03-06 On The Way To Mordor

I was on the way to Mordor,
Samwise, the bastard,
was cheerfully sexting supportive,
nonsense in my ear,
when Gandlalf explained to me,
volcano mountain in sight,
dirt and grime streaked epic on my face,
that somehow, it wasn't the right ring,
I had carried the wrong ring, he must have left
it back home in his tobacco pouch, with his keys,
oops, I wanted to curse him, except, this Gandalf,
came with short trimmed black beard, bright eyes,
curly hair, and air of mischief about him,
and although the lava was roaring around me,
I giggled, I giggled a lot, so I couldn't say no,
the other seven or so in the party consoled me,
blushing, stammering about war, these things happen,
possessed kings, queens, talking dragons,
all things are possible, apologizing,
but, as Gandalf said,
grinning wickedly,
tapping his pipe before dissappearing,
while the smoke from the volcano,
smacked my face repeatedly,
  "it is a Good Day, a Good Morning."
I almost pushed Samwise into the lava then,
wouldn't you?
all this build up, fuss, songs, and nonsense,
and I get blue-balled by the
conclusion, I am more dwarf than hobbit,
and a good pushing goes a long way with me,
but I don't,
instead, I give the ring to Gollum,
who sits down next to me and cries,
steam rising red from his cheeks,
until he stops, wide eyed and curious,
and turns to me,
"What else you got in your pocketses?"

03-05 Waking Atropos

the one with scissors hears me,
hears you coming up the stairs,
it is too late to hide in my room,
we should not wake her,
we should not wake her,
up the stairs, into my room,
up she comes, she hears me,
praying her sisters, hold me,
praying her sisters, down with rage,
praying for the weave, to begin,
again, do you not hear them,
as you come up the stairs,
a whisper in the walls,
they have built this,
this House of September,
she hears you,
she reaches out,
listening,
for your footsteps,
no one likes,
to lose a lover,
but either
you are deaf, or
she is blind,
because I know,
she can hear me,
screaming my silent prayers,
in my room, as you come up,
the stairs, to my door,
asking why I hide,
fool, do you not hear her,
she wakes.

03-04 Wasn't he fine? Isn't it madness.

Girlfriends,
we've always been,
girlfriends,
but I don't always know,
how to be,
girlfriends,
it's not like I love him,
any differently,
as a girlfriend,
but I love him,
differently than,
his boyfriend,
because I know him,
differently than,
his boyfriend,
would have it been better,
to be boyfriends,
instead of girlfriends,
because it's not easier,
to love him,
when I'm his girlfriend,
because I know him,
more,
than as a boyfriend,
and that makes me,

the one who listens,
the one who judges,
the one who has to say,
you should have,
you shouldn't,
could you,
but you didn't
then why did,
but you did,
and now, I know,
more than I thought,
I'd want to know,
more than I thought,
I should know,
but still I listen,
and I judge,
I say you should have,
when you shouldn't,
I say could you,
when you didn't,
then I ask why,

why do I ask why,
when I know why,
when I know him,
I know him,
more than I thought,
more than I should,
because,

I'm a girlfriend.

03-03 While The Curiosity Prays

Un-forgiven.

Autumn,
cries the needles from
the pine dripping, with
song, when,

the green dragon,
uncurls from my lips,
fingernails black with soot,
to ask you, one question,
why did you look at him,
on this night of sanctuary?

The milk glass eyes,
of the slithering beast,
ripple with a bold response:

because you could,
because you saw me,
looking at his hands,
dark ink spilling from,
the center of his palms,
where he repeatedly stabs himself,
trying to contain,
the out pour of his veins,
are you thirsty for more?

I think,
he had been born,
for greater things,
than self-scarification,
yet he itches and burns,
beneath the scales of his
uncomfortable dry skin,
what has he found in his travels?

Autumn ignores the practical Stone,
in his belly, unfolding his wings, silver feather,
silver thread, the green dragon, his pet,
smoldering, in his cupped praying palms.

What do you see besides, the muscled,
faerie pixie dust of the past settling on
your eyes, bewitched, man of never mine?

