work of art.

Go to work. Dinner will be ready when you return. No, I don't mind working in your kitchen, and that's because you don't mind working for me in the bedroom. Yeah, I don't mind running my big mouth, and that's because I can back it up, sometimes.

We'll save the jokes for later. I mean, I'll save the jokes for later. Right now, I want to drop into your eyes and catch and the wind from your childhood, tear a chunk from my soul and plant it in your garden, hang paper lanterns from your sky, climb into your deepest well and touch the holy water lightly with the back of my hand. Then I'll think about what to make for dinner.

April 20, 2010

Shoveling Dirt

I shovel dirt and think about you. I stab my spade through live roots, dead ones. My arms become roots. I shovel dirt and think about you.

My back aches. My hands swell. I'm glad for the work. No one hassles me. I'm refreshed by the ocean breeze. 

My prestigious education meant something many lifetimes ago. The awards I won as a journalist don't mean much anymore. The planners have planned the bulk of the wealth away from the bulk of the people. So I shovel dirt. And somehow I am grateful.

Another spadeful. Another. Another. My body works, my mind drifts. I am surviving, working. My mind is feasting. I shovel dirt and think about you.

April 19, 2010


By Tori MacLennan

This love
Isn't unrequited
It's mutual
It's real
We connect
And yet
We're apart
We're authentic
With each other
We love
We hug
We hold on
We matter
To us
The others
They wonder
They do
They wouldn't 
Maybe Someday
We can be

Tree Rings

Yvonne Osborne at The Organic Writer is hosting a Festival of Trees and this is my entry for the magical festival of words and art she put together...

The ancient tree releases millions of seeds every day.

One finds nourishing soil.

It is you.

The earth hears the song of the seed and cups the dirt with its holy hands. The seed sprouts a smile.

The earthworms feel the vibrations of a party and boogie over. The sun winks at the green nub. The wind piques its curiosity with a tickle. The moon whispers the little one's secret name.

In this way, the universe gave me life, too.

You grow as quick as bamboo in my world. You are strong as oak, and as shy about this inner strength as a rose opening in the morning.

Your leaves spread a canopy, coloring the afternoon sunlight green and sweet as grapes.

I eat.

Your roots run deep into me. 

How could this happen? I do not know.

We journeyed our entire lives to arrive here, both of us with knots lodged within the rings of our lives. Nobody is perfect, or maybe we all are since we all have our knots. 

The sun sinks lower. Your canopy reddens ever so slightly. The moon calls both of our secret names.

You invite me to climb up. I swing on your branches like a tarzan.

No place I would rather be than in your tree house having fun.

No place I would rather be than in the green palace of your arms forever.

April 18, 2010

Panchettona ('Punk-a-ton-a')

I didn't expect you, that's for damn sure-- oops, I mean darn sure. I didn't expect me to care, not like this. I didn't know joy had this sort of gooey feel, like a tide of Jello, especially when you spot me arriving to pick you up from school and you smile with your whole face.

I didn't expect I'd have trouble finding the English language words to describe the color and durability of my love for you.

Yeah, I showed you how to stand in the batter's box to hit a softball, but I was just having fun. You were the one who wanted to learn. And so I'm allowed to beam with pride that you went two-for-three in last Saturday's game when at the same time I don't care what your stats say.

I love that you have the secret family jewel tucked away in your DNA, as I do. I love that you tell me all about Tyler D, the boy at school you're in love with. I love that you call me "uncle" when your parents are around and "Ed" when they're not. And I love that you share your precious gummy worms with me, except the red ones. Even those sometimes, as when you have a multitude.

So thanks, panchettona, for filling a hole in my life I didn't even know was there. And keep the bat back just a bit.

April 17, 2010

Flighty Bird

Flighty bird blurring against the sky, I think I know what you're looking for. I think you're looking for the place where the Great Bird drinks.

I have looked too.

What I have discovered (so far) is this: The Great One drinks from the same pool of water in two different places. The first is in contact, as when our wings briefly brushed together.

The other place is more difficult to find, largely because we find ourselves in this location so much of the time.

