Aqueous Hymns

Liquid lullabies
sing me serenades
of aqueous hymns
that weave around
my quieting mind.

Pitter-patter tranquility
drips into my head
in drifts.

How I long
to hear you,
as your battle
between my
active mind
and weary body
enlivens me.

All the while,
my porcelain skin
hides, shrouded
in the night.

His liberation

Wind rushed through her open windows, seeming more eager to join her the faster she drove. This did not manage to aliven her weighted spirits. She glanced beyond her window after noticing a flash of movement out of her peripheral right, seeing a man on his accelerated bicycle. Just as she focused on him, remembering the past summer's ride down the mountainside and the fear coupled joy it brought her, the man let go of both handle bars while extending them in the air at his sides, as if embracing the world. Head facing the sky and alive, I longed for his liberation.

Transparent windshield

Obstructing her lead foot was the massive trash truck with green paint that flaked like diseased skin, exposing an interior of rust. Stopping just a tad too close to the truck at the annoyingly crimson light, she saw life inside those crushing jaws. Cups and crumbed wrappers that sustained the livelihood of bodies scuffling from cubicle jobs sprinkled with paper work, bodies in strive of the "happy". Letters whose secrets hide in tattered edges that long for their other half. Amputee teddy bears who attained affectioned wear in tear. The light matches the truck like an eager cameleon while a sheded green flake shakes loose from the accelerating,steel life-container and bounces off her transparent windshield.

Real Men Wear Kilts...?

She was driving hurriedly, scoping rear view mirrors for eager cops. She noticed a man walking down the sidewalk in a blue shirt and plain black kilt with many pleats. This kilt, however, did not look like a regular kilt. It looked more like her mother's knee length pleated skirt that's worn to Sunday morning church services and other important events. This ambiguously androgynous attire was an interesting sight to see. Without much searching, in fact her first try, she was able to find a whole website devoted to kilt wearing. Here she learned that the Official Kilt Day is tomorrow, October 5, 2007 and that in fact, "Real Men Wear Kilts".
Perhaps...

Make me alive

If I can see my breath
in a solid cloud that dances
through a wall of cold,
Does that make me more alive?

If I get caught in
the most brute of rains,
hair sopping, pant lapping wet,
Does that make me more alive?

If I close my eyes
and open the doors that
allow music to infiltrate,
Does that make me more alive?

If my mind churns
thoughts of cement that
weigh me down in scrutiny,
Does that make me more alive?

If I see in
hues of
multiple saturations,
Does that make me more alive?

If rays of moon
creep through my
dusty blinds,
Does that make me more alive?

If a snowy flock
flies as one across
murky sky,
Does that make me more alive?

If I lose myself
and liquid sadness crawls
down cheekbone slopes,
collecting in pools
at my feet,
Does that make me more alive?

Love me, Love me not

She's let herself become completely consumed with self doubt. She has become all that she cannot do. She cannot, therefore she is not. Where should she sink her heels? Is the chisel in hand carving the wrong path through the fortified? And why is it those empty holes can be filled so easily with all of the possible "nots" of the world?