When my black butterflies come
with their razor wings that make me bleed,
and they darken the horizon as far as eye can see,
(And the black butterflies come,
with their razor wings that scratch and screech
on the chalkboard of my heart, to start to suck the nectar out…)Read More »
Scrapes and scuttles above my bed
but beneath the record player crooning
carols for the sliders and shufflers
to grate and whoosh to-
Do tree and garland rise in the upstairs room?
Or does the furniture scoot to perfect
disorganization?
And that, for feet to twirl and sway-
for the first or hundredth time?
With arms open as wide as the heartsRead More »
I guess the singing sounds strange
if you don’t believe in it-
Light
shining in.
Like that one deluded, awkward kid
who still believes in Santa Claus.Read More »
Alphabet Ravine 