Photography_2

The sleeping passenger feels cold—shivers to wake, at dawn—discovering light coming in through the window—cool light at dawn. Another sleeping passenger feels cold—jerks to wake at the same time, at dawn—discovering light coming in through the window—cool light at dawn.

Both passengers are awake now, and realize they are looking at each other sitting across from one another   at dawn.

Two passengers wake up and realize they are looking at each other, sitting across from one another at dawn—February eighth, the day before a giant storm two passengers find themselves awake on a train, in the wee hours of the morning.

The passenger turns his head to the side facing the window, and discovering light coming in    through the window,   yawns. The other passenger turns his head to the side facing the window, and discovering light coming in through the window,   hears the other passenger yawn. The passenger turns back to face forward. The other passenger turns back to face forward.

Both passengers are awake now, and realize they are looking at each other, sitting across from one another anxious to start a conversation, at dawn—as light is coming in through the window—cool light at dawn.

Originally Published by Burningword Literary Journal 2013  http://burningword.com/2013/04/morning-train/

His little person voice—I hear it and wonder how to respond to such Beauty & Light pure Love Nephew with flippers and blue trunks, little gashes or wounds here there and I wouldn’t be surprised if he used the word cicatrize with little belly and me sticking out childlike in the saltwater pool, I attempt to swim laps in the overcast cool— thinking again of what imagination I have left—playing to save all the insects floating there on top, no bees just Dragon fly Fire fly Horse fly Mosquito & Flea— He wants to save them all too and so the game begins as Super Heroes—told me his name was to be Red Surfer and mine would be Lisa—I wanted to say, “No, I’m Nisa because that’s what they call me in Mexico” like Niça, like water, but I didn’t— I went along with it put on my goggles and looked at his little frog appearance under water surrounded by concrete— The image of him under water, the way his face and arms and legs and eyes looked at me through buggley goggles submarine portholes to his soul baby Innocent surviving under water exciting but scary at the same time just learning how to hold his breath nicely— We both came up for air, I said, “A jellyfish needs saving too.” He said, “He or She?”  I said, “What? “— “He or She?”  “O, He.”  It’s a male jellyfish, I didn’t understand the question at first.  So me and Kai—his name also water—saved a jellyfish from drowning, believing it could breathe on dry land just like all the other animals in the world we want to meet.

weaving & cackling

ostracized

descendant of Egypt

you traded

wagons for steel
where you picked

violins, earth

& bones

buried in soil

there remains:
memories & song
 
des corbeaux

recorded in stone

you rose roses

shape shifted

stole

fire

take thrones!


Do Something About the Children Slain

Dusty blood flows in the road, red rivers pool in graphics, casting crimson shadows on cement walls: “Twenty-Four Dead Just South of El Paso”

The super-market execution taped off yellow. Her downcast eyes in remorse, not strong— Just a necessity. Living in cardboard houses behind wooden pallet fences, unsolved murders of their sisters and husbands, waiting for the maquiladora to boom again.

She cannot cross the desert with her babies. The able kids are throwing gang signs in the alleys littered in crime scenes,

Aye Güey,

No honest money, only assimilation to the cartels, leaving her in warfare—
Prostitution. Normalcy. Borders push men back for slaughter, time in mourning: To struggle, to pray, to stay for the factory line up.

Federal planes flew overhead during the last soccer game.

Originally published in San Diego Writers Ink Anthology in 2011

May all be restored through Love, Life, Loss and Hope.  To the great people of Haiti, I wish you Peace, Health and Light…

The Hermit: Understanding the Major Arcana of the Tarot
This article discusses the many meanings of the tarot card the hermit.
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Water by Jane Wertz

We drink water

from the tap—

as if we’re not at war,

swim around

The Gulf Coast

Soldiers negotiate realms

begging for somewhere

to escape

America

Tea Partiers

tongues Burgundy

hollering at uniforms

and guns.

Our unarmed

silence outraged

at what’s been done,

One in ten employed

and John Boehner’s lungs

burn as he remains

stuck

unharmed,

Wall Street soared

with indexes

reaching high

Scattering

Illuminati.

You ruined me the day you told me of your love,
For the one who watched you while you slept.
The one you took turns with those times,
Watching each other fade to deep in rest.
She was the first to drift off and then you were next.
She held you while you shook yourself to sleep,
Soaking wet you were wrapped around her,
Unaware you were caught inside her dream.
Did you know she couldn’t separate herself from you?
You ruined me the day you told me of your love.
How you couldn’t even eat those fruits,
Unless she shared with you her mouth’s delight.
Did you think I wouldn’t care or miss you much?
Well, you ruined me the day you told me of your love.

Good_vs__Evil_by_gtako

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