As you know, our kind is especially active at dawn. When She rises, we take flight. She paints pictures on the dome and warms us. We spin in circles, celebrating her morning work of art, catching air currents, showcasing our ability to chase each other in the spirit of cooperation.

And that's the other place where the Great One drinks, in our flight, in our natures. Wherever we find peace. So fly, because that relaxes your insides. Streak across my sky. Drink and be satisfied, breath freely, stretch your wings, like a flock all by yourself, bolting up and away. I know that flight pattern well, sister.

April 16, 2010

Mount Sinai Revisted, And It's About Time

My friend and fellow artist Mark Dixon wrote the following in response to my Orange Embers post with regard to the accuracy in the Bible of the historical event involving our friend Moses:

As Moses climbed down the mountain with the first set of tablets (and it sounds like he hadn't had time to read them yet), he saw his people acting like fools and smashed the tablets in anger. So he had to
climb back up and ask God for another set. I've always wondered...what if the replacements didn't say the same thing as the originals?

Imagine for a moment you're God. Moses took off climbing down the mountain. You're relaxing with a bite size Three Musketeers and chuckling quietly to yourself about what a brilliant idea it was to
create candy. Then there's this little trudge-trudge-trudge sound and Moses's head pops up over the mountainside. He's back, but without the tablets. You raise an eyebrow and hide the candy wrapper because Moses is like 8th century BC and he's not supposed to know about that yet. Moses walks over to you and gives you this lame story about getting angry at his people and smashing the tablets. Great.

Are you gonna take the time to re-write all the secrets of the universe (you know, like the physical world is a hologram, you can never receive more than you give, all living creatures respond to
light, time travel is possible but perpetual motion is not, life on earth exists in a delicate balance that is easily fucked up, you will never create a situation that you can't learn from, we are all created
to live in duality with another, one earthrise as viewed from the moon will tell you everything you need to know about time, etc., etc., the usual secrets of the universe stuff) or are you gonna just jot down ten basic rules for dummies (don't kill, don't steal, don't lie) and send him back?

April 15, 2010

Orange Embers

Feel like melting my core?

Want your embers stirred up like a nest of fireflies?

While we're at it, how's about rattling the bones of our ancestors?

Then let's test a little theory of mine:

I think Moses really brought down from the mountain a simple set of directions for true love. But I don't think the people in charge really wanted everyone to be free so they carved a bunch of common sense rules into a few stone tablets, opened a police department, built a church and temple and started selling souvenirs on the plaza.

The good news is I know the secret location of the true love directions. If you hold real still, with your face turned fully toward the afternoon sunlight, your ass out, that tiny smile of yours barely suppressed, then the ancient lettering will magically glow orange on the bottom of your heart. Hold still, I'm going in to have a look. Don't laugh, or I won't be able to see it. Then we'll have to do this all over again later.

Oh, well. Later it is. I'm determined to prove this theory correct by making my find, my dear. Remember, this is for the benefit of all humanity that we're doing this so I'm going to want to double-check, after I triple-check. Hey, this is serious stuff.

Love Is Love

You were the last dream I had. I guarded your heart. I was a downy blanket wrapped around your shoulders. I had to make sure you wouldn't ever fear such a beautiful thing.  

After all, during the thousand nights in our tiny apartment in the city, it was not into my ear that you whispered but into my heart. I still hear you smile in the dark. Your name still clings to my lips. The memory of your hands still warms my curves.

Come wrap your arms around me from behind. Tuck your fingers into my pockets. Rest your chin on my shoulder like only you do.

They say without the drink, people see and taste with an unequaled clarity. But tell me, can you feel us now in primary colors? Is my intensity white hot, or is it the red of the amaryllis? Have the memories faded to pastels or are they in Technicolor for the first time?

La mort c'est la mort. Mais l'amour c'est l'amour. La mort c'est seulement la mort. Mais l'amour c'est l'amour.*

Your scars make me love you more. Nothing and no one will ever change that.

You are my one. But that isn't the first blessing. The first is knowing I am yours.
. . .

* Death is death. But love is love. Death is only death. But love is love.

