Dreaming of dialogue I run to write it down, swirling into a tub of emptiness I forget in the morning, now recalling the homework I've given myself of for some reason documenting dialogue for some future play or book or something. Pregnancy getting heavier by the day and the thought of going to the hospital is a strong drink of something that is sure to make me sick. My back aches and so on, so it's hard to focus on the little life inside when, well, I won't give my self time to look. To busy to change history. The little life is being moulded by my thoughts and services, it's the least I can do for futures sake to relax today and talk with her.

Hey Dreams...There's a little thing that needs my attention, too.

Could you possibly flow river-like along my shores

little by little

erode me away

sand by little piece of sand

until I merge with you again

---Been nominated to take over the Blog for Silly Sally's Events, so if you'd like to take a look, well, go right on ahead and look!

www.sillysallysevents.blogspot.com

xo

Under the Orange tree

Not surely a scare, but mostly a daring way to prove myself

under the orange tree

Wolf heads perked in daylight

over the brick wall that's too deep for the compost to sweeten the neighbor's clementine tree.

Black Birds swoop, little birds too quick to see their colors

sing to each-other

Crows respectfully stay quiet.

There's the sound of pottery breaking on cement

Blood under the orange tree.

I fill a puddle with water, watch it irrigate the soil, winding through the exposed roots and

wash His little hand

Soy conciente de este aliento
de mi alma
Estoy viendo patos silvestres
en el cemeterio
la celebracion de vuelo
y ser libre
iluminando un cortazon salvaje
los tiempos para el padre

My fingers are cold.

It's been a long time since

solace has found me in the woods

wandering with palms turned up

turning brown dead leaves crunch 

leaving my countenance soft

leaving bread-crumbs of prayers

scattered on the forest floor for future spring-time flowers.

My fingers are warm.

It's been a long time since 

solace has found me

over a steaming pot 

of family tradition

welcoming vows with palms turned down

ancestral spirits living in steam.

In my garden I am

watching bouncing Bees

Riding on the breeze of selfish motivation.

My flower,

she gets nothing but a charming vibration

From a low and lusting Bee

His hips trembling

tongue wagging

eyes like a teenage Dog.

The space around my head becomes dense

I notice a black Cat crouching

licking his lips

swaying his hips

eyes like a shiny shell

A sterling Starling stops talking and

takes a moment to peer over a leaf

at the flower in my garden

bewailing about the Bee

Black feathers on a small sandy tongue.

Penchant Leaf shutters and

I blame it on a passing breeze.

Any excuse to use

my heavy human mind.