The Sugar Voyage- For Adi.

Strawberries shackling
hands on the ocean
we float in the sugars
of red seeded tides

and sing to the goddess
of Albatross seagulls
to kiss in the riptides
and pluck bare their hides

‘Cause we’re going away
we’ll leave here today.
So pack up your things
let’s find our dreams.

Whipped cream on window sills
spun through our fingers
and braided into
the gold strands of our hair.

With honey clad voices
and hard candy lashes
we’ll bare our fair bodies
and crush those who dare

‘Cause we’re going away
we’ll leave here today.
So pack up your things
let’s find our dreams.

Electricity

My Dear,

You are lightning
on the wind.
Electricity
rolling in the clouds
and I can smell you
in the air.

You are hanging
poised in the storm
charged and holding
breathless
in the calming
of waters
and hanging

before the poles collide
hot against the cold
and the winds begin
twisting on the ocean
to bring all your water
to the land.

And the poles collide
hot on the cold
and the winds begin
twisting again
to bring all your water
to the land.

A little honesty in the knots.

I cannot sleep again. My head is pounding with all the things I want. I am desperate for something yet I don't know the words to ask for it. I don't even know if I can find it here. Is there a word for this pain in a language of romance? I am cold on the street with a hand full of coins. I am moving my feet to find warmth in the pavement. How long will I feed this meter while miming all of my desires to a painted wall of stone?

Some days are harder to take. This was one of those days. Open with a breakdown. Still waiting for it to pass. But- my head is a turbine of questions. How long must I wait? I am holding my breath and running short on coins. I shake my pockets, searching for something to fill the meter- yet my currency is foreign and oddly shaped.

I will cry in the nighttime and no one will see my tears. The salt from my lonely whispers will work its way into their dreams and fill the night with oceans. I will be barefoot on the Mediterranean. I will be a phone call from Portugal. I will be a postcard lost in the mail. But more than anything- I will be a memory.

I will be the one who hides her tears in the darkness. I will patch up my ribs with scrap wood and odd nails. I will cover this place in me that aches. Until I reach the ocean, I will be salt of my own and alone in my crashing.

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Apple zucchini soup for breakfast,
Maoz falafel for lunch,
and all the made up dishes
in between.

We are angels of the ocean.
Anchored to the earth
by roots of the ancients
and strong enough
for typhoon and tidlewave.

We are the Giant Sea Kelp
gathered in a great forest
an under-ocean sanctuary.

We are clown fish
in the face of danger.

We are the Great Blue Whale
and points of life
consumed in our bellies.

We are light on the waves
and reaching down
through black water.

We are new life
in an old world
of destruction.

We are the main course
the glass of wine
laughter between friends
and tears
shed in solitude.

We are overpriced candies,
a gesture of caring,
and children
playing in the sun.

A bleeding of color.

Red
was the color of everything.
I stood on the edge
a clearing
and the wind blew red
through the leaves of red
falling from trees of red
growing ageless from an earth
the color
of red.

I stepped into the clearing
on red blades of grass
through red snagging shrubs
and brushed
red hair
from my eyes.

I turned
tipped my head
to a black sky
broken
in red clouds
and found
that even the moon
shone the most
breathless shade
of crimson red.

I looked upon
my body
to find
red nails
on red fingers
protruding
from deep red hands.

These were the hands
of my mother.
These were the hands
of my birth,
but
in the warm still air
of the warm still night
this night,
these hands
were stained and painted
for all to see:
red.