kiss my ears, & let them hear.

they compare beauty to
emerald lipstick and all those gaudy
ruby rings you find in the plastic,
vintage candy machines.

i'm looking for a 747 to be my carriage,
and swing me to some ethereal tree-houses
or boathouses made out of crystal
floating in the middle of the sea.

dear adventure,
i am waiting for you to return my letter
post-marked four hundred and thirty seven hours ago.
you promised to be quick in response,
but i'm still waiting here
with my neon yellow carrying case
and six hundred summer dresses.
my right leg is falling asleep from crossing them
for fourteen plus days.
and my hair smells like summertime,
and this glass jar of fireflies' sign no longer reads
vacancy.
when will our carousel arrive?
love, longing.

i'm shedding skin like a snake
on the inside.
and things are changing like those plastic toys
kids place on their eyes to watch mini slideshows.
dinosaurs change to butterflies change to firehouses change
to the big question mark painted with pastels.

click, click, click.

when you squint you can see what its asking,

"is this change where He wants me to be?"
"did i catch the right train?"
"what am i doing wrong?"

and i don't know really,
for the smell of chlorine makes me cry
and my dreams are filled with mountains and fairies
and romantic, ethereal, elegant & dainty sort of movie-esque,
momentary after-dinner conversations.

or something like that.

and if you peer through the crack in the golden wall,
you see him eating His dinner alone, with these spoons and forks
that seem too elaborate to be practical.
ya, he knows you are watching him, and he's inviting you in.

but i'm just sitting here at the side of the road,
with my journal and pen,
waiting for something that might never come.

but when i close my eyes, i see.

and i feel the sun licking my skin, it's spit the freckles that merge
together into a cluster of islands on the sea.

but when i close my eyes, i see.

he's drinking that red wine that smells sorta fragrant,
and i can taste it in the air.
he's on a mountain of buttons that will close up all that's
gaping wide and exposing my shame.
his table is turquoise.
his chair is on fire.
and i think he knows i'm watching.

and slowly he raises the cup, and starts to speaking.
but he's moving his mouth, and now he's weeping.
but i can't hear a sound.
i can't hear a sound.

my eyes suddenly open, like the draw back of the shade
rolling up all violently,
and i hear the cars go by. they're drowning out the sound.
cats are crying, and men are yelling, and the clouds seem to be
playing music that fills up my mind. it's the cake in the creases.

so much traffic. so much ebb and flow of this symphony.
martha put on mary's sweater and hear your master luring.

i just want to swim in his wine, and ask him why he's crying.

i scream something under my breath and kick my suitcase in
front of the coming cadillac. i lay down and breath into the sky
to push the clouds out of the way, and start eating the rays
of sun.

i take the key and lock my eyes into the chambers of darkness.

he's weeping. he's calling. he's beckoning. and he knows i'm watching.
and all the letters on the buttons on the remote have been rubbed out,
because time's been wearing them down,
and i can't find the unmute button.
and there he sits, like a king in his castle, and a peasant in his shack.
he's got the wine. he's got the wine. and he's roaring in silence.

something is wrong here.

and i want to pull out my eyes and make them cry.
i want to find the strings of my heart and play them into
feeling. feeling. feeling, whatever the silent man is weeping.
and i know his tears mixed with the red, red drink of choice
will heal my soul,
and sit me at that table
and make me whole.

but i can't interpret what he's saying.
and my spirit's not glowing.

your tears are flowing beneath my feet,
and the waters cold.
you are shivering.

the words weave up the cemented door that
invite me into peace of mind.
"this is who you are,
this is where you are going."
or something like that in poetic nature yet to
enter english language.
the words are dancing.
the words are breathing.
the words are wrapping around my limbs and pulling me near.

it's the vines of the lamb.
it's the vines of his name.
it's the vines that keep growing - paused in time.
i will be your grape, and i will be your vineyard.
make me into wine.

take me where it's you and i.
man of silence shrouded by my busy mind.
your my lover. i'm your chime.

when i hear you, my bells begin to sing.

you love me and i do not understand.
the cement in the doorway tastes like candy-cane.
the vines are growing in slow motion.

i want to be with you where you are.
you promised.
i'm a failure.

let's sit together and dine.