a pig and Eagles

the pig may wish
to be an eagle
but in the end
the eagle inspires
awe -

the pig is
simple
an unhealthy breakfast
after a life of muck and grime,
though he might wish otherwise
if his eyes could
see

why can't I be like
Them? with beautiful
wings? with vermillion
and silver wings that
have patterns
unique and
precious like
They are

Light

I know failure.
It drips from my fingertips
and clings to my clothing.
It hangs about my shoulders-a
shroud.
But you know the
worst part? I thought it was glory.

Continuum Crew

I am not one of

that number

my friend.

I was never part of      it. 
I made my own way,

you gave me a name, and it was

false.

Too many cliches describe
the experience of being
surrounded by
silence.

What words have not been over-used
to describe what it is like to have no voice?

Laryngitis.

Permanent.

Where is the pen and paper to communicate?
Well, they will not read.
How about if I sign it out?
They will not look.
They will not listen.

So what then?

What is to be done to alleviate this
singularity of self?

Awash in blue light. 

substance P

the Pachyderm in a room full of sandglass.

each of the shelves throughout the room is graced
with beauty shaped by wild, passionate fire.
the poor elephant, meaning well, reaches out
her trunk to touch one. It shatters to the floo,
tinkling echoing in her fan-like ears.
Her heart seemed to break with it.
"Always and ever I am in this place.
Always I try to touch beauty,
ever it shatters."
Unexpected lights turn on,
a man walks into the room.
"Well, more pieces for my project!"
the pachyderm cocks her head to one side,
upsetting yet another bowl.
The man smiles broadly, producing a basket.
"Come, my dear! Come and see my project!"
"But always and ever I destroy beauty.
I'd rather not go."
"Oh but you must. You're an essential part of it!"
She followed him into a room.
The shards! The shards!
See how they dangle from invisible
lines from the ceiling!
See the lights! The lights!
The refracted light splintering on the walls!
"You stand in the center!"
She pushed past the hanging glass,
to stand in the center.
Concentric rings, rings, rings,
rings! The glass sang as it tinkled against each other.
She shut her eyes.
silence

surrounded by broken light,
stands a pachyderm in a room of glass,
and she was beautiful. 

My Body is

my body is an extension cord,
my body is a chocolate rabbit.
my body is a purity ring,
my body is a jacket,
my body is a pen,
my body is a whiteboard,
my body is a coffee mug,
my body is a projector screen,
my body is a stool,
my body is a cave.

Where is the body in all of that?

Near-Distance

Three dens nestle among

the roots of the great tree

called the “tree of life”

In the center of the field.

The bark is riddled with

holes of hundreds of in-

sects seeking shelter in

the ancient wood. Bird-

song sounds up above

me as gay robins finches,

swallows, and cardinals

tweet overhead, munching

on the numerous ants that

march up and down the trunk.

The bark of the treeIs cracked in places,

large ridges testament to its old age. Around the tree, dead

                                     branches         riddle the        grass, many         more still

                                   clinging to           the ends          of creaking          tree limbs.

A home for so many others, what will happen when the great tree finally falls to the ground?