Scratch

I grew tired.
Lay on my bed.
Eyes grew heavy.
Reached with my hand.
Scratched at the world.
Tore at it.
Little pearlescent bits,
Flaked of in small dreams,
Like the innards of a shell.
I saw tomorrow and dreamt.
And woke up having forgotten the  dream.
My mouth tasting fowl with foreboding.

Wheel

I am a creature of seasons,

not affected by, but made of.

In the spring I am flowers,

a lover in the wind,

whispering songs for hours,

with no thought to my reasons,

free and careless.

In the summer I am the river,

that flows with the summer storms,

that weathers the gale,

catching lightning to boil my coffee,

with melted hail.

In autumn I am the leaves,

writing my poems scattered about,

a messy room, an unwashed plate,

a single sock turned inside-out.

In winter I am a tree,

struck bare with ashen skin,

hard and unmoving,

demon of healing,

and saint of sin,

all gather at my table,

to drink of my potions.

I am not disaffected by the seasons,

they are me.

I am not affected by the turn of the wheel,

I am the wheel.

-o0o-

February

Cool summer morning,

and the storm lies on the ground,

face down,

reduced to puddles,

and the clear sky,

blue,

just relieved,
to have kicked the storm out of her bed.
For all his raging last night,
she's free of him now,
he did his job.
Now the sun rises with the sky,
and the sisters take to the day,
climbing into beauty,
while the storm dries himself off.

-o0o-

Pour Grace on my Name

Grace is when you drink at my expense,

and get drunk on my good will.

When you think we're good,

but we're not.

Grace is when I let you think it's okay,

when you hurt me,

again and again.

Grace is when I stop talking.

Because my words will become poison,

and you've become so accustomed to drinking of me,

that you'd swallow the good and the bad.

Grace is when I sweeten myself,

even though I'm dying.

Making the best of milk, 

that makes white flecks in your tea,

but you can't taste it's off yet.

Grace is when I keep opening an artery for you,

so you stay,

for my own fears of being alone,

which become more an more real each day.

Grace is an idiot.

I guess that's my new name now.

-o0o-