From My Cell, 1993

Lushly strolling across the beach,

hot, prickly sand tickles her toes.

Hot, prickly tears collect in my ears,

staring up at the ceiling wishing

myself to pass through and out.

Out beyond its borders. Bordering

on sanity and the rickety cable car of my mind.

The warm water, like a tongue, laps

at her feet, erasing the tracks

she leaves behind.

I lie in bed, grinding my teeth to dust.

Willing my soul to escape the hell it's bound to.

I can hear him in the other room

his voice like a demon; fingernails

on a chalk red blood board.

See the broken record he plays

over and over backwards whispering,

I own you. I hate you. I love you.

She's running through the sparkling water,

arms outstretched, head tilted toward the sun,

warming her face. The blue of her eyes

match the salty, rolling liquid of the ocean.

Swollen lips canter my prayers up and around,

their wisp wisp wisp fills the air.

In my head, the frustration builds to a fever pitch,

screaming in color spraying the canvas

with bits of gray that matter.

Her body's sheltered in the shallow surf,

it plays at her thighs like the gentle fingers of a handmaid.

Languid and sensual she lies,

a peaceful smile dancing around her pretty mouth.

A tear slowly trickles from the corner of her eye.

My butchered breath has come to a stop.

I look through tomato eyes around my cell

from a damp and soiled pillow.

A crack in the ceiling reveals a thin issue of

water slowly weaving its way over the

textured wall. I wonder in dismay

how it comes in when all I want is out.

A mirage shimmers on the surface

twinkling against my darkened cornea;

a figure dances in the chemistry.

Cross-eyed, I see a solitary girl, a beautiful girl,

freedom on an endless beach.

Her strong, square shoulders face the lens,

a gull flies overhead.

She stops mid-stride, cocking her head,

listening. Turning cautiously, she catches

me watching and smiles wanly.

I know her. She knows me.

I'm on tippy-toes, face pressed

desperately to the wall.

She tenderly cups my face in her cool hands.

My knees are buckling.

I don't remember kindness.

Her lips tickle my ear as she whispers

her secret, releasing my face with a butterfly kiss.

She walks, like a movie set, among

the orange and purple dew drops.

On bruised knees I weep, my

suicide wound open and exposed,

falling off my chin with a final goodbye.

A murmur below my neck to the left,

a strange sound emits.

Hands pressed over my beaten breast,

the strong drum drum drum arrests

the prayers of a thousand nights coming to life.