A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

in the trees lies a dream
in the breeze
of a melody.

i wait in the chair
stare off the balcony

rhythm of a
different kin

****** to the floor
a boat. with blues
my toes float,
not to listen,
this is a joke.

sideways death throne
cousins eats scones
floats in methadone --

I can dream in a mumble,
I’m holy in the jungle
but won't jump off

the angry totem scheme,
til the sound goes soft.
i can’t
hear her
scream.

im runnin away
im holdin this canyon
in my hand,

one more tonight

hop over the
fire,

escape
plan

paint away the grey smudges
underneath your eyes
little black rainclouds
of your demise
cautiously stroke
inside the lines
so no one will notice
their actual size
and the lack of skill
lack of will...
little red
what goes on in your
tear-soaked
head
why do you
sit up in your bed
so late
why don't you
finish the day
with a little game
of pretend
it will carry you through
till the end
honey,
every thespian
will tell you
never to leave home
without a mask
darling,
you never know
when you'll need to
act

there is this boy
and he is
very black
and very muscular
and
he could easily
overpower me
and he thinks my
legs
are
nice
and my dad would
crap his pants
if he ever saw him near me
because dad is still scared
of black people

there is this boy
he is very white
and a little dorky
but i like the way
his face
makes funny eyebrow smiles
he never
leaves
me
alone
and dad wouldn't care
if he was with me
because this boy is too scared
to do
anything

there is this boy
that is really more like a man
and he drives a jeep
and fishes a lot
and takes pictures
and draws on his ipad
and he's kind of a ****
but he told me i'm spunky
and that i make him smile
and that he
likes me
i was glad
to make him
smile
dad would probably
be
his best
friend

there is this boy
who i thought was really big on jesus
but it turns out he wanted to take me into a walk in freezer
pour chocolate on me
and lick it off
i liked him because i thought he was nice
but he wanted me
to
lick
his
fingers
and other things
too
i said
no
dad would
shoot him

there is this boy
that plays the trumpet
and has a receding hairline
but he's only like
twenty two
and he
likes to find my face
and smile at me
because he wants to know
if i'll smile
back
he wanted to give me
a massage
and a long hug
i wish he would
tell me
he liked me
so maybe we could be
together
dad would
think he was
the marrying type

there is this boy
who likes to tell me what he's wearing
which is usually silky underwear
blue ones
red ones
sometimes
none
the first night i knew him
he sent me a picture
of his ***
it was really
white
he wants to
draw a bath for me
and watch me
in the bubbles
he tells me
i can touch him
anywhere
i want
he'll touch me
too
dad would skin him
after
he shot him

there is this boy
who is high
or drunk
24/7
he makes me watch awful scary movies
he is silly
playful
he
loves
me
but he is in
california
and he only loves me
as a friend
he wants a blonde
not a redhead
and that is ok
we would be too much for this world
if we were together
anyway
dad would
hate
him

I am tired, I am worn
For this is the calm after the storm
Heart beat ceases to race
Everything seems to fall into place
Take comfort in cycles and patterns,
Separate the insignificant from what matters
History repeats itself they say,
The universe works in funny ways
So push thoughts of growing older,
Of growing colder, of forgetting to be bolder
To the back of my mind
Shelved away somewhere difficult to find
And think instead of stories that turn out okay
Think of the sound of waves and rainy days
For I am slowly breathing
Almost sleeping
Nearly dreaming
Simply being.

You wanted to hold all of the suffering of the world
In the palm of your hand
And when you saw it would not fit,
You quietly slid some into your pockets
And beneath your pillow
And between the pages of your notebook,
Struggling to comprehend why every tear was shed.
You tried to save the drowning man,
To keep him from slipping beneath the turbulence of the sea
For the last time.
But you slipped out of happiness
The way one slips out of her daily routine.
Losing sight of the sunlight shining on the sea
And the children's laughter echoing from the shore,
The world faded to black and white.
And as the water filled your lungs,
You realized that all of that suffering was weighing you down,
And the drowning man was much farther out than you thought.
So silently you sunk, deeper and deeper,
Watching the fractured pieces of your black and white world,
Disappearing above you.

We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?

     "Sit in my hand."
I'm ten.
I can't see him,
but I hear him breathing
in the dark.
It's after dinner playtime.
We're outside,
hidden by trees and shrubbery.
He calls it hide-and-seek,
but only my little sister seeks us
as we hide
and she can't find us,
as grandfather picks me up
and rubs his hands between my legs.
I only feel a vague stirring
at the edge of my consciousness.
I don't know what it is,
but I like it.
It gives me pleasure
that I can't identify.
It's not like eating candy,
but it's just as bad,
because I had to lie to grandmother
when she asked,
"What do you do out there?"
"Where?" I answered.
Then I said, "Oh, play hide-and-seek."
She looked hard at me,
then she said, "That was the last time.
I'm stopping that game."
So it ended and I forgot.
Ten years passed, thirtyfive,
when I began to reconstruct the past.
When I asked myself
why I was attracted to men who disgusted me
I traveled back through time
to the dark and heavy breathing part of my life
I thought was gone,
but it had only sunk from view
into the quicksand of my mind.
It was pulling me down
and there I found grandfather waiting,
his hand outstretched to lift me up,
naked and wet
where he rubbed me.
"I'll do anything for you," he whispered,
"but let you go."
And I cried, "Yes," then "No."
"I don't understand how you can do this to me.
I'm only ten years old,"
and he said, "That's old enough to know."