i'm afraid i have nothing to say

a voodoo man stole my voice
in a dream last night


he didn't like my cigarettes


he stood over me with
otherworldly powers
and all i could do was stare

helplessly

at the spanish moss draped to frame
my imminent death

and every scream
from every other dream
clotted in my throat


dressed in his sunday best
the voodoo man stole my voice

i became envious of the swamp
and its song
and prayed for a jazz funeral

black umbrellas and polished brass
and i'll bury my thoughts because
the voodoo man stole my voice.

a poem for midnight

nothing makes a sound

so i fall asleep to
the hum of my thoughts,
a quiet and constant stream of
things consumed
only for the mere act of
consuming.

and i perform for myself.
and i perform for you
until my muscles weigh of memories
that i have no intention of keeping.

in the absence of sound
i watch myself move in circles,
a tired shuffle,
a push and pull of the in-betweens.

and i just want to let go

and sleep deeply in this silence
until the new day offers
the familiarity of promise.

a locust in winter

she gave birth to new thoughts
under the restless northern lights,

each shift of shape and color
spelling the names of other places
and affirmations.


she moves

climbs from peak to peak
to follow the moon across the sky.

she hides fallen stars
and promises
in silver sleigh bells
and plants them in the snow

thinking
something might come of this
in the spring.


she moves

daringly

tiptoe-ing across tightropes
pulled tensely between treetops
in pursuit of the magpie
with citrine eyes.


the scent of morning
falls on four-leaf clovers

and
she moves

beyond herself
to return to her self

with new thoughts.

no.7 from displaced

lying in the light of christmas

somewhere in between
home and place

i squint to see
the constellations wrap the fir
and wait for shooting stars
to carry me back to myself

when i didn't offer gifts
to closed hands
turned backs
deaf ears

when i moved like a woman
spoke like a woman
thought like a woman

before i lost myself to you
and you also

just briefly
but long enough

so i reach for the next branch
and search the surface of old ornaments
to find a reflection of myself

press it against my chest
beneath a new wall made of eggshells
and thin ice

and move forward
only

toward a new light.

7:52 am

i woke up inside my head
this morning

a beautiful nightmare

full of doubt and delusion

but i floated inside
and shoved each letter of thought
through small vents in my skin

i caught them with my tongue
and spoke them into small jars
that i hid underneath my bed


a bittersweet lullaby.