The Kingdom Dream

My eyes welcomed the darkness
     and omniscience that the stars brought.

My eyes saw gold rings and
     the face of power, reflections,
     in the unstained mirror.

I was not the queen
     bee, whose honey hole is lifted
     and plugged up tight,

     aimed at the ground.
I was not a slave to the production
     of slaves.
I was not feminine and fragile
     and filled with regret.

I was Woman.  I was King.
Omnipotent.  All-Knowing.
 - I woke suddenly and

my fingers darted to the keyboard and
I - waited impatiently
for the screen, which I could not rush,
to turn on.

Breakfast in Winter

The unmistakeable smell of water-swelled oats,
motionless and day-old, in
the plastic bowl, brushes frightfully slow
against my nose.

In my mouth they cling haplessly
to tongue and teeth,
dear to them
as mother's teat.

Awaiting the black gorge and
the confused expression of the
black woman.

She doesn't know whether to chew endlessly
or to swallow the bloated, whole.

Religious Detox

A note:  I like to write haiku in french.
             I don't know why I like to write haiku in french.
             But I do.  So deal with it. :-)
             ....Also I think there are two syllables in 'libre', but if there aren't, PLEASE CORRECT ME.
             That is all.  ...I love you. :3


Je suis toute libre.
Votre dieu n'est pas le mien.
Le mien: l'eau, l'oiseau. 

Aries' Horns

The sea found itself on my fingertips
a bright coral color to hold in the sky's reflection.
Bold and bowing only to the soft wind whistling
just outside on the porch.

The nail polish is your warning.

I start at audacity, and sharpen the tips of curled horns.
Your feeble attempts to sneak in and
steal my love make me laugh,
My heart will beat fast and rule you and win.
The heat of my blood will burn you and provoke words
like "Demon" or "hell" from your undeserving lips,
which crave nonetheless the cool comfort
 of my moistened kiss.

But come to me, vulnerably, and throw down your weapons.
Caress my skin and speak easy, relaxed words to me
sweet as lemonade in endless summer.

And you'll have me.
Then you'll be mine, eternally.

Bad Choice of Footwear

My poor sodden shoes were ill-prepared
for the torrential downpour which would ensare
them entirely in concrete-based currents
the morning of my last expense
of energy this week.

Before the grey calm of dawn,
I sat awake and listened to the soft percussion sounds
that raindrops often make.

Were you awake during dark slumber hours
with the presence of mind to hear
each distinct drumbeat that drowned out
song bird tweets and
played rhythms against vertical glass panes
and overworked storm drains
for the amusement of your dreaming psyche?

I was, and I heard the sky
drop down in singing spheres
on the roof of my house.

Still, I woke before the sun,
not caring to see the slick streets
that shimmered,
nor the raincoat hanging limp in my closet.
     I donned my non-weather proof boots,
     useless against the elements
     in a way only SoCal could love.

And I walked out into the murky day,
for which my poor sodden shoes
were ill-prepared.

Angle of Reflection

A stone, thrown swiftly
into the center of the quiet pond,
whistled and popped,
dropping onto the silver surface
and hurling ripples toward
mud covered feet.

It was only briefly that my reflections were obscured,
my thoughts resettled when balance returned.

They Delivered The Wrong Package

Two hours ago

I got a parcel and a note

which read, "You're welcome."

in letters a five-year-old

might've wrote.

Nonetheless,

I brought it inside

curious as to what

the light box was hiding.

A pair of scissors and 

a bit of grit later,

the cardboard opened to 

reveal a longer letter.

It read:

"The meaning of life doesn't exist,

in some sort of universal personification.

It isn't born with you at birth,

It isn't bound till death do you part.

Meanings of life bubble up

like an inconstant spring,

in small bursts of insight,

situational and temporary.

Meanings of life bloom

like new flowers in the

pretty month of June,

flowing and searching

and following sunbeams.

That particular meaning of life,

that path you followed so piously,

will wither

as it is short-term, dying

and spreading its seeds on

soft wind,

till your ass finds itself lost,

and those seeds sow again."

I sighed and closed the cardboard flaps.

This wasn't the life manual I ordered,

I'd have to send it back.