night sand

mrs. cellophane shoulda been my name, mrs. chellophane, shoulda been my name
becuase you can walk right by me, look right though me, and never know im there.

alone and invisible should be synomyms
no matter how much tv we watch
cant say the words on tips of tounges
repressing ideas that run in my blood
the weight of ur scent
digests in my nostrils to form sneezes of you
the deconstruction has begun

so layering on shells like hermits
finding places inbetween palms
falling from ur fingers
the shore will be different.

spun round too fast
freezing envelops times we woulda coulda shoulda been my name mrs. cellophane.

Trees

pine
infects
shields winds that carry news of sons
infecting
earlobes
with sounds similar
to your voice.

crush

an old oak grows in my heart
its branches are reaching
out
to you
please
i beg you
let them envelop your
inner secrets and
store them in
there holy
caverns of
bark and
wick

let the leaves and buds
grow
with the blood pumping
through me
let the sun make us one
and the water keep us strong

there is an old oak
growing in my heart
will you watch it grow
from the outer rim of space
or
rather
will you
blossom
with
me?