athough all i can think about is politics today, all i want to write about is this. . .
the personal is political right

paper wings

i begin here,
ducking from work and the responsiblity of day and day, hiding my love
because i know that this is the matter that makes up forever myths
tales that end in ever after
a transparent sun colored orb. light and glowing
as it grows

permenant
this mark of golden ink on palms
like the blood of fear dying

the taste of fear's blood will blind you from
the voices

the gasping for breathe is gentle melody,
the soundtrack of each moment
in a necklace yellow stones in string towards
forever,
wraping around the trunk of safety's tree.


on my back
held fragile there
parchment wings for to fly.



breath

she leads the life that is sound of air
pushed quickly,
with panic wheezing through the swaying

trees of her lungs
like an autumn night
with high full moon
and the first chill of fall.
the sounds of spirits

giving chase
and howling to one another
sometimes the memories tighten
here in the time when summer teeters

slowly and dangerously into cold. slow motion in wind gusts
she sways here curving inward
with her nose seeking the smell of
soft and warm
this saves the spine from breaking, splinters flying

this will not be a song of tender ravishing
this pressure is not sweet like lovemaking but bitter like a persistant slow rolling boulder
with this again she must learn the rhythm of
labored breath.