What Most People Don’t Read

To be a living footnote

in other’s lives is to feel loneliness

beyond description.  You’re there


as an annotation to the goings on

around you, but like most fine print


it’s often skipped over and not even noticed.


By Men, Truth Is…

Always, it has been odd

to see the world with open


eyes.  Terror is

omnipotent.  With tremoring


waves of an unnamed emotion

I know of.  It’s a knowing we are liars


in one form or another.  Death is a shroud

coming faster than you think


to us all.  Words, kind gestures, loving

eyes which offered to me solace


in times of few.  Sometimes you should be

inconsolable when you can see like a gawd


damned medium.  There is nothing left

but Armageddon. I’mma take up my sword


so I can stab everyone in the eyes with the truth.

Beautiful Child

His name is Lalieth and he’s afraid

to eat vegetables.  He comes from


the Himalayas, and I know nothing of his

culture, but I know what mine is doing


to him.  At school, he tries to make friends

then is suspended for sharing


the chewing bark his father gave

him.  Because he was so traumatized by


camp living, he is drugged with the antipsychotic

Risperdal by doctors who try to control his 12 year-


old fits of angst, anger, pain, but mostly fear.  He’s a child

who knows eating anything from polluted earth


will make you sick. Whose withdrawn ways of showing

me he trusts me are all evident in that


indescribably gorgeous child’s face.

Too Simple to See

Plenty has been taken from me

by Man.  As you know, it takes much


more than just simply existing for me

to give anything to anyone.  I rarely have


anything, other than the dying

animal I’m tied to, to offer any


solace even through winter

solstice. You know this ecliptic


called home is the farthest from

the Equator.  At least there isn’t six


months of darkness here.  I keep myself

budded up and bundled in layers of frocks


to keep my diminishing flesh safe

from the elements, the harsh wind.


You were told before, unless my soul

becomes overwrought with empathy, only


then my hair engulfs my face as corn silk and yellow

pedals falling so delicately in the bowl


made for roses.  You know as well as I do, the only

time to witness beauty it is always


among the ones whose heads

have been hacked off or their buds


snapped away and given as tokens

of Love.  A dying thing becomes


the gesture of Love.

Sacrament of Dismemberment

All life is forward, you will see

I have already lost


my hands to the gnarly

knuckles. The rough hands


that aren’t afraid

to labor what most men say


she can’t are still

attached to my arms.  I know


what fate these fingers face, so I type

as long as they let me.  Thank gawd


because the strength of my eyes hath

failed like staring into the Shroud


of Turin.

Radiation of Sound

This word Radiant keeps being

repeated. I doubt


the adjective.  Language is not

science.  At this moment, words fail


to accurately modify the Object

grammatically, except in Science.  Of my


energy, as Radiant as you say it is, it claims

to be nothing more than exhausted.  Depleted.


Drained of every discreet

packet of photons.  The electromagnetic


waves are gravity keeping me on my knees

as to pray.  I do pray.  Not to any Idol or God,


but just so I can hear the sound of the Words radiate

from my bruised knees to the top of my skull (with all


its pits and divots from banging my head). Just words,

words, words will every inhalation and expel of oxygen molecules.

Original Mode of Staging

I know the stage.  I know

the verses.  I know


he was wrong.  Maybe, I am

like that woman whose last


name is forbidden to be spoken

in the Theatre?  Tragic flaws are usually


attributed to the male characters, even if they are

supposed to be women.  The men, including the old


Bard, have always made of me whore without

ever given the chance to be the Virgin.  Women


were never even given a chance to ask questions

as Hamlet did.  Oh yes, you can say things


have changed and woman don the stage from one

Meridian to another, but I can tell you for certain


that is all just an illusion of the stage.  I am only worth

what’s in my pocket, and I don’t have any.