My green dragon has crawled
up your thighs to rest before, between
your thoughts, while you plan,
to court the devil with a smile,
while all your boys at the bonfire,
are burning, black pole, black flag,
charcoal on paper, ribbons of words,

Do you not see,
the hurricane forming in your love's eyes,
telling you, a cautionary tale,
monsters are created not born,
Don't break his wings,
it'll be blood on your hands,
and this one,

the curiosity,
who has found his way to a
pew bench where we both sit
watching, waiting, wanting,
needs space to breathe, or

he will drown, in his ink,
strangled by his hands,
do not remind him,
tonight he is a man.

The green dragon, crawls back between,
my armpits, to nest, satisfied,
vamporous bitch, while
Autumn shivers in the winter rain,
closes his rain coat,
and watches the not-man,
smoke the sky,
numb to the splinter,
digging in his hands,

the heart says goodbye,
questions unasked,

I start the car.

3-02 The Indignant Unicorn

"you have to be a virgin,
to touch a unicorn."

I said, looking at
the huh forming in his shoulders,
over my bowl,
of spicy tomato bisque,
with an air of hmmm,
 while his half eaten citrus shrimp salad,
began to crawl off his plate
when his words wouldn't.

"I was at the age where I
wanted a tattoo of a unicorn."

referring to a just revealed footnote,
on his forearms, as two male unicorns
faced each other, hot, but...

I knew him as
Mr. Bumblebee, he dismissed that
tattoo on the back of his neck as a small
insignificance, waving it away, as if it were a
fly instead of the sexpot of the floral world,
I was more cautious, bumblebees
survived the flood, unicorns didn't,
according to the bible of Mr. Silverstein.

"Unicorns aren't gay." I sputtered.

as if we were sitting over an ouji board
at a slumber party and he had just stolen
my pretty princess pink pillow with
L.O.V.E. glittered on it in cursive letters,
instead, of in a gloating half lit Sunday night
conversation bar.

"What?"
he stabbed a shrimp with his triton, (bumblebee),
as words came out in a carefully
placed syncopatic torrent about his friends,
symbols, gay culture, while the shrimp suffered
his unintentional crucifixion.

I actually thought they were gay,
but I didn't know why. I suspect it
had to do with a sticker collection
I had once, and not a symbol of male
to male sexuality, I'm not sure what he said here,
it would be unfair to give him a line,
he doesn't deserve, except to say he parried well,
while I fretted, stuffing truffle fries in my mouth,
is this a girlfriend conversation,
or a boy toy conversation,
did men always talk so casually about unicorns?

why did I care, but I did,
care,which kind of conversation it was,
screw the f'ing unicorn,
so I changed the topic,

"I'd ride a unicorn naked on a beach."

03-01 March Again

march again.

the rains came,
cold on my breath,
and stayed,
in hurried conversation,
don't want to freeze,
goodbyes, nobody lingers,
except the potato,
I tuck, her
my sometimes love,
in the car, where she shivers,
turns her head away,
from my hand,
reminding me,
today, tonight,
I am her father,
and she loves,
me, sometimes,

at home,
she pushes her blanket
around, not facing me,
and waits,

for the heater
she is not
talking to me,
she misses her buddy,
I am used to this,
her sometimes silence,
lasting for days, sometimes,
a few hours, solved by,
a toy, a dog biscuit, or me, but,

I go to bed, she on hers,
me in mine, the door is locked,
we are separate,
hours go by, I wait.

I get up, shake her awake,
she groans, stretches, I curl
back into my bed,
and wait, she snorts,

then jumps on the bed, nests,
on the pillow next to mine,
and grunts,
I am forgiven.

I lie awake.
thinking about him. thinking about her.
listening to March again.

2-28 Raven Has A Wife

I will give her violet eyes,
cause that is the color I remember,
when they flashed,
though she is copper amber,
toned, muscled like a cat,
waiting as she spins
from her hands,
webs of necklaces,
washed in from the tide,
clinging epiphyptes,
beads of wisdom,
drooping from her,
tongue, afterthoughts,
from a golden afternoon,
gifts, from the woman
of a shadowed
god.