mouse
Within the increments of a measured stick
She found the measure of her heart
It ticked along
like a distant clock
with a clicking heartbeat
and a whispering of pines.
She didn’t know it then
but I
didst hear the measured beat
I felt it in the palm of my hand
as one might hold a pretty mouse
its whiskers twitching
pretend resilience
in mock immovability
Hah! And little did the mouse know
that the instinct to jump
arrives at the end of the measured stick.
satchel
I will keep on turning
in the band of
Michael’s wingspan
With my lover’s quarrels
all cinched up
in a silver chainmail satchel
To take with me through
the darkening veil
to look at, count, and ponder
May their fading echoes
haunt me saying
asking prodding taunting
Why I couldn’t
just be happier
more content
at ease.
I always had to
push for more
For better
equal aware more free
I always had to dream
of the mountain
and the jewels that lay within.
So I’ll guard my satchel
of painful arguments
and wasted years of
TV tubes
I’ll eat them up
like so much sand
to fill my dying stomach
with
something
at least.
I am happiest
with a pen in my hands
ink paper flowing life
May 16, 2018 Rome, Italy
I sit on a grassy hill
overlooking the Roman Forum
where chariots once raced
Beneath the crumbling facade
where Ceasar once stood –
It is May 16, 2018
Millenia have passed since that mighty age
Yet here I sit
and watch a pantomime of sorts
Young men, two in fact
With dogs that act as proxies
for their strutting egos.
One man sets his dog free
And the other rises to the challenge
The dogs refrain from tearing each other to pieces
Though the former clearly could
We all know it.
With his dog chained again,
the young man skirts around
then circles in on the old man walking.
He too has a dog for ego proxy
which barks like a maniac
bent on saving his life with his voice.
The young man challenges,
“What, you don’t want to let your dog free?
Are you afraid?”
The men argue
The old man’s dog barks
The young man’s dog is still and sure and terrifying.
For all his talk, the young man
keeps his dog on a short leash
He knows what it could do.
The old man finally walks away.
The young men go back to visiting.
On the periphery, the old man
has met an old friend, also with a dog.
They gesticulate angrily
about the impudence of young men
with dangerous dogs.
On the grassy hill,
I doze in the last rays of the day.
Later, there, the old men walk
around the far periphery of the forum
Under Ceasar’s eye
The young men pretend to not see them
The young men feel no need to fight.
The young men the centre
The old men the periphery
They are Romans, after all.
The Last Hairball
Like a frizzy frazzled
wrapped up angry
little monster
Stomping down the stairs
grumbling about
this person
and
that person
Like a little bullet
pushed in the chamber
planning
And shot straight at me
Your anger like an
exploding wall of rage
covering my entire being
a thousand shot pellets
through me
cut + dive
The last hairball
shot straight
to my stoic voicebox
caught there
choking past it
I plead
for the pure little heart
upstairs
that doesn’t want
to listen to your rage
or my silence
anymore.
The last hairball
The period at the
end of our marriage.
The Zoo
What did they think of me
when I burned past their cages
depression for wages
left blank all their pages
What did they think of me
when I cried eyes at their sorrow
made a hole of their tomorrow
for all the pain I could borrow
Their worlds cast out shells
hollow horrible hells
. The game keeper never tells .
Oh, the multitude eyes
all wonderous surprise
while empathy dies
What did I think of me
and my quiet complicity
this park full of misery
extinction a wannabe
Cruelty is a weapon
we weild on our hearts
it tears us apart
humanity’s poison dart
Tild
I
It’s like a dash –
but with panache
style, grace, curves
a force for change
Tild
The end of everything
for me
I use it once
just sparingly
To preface my name
at the end of an email
the end of a note
or message to my students
~ Sarah
If everything was on fire
(everything is on fire)
the tild would be that
gentle quiet wave
that quenches it
Like a dash
but with love
with creativity
a gentle, smiling touch
II
Rarely used
the upper left hand corner
(with a shift)
Unknown by most.
It will probably
be taken off
future keyboards.
Unknown
Not needed
Or was it needed?
We’ll never know
Because it was undiscovered.
This reality remains
unchanged
Because noone knew
the tild
Except me
at the ends of my everythings
to preface my name
~ Sarah
III
A force for change….
I will shake it
up in here
And as the pieces fall
I will gently guide
them in their descent
to arrange themselves
in as beautiful a
pattern as I can manage.
I always shake it up
I can’t help it
I am built like the tild
My fire is destructive
it demands truth
will burn it all down
just to reveal truth.
My wave at the ends
of my everythings
is gentle and brave
A loving touch
that welcomes change
because it’s always
beautiful
like this
~ Sarah
the demon of zhiibahaasing
Dreamtaker
asphyxiator
You make it look like
so much fun.
Your jingle dress is
inside out
I can’t hear anything
but your stupid laughter
one billion of my
8 billion strong family
slaves, laughing
stupid sloppy slutty
slaves to you.
Why do you even want
their slavery?
If you evaporate
and stay that way
If we forgot how to distil
your insidious joke
into our bottles of blame
Would that be so bad for you?
I fucking hate you
and your draw in my blood
Your claim on my soul
I exorcise you
Joy lives on the
other side of
your bottomless cup
I light a match
and this sage smoke
I blow in your face
Away from me
Slayer of ages
Zombie maker
Death that’s dumber than dirt
You don’t get to dress this princess
anymore.
Crowned in joy
I crush your skull beneath
my heal forever.
Masking perfection
she chose a different
state to be in
neither solid
nor liquid
nor gaseous
rather, her personage
was a glittering
electric field
of nothingness
terrorizer
Terrorizer
You sit in my head
Like a lonely shadow
Never seen except
below me, behind me,
and only when I know
to throw light at myself
But there you sit
crouched in meanness
always ready, always
whispering
your petty criticisms
your subtle abuse
and your hatreds.
spiritbutter 