Ode to the Tiny Fly

A fly landed on my pen --
a gnat fell sideways onto
the words I wrote,
determined to map out
this unseemly terrain which
appeared without end, but
                                       which
at the briefest flutter of wind
might turn fully on its side
                                      which,
though wide, did not bear the weight
even to disfigure his wings.

I could see the distrust in his hundred eyes.

Even as he traced with each of six legs
a path on the wide frontier of my paper --
his disbelief, that such an infinite land
could end at such a thin, empty point.

On Being Underwater

I held my breath and listened,
knowing that one false move
and the music would cease.  My body

floated just under the surface
which was smooth like glass
or frozen oil slick.

Air escaped my lungs
and pushed me down; the silver spheres
broke the still sky, shattering

its image across the pool's perimeter.
Slowly, the sound of a heartbeat
began to wave through the silence,
filling my lungs and my fingertips.

The Green Man

I thought: how small my
house must seem
to those rocky mountain
peaks to the north.

I thought:
it must be some giant ogre, concealed
beneath all the brush and pebbles,
peering out from behind his
pine-tree camouflage

to watch with frustrated curiosity
the tiny beings below,
whose eyes are obscured
by their distance

by the dirt that smudged
    the hidden face.

Finals Week

Our hour of judgment.
Insomnia rush rules here;
the pupils' trials.

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.