it's raining

I know I've got a great life. I know how lucky I am.

But tonight?

I'm just plain lonely.

~a

the mirage

soft and pliant
ready to go
the stars were aligned,
the cards were stacked.
smiles and sunglasses,
scarf a blowin’
as the top moved back.
engine revving,

bags are packed.

The driver is missing
Breeze has stopped
Seems the car is stalled
The heat is stifling
Lollipop is all alone
Dusty desert doll
Scorpion scurries by

dry baby blues sweep
the horizon

hammock dreams beneath the perseids

You could map the mishaps of recent weeks,
across my scarred face and neck.
Naively, a strong body and hold were
all i wanted to curl beneath.
The safe haven of man with whispered
words of calculated compassion,
sacrifices made to climb that fence
seemed so much smaller when
they were first offered.
The scars are drifting from the outside in,
hitting the chest, beating the heart
drifting back to life with each cigarette breath.
(Yes, I've been smoking lately.)

Missing someone
pales in comparison
to missing yourself.

is this the part where it hurts like hell?

I've not been good lately. I know it. I've been drinking too much, smoking the occasional cigarette...not taking a moment to slow down for fear of my thoughts catching up with me.

I visited the South last week and I finally saw fireflies. As I watched them blink away in the dark, the deep music of southern bugs filling my ears...I thought this sticky sweet moment of solace, was the last for awhile.

Indeed, it's about time for it to hurt.

xo,

~a

fondness for cigarettes

holding stead
eating my words time
and time
again
visions of perfection
marred roads and paths
ignored and spurned
for the easy peasy
sunny days that led
a soft spoken girl astray
it may be bright times
hopeful and pink
with budding blooms
smoke trailing through
sunbeam trees
the base, the ground
cigarettes don't belong
in the Springtime.

i know

you've got some big things going on over there.
when i think of you
things move of their own accord
and i hear stories of bloodlines
told to me by my grandmother
when i was just a wee young thing.

so i made myself available
and you're turning away
but i'm here when the time comes.

your sleep needn't be so fitful.

~a

Mo rún

wild green moss and
cold stone slabs
awaiting a mix of magic
and love to get them
warm again
sun is rare in these parts
and i can beg for it with
a single salty tear.
tread this trail with me
it's far and wild
across monuments,
past cliffs and ocean grey.
this is where charms are counted,
smiles are the roads,
dense sea air the glue
holding my perfect vision together.

bloomday

today
i'm not much more
than a simple white flower
destined to be picked
and sniffed
touched and fondled
torn apart a bit.
but appreciated
for my delicate
scent
all the same.

the fields

Morning dew on gold summer grass scent.
We're settled in for the day,
by the whispering creek.
Slightly aware
of country sounds on the edge of this,
our guitar escape.
Not far from home
but far enough to feel we're alone.
A part of you is still there, I'm sure.
Looking up to clear blue sky,
sipping morning coffee
and strumming away,
while I fill my tattered notebook with the moment.

sunny days

It must be written in the cosmos somewhere;
seems every writer I know
has been bitten by the winter
blues block.

You would think melancholy souls like mine
would be inspired by cold hard weather...
Alas, it's the sun that makes me
want to fly off,
thereby reminding me of all
I want to vent and repent.

~a

esoteric rest

There may not be laughter tonight.
No trickles of glee,
no short sighted promises
or sneak away corner encounters.

Time to shun prying eyes
no matter the close proximity
they wish for or think they
are so entitled.

Tired tears are soaking
the window panes.
Battered blues looking south,
yearning
for rain.

There is a drought in these parts
and slowly,
she is turning to ash.

frosting

i rather like the idea
of the dark secret
of the imperfect
housewife smile masking
hard desire
instincts of flight
in a perfectly coiffed
world
style and grace
begging for a closet
encounter

i rather like the idea
that things are so predictably wrong
the power
of the social has lead
to sweetness and dreams
in the dirtiest forms.

tempted

and he's a boy
with a heart
with a kiss
with a tongue
with a miss
and a piss
and a start
and a gun
he's a boy
with a soul
with a fire
who's a liar
with a start
and a part
of a mind
just like mine
with a fence
and a sense
apprehens
ive
run
with a pain
and a stain
of blood
and a gun
such a male
with the bail
and a sail
and a
run.

c r u m b l e

i am a perpetual
habitual
professional
ruiner.

watch me go
like a circus clown
even the best go down

and that would be me
a
m e.

xoxo,

~a

momentous

it is in these minute details
these moments of precious time
where I've watched birds flutter
away
watched you cry yourself to sleep
small moments
that near to another's chest might
mean nothing
it is in these times
of hard heart pounding
silence

that I appreciate you

yes, you're there still
time after
across
time.

I have not stopped...

I am not gone.
Merely breaking a bit.

I'll be trapped in a hotel in Los Angeles for the next three days. I'm sure something creative will come of it.

xo,

~a