Poetress
Wild hair
wild eyes
teeth gapped, nails unshorn.
Into the desert i
walk, and walk, and walk
somemore.
Foolishly
picking my way
Picking my words
as the surf
crashes on,
laughing.

Poetry,
that boring, hateful word,
Endured, dreamed thru,
in required education
Is no more to be feared
Then clouds,
watched on your back,
Dreaming
Just a thought rhytmn,
undulating
as you let go of necessary
and fall into
being.

Damn Poetry

Damn Poetry,
Makes me weep,
frustrated, I,
weave words to fit
emotion
as my hands circle
the object
of my desire
And my silken
Knees
Clench
teeth gritted,
typing,
in staccato,
the body, the pleasure, the taste
i can only capture
in
Damn
Poetry.

Desire

Parked at the Bay
Desire..such a wicked, wicked thing. Desire is a feedline, a line that can help you grow, can cut you off at the knees. Which way to go?