Spirit in the galley runs left
Then right, streaking till she falls
Exhausted without thought

Years past came a crashing;
The early years alone content
With her books taking her away
From mums controlling; brothers
Death that tore apart the world
She formed for forming sake,
Growing innately regardless;
Divorce and the bravery of
Facing the future utterly alone.

Spirit in the galley runs left
Then right, streaking till she falls
Exhausted without thought,
Giggling when the man makes
Her and…this is why.

Mortality and the fragility
Of life so short and precious
She enjoys all she can.

I give
In the dark half-light
Of eve, of morn,
Passions sweet.

In sore need
Does the frail hand reach
Out for another beat
Of dark flesh and blood.

happy birthday bubba, r.

And in the end I loved him
Like I never could or should,
Unconditionally, fatuously
He got me through the rough
Just after Stevie Ray died
And yet through not enough,
I needed more. I have more
Now and yet, now I reside
In the white space forming
Where I can see my heart
Aflutter denying nothing
But enjoying all she can.

I
Call her a lady
Sometimes
When
She’s your baby
Sometimes
Just call her
Cause
She’s a good lay
Sometimes.

Though in her heart
She needs a friend
Every now and then.

She embrace the state
Fully knowing
And yet bitter sweetly
At a loss.
Even as stillness comes
The craving.

When she stop asking,
Stop stalking
The verve will be gone,
Her passion spent
And heart too sore again.

She may embrace
Her submission as well
As her aggression
But she lay naked
To no man in subservience.

II
The hours blur into days gone the way of the fey,
Her mind spent off on odd thoughts a pondering
Existence and the state of being stilly
In convergence with the urgence of her needs
Voice low and rough as life beats her down
She will sing away anyway, find her path alone.

III
I just want the words to spill,
Spit forth from lips like venom
Sucked straight from the veins.

The myriad thoughts of all that fall
Are these? While the others stay a fester.

Everyone’s a fucking poet
They write their smallness
In a tight hand. Their lives
Neatly fitting into form
And rhyme while my soul
Bleeds all across the lines
And on into the white space.

Bleed away the day
Gettin’ by on nothing.

I
Tears cool,
Sweet juice dripping
Down skin so smooth
Like blood from a wound…

Streaming in a mad bass line.
She wanders aimlessly why
Her joy fills the empty
Spaces where

Something else should be.
Should, should
She never quite did it right
The way the others say…
She should.

But then again, if she did
Would she be so
Real in the now
Fingers strumming long
Lean lines of him.

She breathes deep
He likes the bright
Laughing Peach.
And keeps her that way.

II
They had stepped back
Moving closer in.
She smiles her way, a
Cool mischevious grin.
Confused yet soaring,
Questioning no one
And nothing, just being.

III
Her god will kill her
Sweetly and with passion
As her heart knows no
Other way. She will let him.