Bluebeard

I'm living proof you can kill the monster.

Truly & fully with the absolute force he did show. Because what the fairy tales don't tell you is you don't even need violence - just lock him up in apathy and forget - and he'll whimper and whither in that destructive cold. Ah, that's right because the poison of it all - the poison he bestowed so slowly, so carefully, so dangerously - was already plenty enough to eat himself up entirely.

Why you're the princess with everything now sweet dear. Couldn't you see that all along?



By the hidden moon I poured a great gulp back out.. looked up at all the stars, at the beautiful life that I swear was dreamed up, so long before I even knew it could be had, in some cosmic hideaway with my ancestral name quietly upon it. Such a prayer that was. All in some long night wander it would begin...
Now the days long after go on, and they're starting now to evolve and the happy aging has begun, and I forget my own story sometimes. I forget the leap was ever destructive, was ever anything at all... because after the numb grew a joy I may never replicate. And out of the joy became a life. It all rolls like heavy waves across the night tonight -- now the brightest stars I ever did speak to in prayer because they listened finally.

Get ready. For all the incredible, yet to be known, sparkling future of great work and storytelling... all ahead (am I ready?), on it goes anyhow. Another call, another date with this city. I've got the world we believe in still rich in these veins like Baltimore alleyways where we made promises of what adulthood was.

I'm the woman again that I loved before. In childhood days waiting by the sea, in college ages of study then fury, and in sweet, now. 







.  .  .

New York

There was this lighted mirror in the bathroom, 
in a hotel in New York... — it made elegant, swanky uptown, fractured reflections in ochre yellow 
- as I lay in bed between the twinkling lights of the bridge and buildings and “vibes” on the other side. 

And all the big, rude, loud city that you like 
had quieted finally...with the music playing in just the right low echo with grip. 

It was the first time I’d breathed easy, 
and strange, in too many nights. 

So maybe there’s something here after all. 
With a new you and me... but mostly the me. 
Mostly all the brand new tonight I can see and fall asleep to. It's the phrase we're always saying when all your plans are with new spirits, new souls, 
and every time you check it - there's messages waiting on your phone. 

Thought I'd closed the door and left adventures behind 
but it was just a pause -- just a subway delay 
-- just an old me that I left far behind and gone. New York, the place I never wanted to be --  
but all the times I'm here has meant something. 
The force of the noise and the dreams of strangers - hits. 
The place that filled every college "when I get there" by my friends, as I listened, and thought of other things..sometimes you wind up where you never planned. 
After all the work, 
the moves, 
the miles and the messing up. 
Really made a new version of myself that I like the most. 
Like the colors of the life back home, the textures and the other city pace of it..

By tonight I'll be home again - coming home tired and full of art made 
- when home is new and right all along. 
Looking up at the grand scale of the train station, with a laugh. 
Wonder what tonight, and next week, 
and every next strange trip will bring. 

. . .

The old burning

Let the hills keep burning cause I don’t know you anymore. Let that precious, strange, desert place where the rolling cuts off every background -- slide off. 
And so you creep, and you make, and you let the land take you over. You let yourself disappear so no one even knows. 

All that mess and mourn, I don’t yearn for it anymore. All that buzzing television on repeat; like a retro moving spin top -- playing scenes. 
Playing sounds so different here - we press mute on all the noise and turn volumes up to what we feel. 
Or so we say, and smile, and answer professionally to what we do. 

It’s metal concrete shiny ways, so it feels a world away. Worlds away and all around the changing grasses of our changing forgottens. 

. . .