did Alice have a choice?

[i am the harbinger,
the bell that tolls]

whispers from the basement dirt of a deep dark
hole, you stand on the edge and in an illusion
of free will, you jump in feet first, then frantic
free falling out of control past
dark walls with eyes reminding constantly
you did this, you did this,
you, Alice, had a choice,

[bells swing their heavy bodies, laughing
from their deep dark depths]

the way this art makes me feel

the way this art makes me feel
i am then
like a swinging porch door creaking open and banging shut
teasing in anticipation of a cool stormy breeze
and i am then
the way lovers can exchange eyes and express a novel of fantasy
without words – without time
and i am
then this streak of paint hurriedly feasting on its own kind and laying back in
carnal exhaustion.

tequila stream of consciousness (2003 – a ballerina)

all this travel
and the world slips
back in line with
stars
splintered dock where the black waves
lap close to my splintered feet
and crash just a bit white and
a few feet below me
[you aren’t there]
but one man tried to kiss, hold and grab
before i shoved and clawed
and ran on splintered toes
tippy toeing and ballerina-like
jumping back in the sky
you would say
i was drunk again
tequila shots and beer
muddling up what was meant to be
and not.
how in my mind
i would see myself a dancer
behind a curtain
black dark curtain sky
in my mind
i’m the pretty “can’t take your eyes off”
woman, not girl,
but again all this travel
and lack of sleep
makes me crazy
look at how the sand
reminds me to
take shoes off. lay softly still.
forget about you.

airport blues (if it was you)

drinking real chocolate milk and it settles into my bones with
a sweet sigh.

everyone around me is in such a hurry; they race to another day,
like its just another flight.

i thought i just saw your face but it was another in a hat in an airport
far from home.

if it was you,
you were booking another flight without saying hello or goodbye.
If it was you,
i guess i would let you go and prepare for another restless sleep…

i would be the one
you’d watch who constantly searches, trying to figure out why everyone is in
such a hurry.

if it was you,
you’re finally out of sight and i can stop straining my neck to see the face
that isn’t you.

decadent memories rot teeth. here we go now. hurry up and leave.

(circa 2002 in sketch journal form)