Light to the Prism

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I tend to the green
I look for the prisms
To escape the prison inside

Grey-brown and desolate
Static-creating status symbols
Causing interferences

I’m a leprechaun lass
With treasure to spare
To share, is my true “why”

I daily trek to tend
Intentionally
To the green

Fruitful Be

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Our story is not final, Yo
Our shame can take a seat
The last train car, in the back row
As Universe defeats

That rusted coupler is removed
By strength of warriors, we
Pain of ten lifetimes is soothed
Healed now, fruitful be

Orange Dream

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I’m sad like a leftover quart of rainbow sherbet purchased on last October’s last sizzling-hot day

I burst out of the schoolhouse that Autumn afternoon, determined to hold fast to my gratitude for the sun and the heat that’s fleeting that time of year

My only goal, to fight back against the falling back that steals my morning sunlight, even when I’m mindful

The temperature dropped the very next day, as did my heart, as did my interest in the rainbow, interest in the heat, my interest in the sherbet.

It’s almost June now, is just how sad

W-E-L-C-O-M-E

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Let us not act our age one night in New York City. When the smoky underground Club’s strobe light distress-signals us, let us just say yes. As, for God’s sake, it is the one place that accepts us as we are and we refuse to notice that they spell it wrong.

The rainbow-haired, don’t care dance is ours and theirs and we were born this way, to steal away -the lot of us, the we. There’s no one who’ll make us go back to the where we once called home. The white-noise sizzle of this place will see to that.