Cysts Under the Rosebud Flush

so much depends
upon

the twist of a
shoelace

spattered with
clay

beside a battered
mat

Curlicues

i lift a hand
and smile
as the tiny fairy globes
bob and twist
around my fingers
in the soft
morning light

Opalescent Clasp

We lift our eyes to grade the quality of the star
And murmur to ourselves
The wealth it would add to our shelves
To be sold at a mid-afternoon bazaar
If only it wasn't quite so far...
We spin its rays into our concoctions with the ears of elves
And stock them high upon our shelves
And watch for lone travelers to ask upon our thick grimoires
For spells of love
Or charms to set their luck alight
For perilous treks through an unforgiving desert
We pull down the sun laced draught and spin tales of bottled stars from the skies above
And watch their faces turn bright
As they turn away, content and unalert.

Royal Purple

When the boldest of hearts do wane
The slow-flowing tap at the end of its drain
                   There is a certain quiet
                    For the boldest of hearts can no longer defy it
Before the swift snap of the chain

General Twists

I taste
Her crescendos
The fluttering Apex
The tremor in her hands as she
speaks.

Nebulous

I watch
The small freckle
Swirl in the thick current
The mercury whirlpools of her
eyes.

Twenty-three Reasons to Sleep Beneath Cherry Trees with Pocket Watches

Why are you crying at me
little rubber man?
Why do you breathe through your nostrils
when you can hardly see
angels spreading out cottonball clouds
and demons holding finger puppets
with their eyes of glass and lakes for souls.
Little rubber man
with your little rubber hands--
will you paint the last coming for me?