April 13, 2010

favorite mug

your day is like
your favorite mug
you fill it with
the necessary stuff
to survive in this world
those days, let me be
the seasoning
other days, i get to fill it
with your favorite brew
as well as mine
vanilla and chai leaves and
inside jokes
and a dollop of raw honesty
and honey
i will gently blow on your day
when it's too hot
cup my hands to share in the warmth
and fill it with spirits along the way
never will i leave your mug
on the countertop with coffee grounds
at the bottom
for days
don't judge me by my propensity to blast van halen
or how i casually enter the bathroom
to brush my teeth while you're peeing
and not pick up on that unhappy look on your face
judge me instead by how i thread my fingers through the handle of your day
lift your world to my lips
and drink in your story

April 8, 2010

Silly Star God

What is it with you and the star god anyway? I know you he loves you, but isn't enough enough? Doesn't he know by now?

You are part woman, part goddess and part butterfly. Not just any butterfly, but the very butterfly that slept on Buddah's toe, kissed Jesus on the cheek, and whispered "nice job" in Ghandi's ear. You are the butterfly that flapped its wings and raised the seas, when the fishes needed the seas raised. That flapped its wings and stirred the winds, when the slaves in the fields needed a breeze. That tickled the chin of that homeless man on sixth street who hadn't laughed in four years.

Everyone sees different colors in your wings. You're so cute that way. What do you show the star god anyway? Go ahead and show him any color you wish, and show the world any color they hope to see, like you do. I will be waiting in your bed, where your true colors bloom.

Have we really been together for a million years now? Darling, it feels like last Tuesday we met. I really don't like bragging, but...hey star god, eat your heart out, son.

April 5, 2010

Dark Hawks

someone better not look at me the wrong way when i'm dark hawking. i'm gentle, but the dark hawk destroys. the dark hawk is fierce, and huge men have cowered before the dark hawk. so we go to the far side of the moon when we become that without hope. another bill i can’t pay, the fact that i'm still nomadic after six years, that i have a hole in my heart, in my life. the dark hawk issues the edict: let the world burn. burn it all down. this world is fallen.

it’s all a lie. stay comfortable. there is no benefit to leaving the hobbit hole. the spirits tease you out, then laugh at your pain. christ didn’t die for our sins. he was murdered, and no good came of it, other than a congregation of fools believing they were saved by murdering the man.

we soar over the dead surface of the moon, until we tire, and then we unbecome and return home and slowly begin to hope once more.

* * *

A close friend of mine wrote the following in response to my dark hawk piece:

Dark Hawk, you are not alone. The flight on the dark side of the moon feels solitary but you are not alone. You can’t see the other Dark Hawks as they cloak themselves well, but you are not alone. You see, I too am a Dark Hawk and it is my secret. I cloak myself in shades of happiness and hues of laughter. You can’t see me for what I am. But know you are not alone.

If I exposed my true self would you fly away? If I exposed my true self would it comfort you? There are others, but they too hide. They don’t want to be a Dark Hawk. They don’t want anyone to know their true self. Instead they point to others and say they are broken. The others don’t want to acknowledge. They fear the unknown of being true.

I hide in the shadows hoping to avoid being noticed, but I noticed you. There must be a reason. Please, don’t be afraid, we are safe. We are safe together. It isn’t often that I see others here in the lee of the moon, but I’m glad you are here because I need you too. We don’t need to speak for I understand. A simple glance will do. You and I can fly in silence the way all Dark Hawks do.

April 1, 2010

unfaithful moon

So the earth and moon are feuding, and for the first time in history. Well, some of us saw this coming.

For billions of years the earth and moon have held each other in a kissing contest. That’s what gravity is, a pull, a perpetual touch, cosmic contact. Fools think the stars just sit there. But they are locked in everlasting kisses with other stars holding each other up. And our moon and earth, so close together, have been Frenching for a long time now.

Then you came along, with that lanky walk of yours, and the way you push up your glasses. And if that wasn’t enough, that little laugh of yours and that tiny smile. And now the moon refuses to vacate its perch atop your rooftop.

Well, like I said, some of us saw this coming the first time we saw those legs of yours.