Her Pain, at 4AM
Her pain, at 4AM.
like the story of winter and ice.
Reflected in a rearview mirror.
A white light
behind the eyes. revealed.
A sharp needle dripping in ink,
piercing her skin.  As if like.
Japanese tattoos.
Which are an ardous process.
For both male and female.
There was the feeling
that a wire hanger
opened up and threaded
into the brain was, as is,
or more,
Cold. Hot. Deep.
That was the new pain
which brought her to her knees.
Angels wings
beating faster than
the speed of light or sound.
Filling her belly. And
as is usual,
the sound of his footsteps
in the hallway,
walking towards her.
~~~
 
Aura Poem-

The wind blows

so pretty

lifting the leaves off the metal chairs on the porch

dancing sideways and this ways

and that.

they tap their feet

wrapped in silk ballet slippers

some in pink socks

others in brown paper bags.

flitting about weaving in between cars

not a worry in the world, leaves

twirl in rainstorms

capture sun

on the veins of their

translucent skin. I watch them go.

here and there

the squirrels chase them.

Left here to play alone I cannot move I

hold my head in pain

speak softly.

really, i truly want to sob.

~~~

Gratitude (Pome)

In the form of gifts
ministries
show themselves all weekend
a blue and white sky
An outpouring of friendship
An overlay of love, a soft
ripe mango,
Purple and white impatiens
Heads drooping dying for water
smacking their lips
then awake the next 
Morning.
Duties.
Scratching my face her paws
sharp touching my face
as I touch her soft fur 
she has no
reason to want to hurt me.
Sanguin she is.
I call  pain "she" I call it
"her"
She made me late today
she never showed up
I am late because I wait
for HER. 
I can't see you
because she comes first.
I promised we'd spend the 
day together but she's unpredictable
and I apologize greatly
needing to be flexible (for her.
I stay in bed, underneath
the sky, staring up)
That's why I can't see you.
That's why
although it is a beauty
of a city
(I love you)
the blue and white sky
a gift
I cannot see you.
Although I would like to.
I think.
I call him, break the rules
to call a boy. Praying
to do the right thing.
Eat someone elses dinner.
At 4am I take opiates, 

I sit in the window looking out
I smoke
I pace
I pray.
Who can i share this city with
who will understand me
who can I trust. Besides you,
that is. I dreamt of you
throwing the suitcase
on the bed
to take leave. 
I trust her; although I shouldn't.

I call pain "she".
although behind my back
I swear she is trying to kill me.
This mid of night
has become a friend
a place to pray as if
in a church.
The incense stinging my nose
my eyes
my sincere prayers come from deep 
within my bosom
comforted.
my breasts wakened
I think please. please
lord don?t take them.
I think please, please 
lord let me feel
his hands 
upon them (yours) one last
time, full, soft,
womanly. I have always loved
them I remember
the first time
I felt them underneath my 
Thin summer shirt
And they gave me
A shudder. 
Please lord,
one first time
before they're gone.
Should they go.
I meditate on please
one last time
one first time
before they are gone.
Before you are gone.
Before he ever gets a chance to touch them.
The ministry takes
Place on the side
Of a road.
In a white van.
Eyes closed he prays
The homeless man
Prays, head down,
feet together,  
Standing still. Asking
nothing
for himself
but forgiveness.