A Satin Inch

Icy benches, the early city sky
falling in slapping waves upon hands
pale fingers extended, collecting from the heavens
the weighty hum, photographic music

A crushing clutch pulls in to out
violent forceful agony
of all thats been lost and all that will be lost
Images in flashes
photographs and key changes
The day I rose to a satin inch
And fought to hold my grace
an artificial angel
dressed in tulle and anticipation

A daughter to her father
It was my gift to you

I wish you saw me dance


I am from skyscrapers, wet streets, a sunset
the purple ghost over a glittering bay
The twenty-ninth floor
A foggy view
I am from the rain that falls and dances on windows
A sort of percussive music
That brings me to a blanket,
the rich black smell of over brewed coffee
and an onyx companion by my side.
I am in the streetlight glow
of a city to bright to reveal
the stars that dart in and out of vision
Depending on your avenue

Flames and Music

My companion played piano.
And I, Siobhan, would dance.
And when our little home caught fire,
I mimicked the flames with the sway of my spine.
My friend stared solidly into the blaze.
He flinched only once,
when the piano began to spit and splinter
and chimed into a crackled chord.
When the monstrous song concluded,
curls of smoke rose in adagio
and joined in my ballet.
My spirit found its form in fire.
My dance ignited in heat and fury,
As I foolishly watched you go
An ignorant girl
Dancing in the smoke
Finding beauty in the heavy air
and the smell of burning music
Now my music is mathematic
Empty soulless chords
Swirling into the heavens
Like that dusty, bitter, murderous smoke
that carried you away.
My blue eyes became gray that day
A reflection of the filth,
the music and the madness,
The mourning and the man
Willing to die so beautifully

Urban Angels

San Francisco
Early morning mist
Acid and asphalt
as synthesized pandemonium
Beat the cement walls behind me
and cigarettes and eyeliner
turned innocents to vixens
I knelt down in my dream haze
to touch the glass
Gypsy glitter in the gutter
Felt it bite into my fingertips
Like the chill of winds around me
A little girl in mamas heels
Looking for salvation
In blood and glass and music
pulsing through her wires
Breathing in pacific air
and missing my old city
Where children of the nighttime street
Find hope in urban angels
Who wrap warm wings around them
to save them from themselves

Another night

Last night I made your image
out of forgotten tubes of pigment
from my box of bristled treasures.
As four-o-clock came creeping in
Heavy and candlelit, wild and silent,
I found my manic whirlwind
concluding with a conundrum.
The exact hue alluded me
to fill the windows to your soul
and all the frantic, crushing memories
Could not return it to me
I lay upon the floor
bathed in the beeswax glow
and slipped between the floorboards
And dripped into decay.
I lay in little droplets
upon my dusty cellar floor
gazing up between the old oak cracks.
I tried to reassemble
become the person I once was
but even this was futile
and as I realized my wound
I found the perfect hue for you
In the crystalline blue and violet
that lit the horizon at sunrise.