I got nothin.
It's sad, this aching to write and write,
But the words coming out sound so contrite.

Like that.

I stand up, stare down at my page.
I see the lines, those imaginary borders
between my stubborn head,
and my bleeding heart.

I pray that the division will have a remainder.

That forgotten piece, the inconsequential.

Because the remainder is the thing-
That space between there and here,
Where time sits in a chair,
staring at its own hands.

That no man's land where eraser crumbs
become mountains worth climbing.

Where the fairy tales of our own beginnings gather breath,
Spreading wings over the valleys of our truth.

my town
where wild flowers grow
between tram tracks.
there was a time when
it was hardly morning,
no bridge into daylight.

walls had ears,
neighbors had eyes
whispering behind the curtains
there was an emptiness in the guts
of the city
and poetry locked in the drawers,
Borges was read under the blankets
while Dostoievski was  a comforter:
demons were embedded.

yeah, people were clapping and smiling
watching the nub of history, numb
they had a life to live,
what can you say?

one day the radio
burst on in the streets
some were shivering in the attic
"we are free", they said
"we are free",
came the echo in trance

"shhhhh"! said others,
let us wipe the blood
don't disturb the sacrificed
so we can sleep
without dreams

it's Thursday in my town
streets are weary
and our souls are
slowly expanding

Pour it out,
that dis-ease of your remorse.

Lay your broken bones gently
into this cut crystal glass.

See how the light refracts?

I chase words and phrases
round and round inside my head.
My thoughts slide.
They are soft butter on a hot knife.

Dripping from the blade,
they slip, without pretense,
into my waiting hand.

I cup these thoughts in my palm,
and pour my melted butter words
onto your paper heart.

she wrings the morning
from her paint soaked dress, dreaming
dragonflies hover
becoming sunlight dancing
vast, her fields of flowers bloom

I want to smile like the sunrise

sleep in the heavens like the high moon

be cradled aligned with the stars

and rise like a proud head of a woman

that turn the neck

of a stubborn man


I want to be the apple

shinning beside my consort

run for miles to the closest rainbow

reach out to the struggles of nature

and embrace the rain

where I am baptized in holy evaporation


I want to heal

a broken childs heart

after and abuse

after an attack

and make them feel found

and whole again


I want to run with the wild

and fly

with Roman and Greek mythology

where fantasys crown me queen

and they are my dream

cause it never dies

whatever is young in my mind


when crumbled

I want to succeed

when fallen

I want to stand back up

and look at the world

and hold on to it tightly

because it is all I got

to survive.


And the world smells good.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden