Dandy Lionheart

She's as weak as an old, mothy dandelion--

not one with hair like the sun,

but with a dusty halo of grey smoke

And the lawnmower is buzzing

towards her in straight lines

up and

down

the lush green lawn--

up and

down

a predictable path, creating

a hypnotic pattern in the earth's

prickly carpet.

Her fragile, powdery head (((floats)))

above the grass and should be able

to see: the oncoming doom. But

she can't move. She's planted,

rooted in the stubborn dirt of her fate.

The two-way abstraction called love

is propped up by air

shaped into sounds

of hollow faith:

words;

at times, even less than.

Because as long as the mirage

****hovers****

inside the tiny jewelry box

inside her mirrored ears,

she will swim in that pool

until it all dries up,

sucking the last drop of milk

from

her hapless

dandelion

heart.

Sunshadow

the sun outside casts a long dark shadow inside

and my heart pumps nothing

maybe sleep is what I need

I hid your pictures

but I still see them

us together and me happy

.locked inside.

.that little box.

.locked in time.

then the bright days of you

disappear

when I roll

over

and

open

my eyes---

memories torn by a tear.

eye's cocktail

My red glass is full

on the table but you keep pouring

I don't see it but I feel it

when the sweet overflow drips out

bubbles and runs over the edge

now on my thighs

I want to tell you to stop

but I can't then you drop a pebble inside

so my drink splashes over and I catch it

now in my mouth

Somehow your words go unheard-

You shout in my face and I close

my ears in the dust storm but slurp up

the meaning in my palms now wet

not once

not twice

not three times-

I lose count -- how deep is this well?,

five fingers shallow-ly stir

-----the cocktail.

Alas lonely the cup sits

unable to quench

this ever-growing

dry -- bone -- thirst