The Look Over

Your blue shoes
with squat, square knob heels
Your calves
The backs of your thighs
Your denim jacket
The sheer waves of your brunette hair
Your over-the-shoulder glance
Your upturned nose
Your chortle
Your shepherding your dog past

Reflections of a Mirror

Whenever you gaze at me
I don't show it,
but my clear lake ripples
I yearn for you
but hold back
and secretly I scheme
If I could make you see
how lovely you are
then you might become foolish
enough to kiss me
I could turn you into a Narcisa,
the way we fondly gaze
at one another,
and then hold you fast
I honestly reveal your beauty,
but on closer inspection
you realize my cheap amalgam
I confess there are others
whose prettiness I've winked at
You feel betrayed by your vanity
I'm stunned by your ravishing exit
The bounty of your presence was always true
I remain, a picture of hollowness,
my silver tongue calling after you
only to be tantalized by echoes
of remembrance

Potomac Ambulation

The river vast
yet the water scant
and the rocks arrayed
so I ventured
until a gap
no turning back
I leapt and found an isle
with twisted trees
and shallow shoals
and a backward-flowing stream
Then the shore
but just before
the emerald river gleamed
So deep and strong
I followed along
over slanted boulders
past sourceless pond
till a creek drove me inland
only to find
I had been ashore the whole time:
my abandon, my salvation

Love Bites!

You tantalized me with
the tickles of your tendrils
I delighted in watching you
traverse my entire surface
It was a bit rude
and there was some pain
when you took the first bite,
my complexion blemished
Now, you are simply inside me
I blink as you consume my very insides
I feel faint and you turn me mushy
It hurts and I feel like I'm losing myself
a little bit at a time
At times, I wish you would stop
gnawing away at me
I accept, with my heterozygosity,
that my children would be bound
to have crabby dispositions
As I wonder if anything will be left of me,
a secret thrill quivers at my core:
I envision your searching mandibles
encircling the tip of my seed,
devouring me completely

The Empress’s Stylist

Each day she comes for makeup,
her beauty like a river,
different from the day before.
I make as to enhance it,
but only find it ravishing.
I'm so ashamed. I fear
one day they will call me out.
Each day I tremble before a beauty
I cannot touch.

The Problem of Evil

The sun was high in the sky,
the grass green.
Though I had had some petty
rough patches in my life,
I was still untried.
"Put me in, God."
"Oh, my child, so stubborn,"
He mercifully furrowed his brow,
gazing at me lovingly.
"I am your child.
It is my destiny
to take upon the suffering
of the world to save it."
We looked over the infinite
lake of suffering.
He took a bottomless cup
and made as if to scoop it
to its dregs.
With a deft slight of hand,
He skimmed off a thimbleful;
with the tip of a needle,
He pricked the tiniest bead
and dropped it into a fizzy drink.
In tenderhearted concern,
He reluctantly gave it to me.
I joyfully drank it up.

My tongue swole black-purple.
My innards churned.
I snowed flakes of flesh -
my skin began to disintegrate.
My blood ran and ran and ran
till I could not think straight.
The hairs on my head turned ashen;
God counted each one
as they fell off randomly.
I knew helplessness.
I knew hell.

As innocent as a lamb, I bleated,
"Why have You forsaken me."