Something out of Something Else

words added to an advertisement

dragon life

Love is enough to wake one up
to the nightmare one's life is becoming,
but it is not enough
to erase the nightmare





so what to do?

get your dragon slaying sword out and your armour made of baby's breath, while adorning yourself with golden rings made of fairy's hair?

i'm afraid not.

life isn't a book.
its not roped together
in chapters
and bound up in bindings.
its not alphabetized,
it doesn't carry with it
the pleasant smell of yesteryear
guised as mold and dust.

words aren't always pretty, people don't always have time.

anger exists, 
and hate, and hurt.

healing is true too. and peace and serenity and submission and letting go.

and its not really a nightmare dragon at all.



its just you.
trying to get out of your way,
and be ok with the choices you've made,

as much as you may not be able stand those choices now at all.

the work now, as always, is to be.
love and be loved
be a partner, a friend
involved and helpful
and important.

to love





dragon's off again to bed
to tell stories
to children still afraid
enough to listen
if you blink your eyes-
just a little bit-
chances are
you'll miss him

dragons tell secrets
like that too
making up just enough
bad parts
to make the good parts
seem untrue

so when a dragon talks
listen with just one ear cocked
and hopefully the half
filled with all the true
will be the part that
makes it through

Revolutionary Dirty Pictures

it was a lovely weekend
spent together in a sort of
cloudy mumbling
drawing out ideas
in comments
made in
after thoughts

piecing together
future
tearing apart past

all the while, adjusting,
adjusting
adjusting to
the hour,
the minute,

moment
by
moment

suddenly 'now' came calling
and glasses full and empty
shattered everywhere

letting now be allowable-
allowing the now to just be-
is like catching a ride
with the tiger of time
outracing any thoughts
worth a dime

thoughts based on
memory
charading
far too long
as a measure of truth

oh, faulty
memory!
oh, untrustworthy
truth!

pictures are drawn.
pictures can be erased
- whitewashed -
scribbled over.
let go of, given out
-mailed away in an envelope

to europe or africa-

then carefully,
so very still,
painted over
with brush strokes
you never knew existed
and colors that have yet
to become real.

and the now becomes real.
the now becomes real.
the now becomes real.
just like that.
forever.
just for now.

turn tables

the moon goddess gathered everyone together one night,
"today we will rest from our plight"

the ocean goddess took it characteristically lightly
the goddess of rain just smiled

the goddess to whom noone shall lie,
strained hard to see in the dark

mountain goddess through up her arms
proclaiming this meeting to be in vain

the goddess of order and disorder too,
stood alone, and stared at the goddess of moon,
"tell me your pains, what work you have done,
and i'll tell you we've done the same- everyone;
but rest's not what we need, because
as we give out, we take back in- a million times over-
unless, you've been doing it wrong?"

the moon goddess winced and admitted her glow
had been fueled all on her own
and she never asked for anything returned,
"that is how goddesses do it," she said.
"with strength. with power. alone."

the goddess of order and disorder listened and understood
what had to be done.
"Mys sister dear, we don't need to sleep, we don't need to stop,
give me your hand, and let me help. take from me, what you need to give to the glow."
The moon goddess did as she was told, and the moon lit up brighter then it had in one hundred years.
and the brighter it glowed, the stronger the moon goddess became, until both were beaming as if they had just been born.

the meeting adjourned, with only this one lesson learned.

and the moon goddess was ok with that.

Collage Nightly Press, #1

the quote about rebellion, or lack thereof, is from an interview with sienna miller. i was perusing an old magazine, not even mine to start with, (not treating it as reading material, just looking for pictures to tear out) and the article caught my attention. when the emotion jealousy comes up, there's something there to really pay attention too. yes the grass is always greener, but sometimes people really do have super green grass. and usually people's grass gets more green the more they water it.

now if you'll excuse me, the water in my apartment was turned off earlier today, but its on now, and i'm pretty sure i can find a hose and go water the patch of something growing at the front of my building.

P.S. Lulu Likes the Weather . . .

and sitting on ledges.
Lulu Belle shares only
the most important information
with others.
She communicates
rarely with words at all.
Her eyes speak
volumes.

Lulu Belladonna
is voluminous.

Lulu Belladonna of the Angels and Stars
sifts through all the images
she sees-
summarizes the tiniest details-
assesses sirens and seagulls, friends and foe-

Lulu can tell if a car is coming
or going,
merely by the sound its tire's tread makes upon the ground.

Lulu Belladonna is an information highway.

Lu may not know you,
but if you're there-
no matter how crowded the room-
no matter how loud the music-
how dark the corners-
she will notice you.
absolutely.

and Lulu will know what you want to do,
before even you.

Lulu Belle can just tell.

Lulu likes table tops and things lying on the floor.
Lulu enjoys the covers being on top of her
and tiny places, like pillowcases.

Lulu likes to drink water out of glasses,
even when her own bowl is full.

Lulu tells the truth, in every situation.
and she never ever laughs at another's expense.

Lulu rarely laughs at all.
She rather, smiles- with her eyes.

Lulu likes you,
because you're an interesting person.

You have a nice way of carrying yourself,
and a soft voice. sometimes.
You have a kind heart and
are willing to play with her at the drop of a hat.
Lulu appreciates that.

Lulu thinks the two of you will get along just fine,
but she wants you to know, if the weather is particularly
exciting, she may want to spend some time alone.

Lulu expects you'd understand.
Lulu knows you need time with just you, too.

And she's ok with that.

note to self-

ape girl gone nuts.
over peanuts and thoughts
not hers.

evidence thrown out
into bins labeled
not for sale
ever.

uncanny how real these ideas
look with name tags
all properly sewn on
by hand.

"whose hand?" is the creepy part.

castle walls tumbling down
blocks as large as boulders,
but all is safe.

these weigh nothing.

as they are made out of air.

the scary part was the anticipation
as always.

now she lives all tower and sky scraper free
in a small room
just large enough to house
herself, her brain
and her cat.

her brain takes up the entire
living room.
she must live in the kitchen.
the cat takes the toilet bowl.

thankfully at night
she can squeeze into bed and slumber off.
sleep comes for her these days like the police.
"take her in boys. she's had enough."

exploration in madness?
finally, this is no book of
"what ifs."

this is the story of is.

and what is, is not as forgiving as insanity.

counting stars again, the ones she can remember,
it appears that all her favorite
goddesses have ascended into
constellation form.

drawing lines between bright spots in the sky,
her friends appear to her,
though far far away.

driving past the ocean,
on the way to topanga
the waves remembered
to say hi.

that felt nice.

trees still twist around and make
patterns on clouds,
front gardens are still polite enough
to swim by on walks
and not say a word.

to anybody.

there are a myriad of things to be done.
she just cannot think of
why she should do them,
except that, it
would take the silence away.

changing the chatter
from what is wrong with the world
to what is right,
has just
quieted things down lately.
that's all.

the suits still fit, but hang
in the closet.
day after day.

she is sewing a new one.
with her own hands this one.
and even though she's never worked a sewing machine
it will still be prettier then anything else
she ever owned.

because
it
will be
hers.