LadyLazrus

Let me go then, by myself, where my life meets my dreams, where they meet what life hath dealt, To find where the sky separates to a halt, holy oil and pool water-it's not my fault-to walk to the edge of the grinding sea, to immerse in the waves-not coming back, free. And will it have been worth it after all, the leg lifts at the gym, faux finishing my bedroom wall? Will it have been worth the smiles and the screams, or frosting each night in anti-age creams? To say, "I am Lazarus, coming to tell you truth: it's only tap water in the Fountain of Youth." In the bars, men come and go, joshing about the perfect breasts of th

I say that you're stuck with me- Bubble gum on the sole of my soul, Handprint on my heart, lump in my throat, Coat of many colors in your smile (my favorite jacket), Thick accent pinching pink my tongue, Abdominal hollow with your name, Scar bisecting my clavicle (a triple bypass to you), Displacement shadow in my lips, Song careening through my psyche, Broken record playing on heart cords, Angel at my back, demon in my ear. Vacuum where my life was, Waking nightmare in my dreams.

Push her down, drown her all you want. You'll not escape what you are: The child in the photograph still knows Who she is, what she wants to be. She is still pug-faced and persistent, Haughty plastic crown propped On top of disheveled yellow hair. Aspirations still writhe In her bugged pupils, A dream (to grow up to be you) Ever present in her coloring book diary. Will you try to erase her memory Through excuses and a new haircut? Does a BFA make you (or anyone) An expert on the world she has always known? Burn all the pictures you want, Get witness protection involved, if you dare. She'll need no warrant when she

have you got a minute? you say. my head swivels. you know for the next sixty seconds we have more time than God. never feel sorry for a self-inflicted gunshot wound, you say. I have never been shooting, but I know how a gun is loaded. I have never been in love, but I know the ache of broken heart. I'm sorry, though the boy knew the 70x7 were mine to make. I'm different, though he re-loaded and took aim. I will always have a minute. I will never own a gun.

Oil spilled, child killed, ideology distilled, You are your own kryptonite. With wolves at your door, Go buy the biggest gun you can find On the black market—but don’t fund terrorism. Look—up in the sky that is growing dense With pot smoke, CFC’s, and your denial— It’s a bird. It’s a plane. No—it’s the government: Save us. Be our king. We’ll graffiti your name Over our gospel billboards and metro buses, Draw squiggle hearts around your name In our planned parenting classes. Eyes gouged like Samson, You become its grain slave, Pushing the very grindstone That you

it’s dark find the light switch to a room i could navigate with eyes shut tight right hand groping wall breaks fall under a search light voice of God my teacher a class room fail or pass room learn or burn love war vice comma splice— mother, what are you doing adjacent to Hammurabi’s code? stay awake don’t break breathe step step step  down the street in the morning light of the moon we are just now waking to God’s new world Golden age Space age Digital age Old age for the young at heart— mother, what are you doing playing hopscotch with a hooker? i have to be a doctor of sociology biology broken card

In an alley off Broadway, Right of the restaurant dumpster, Left of the orphaned shopping cart, I discovered the keyhole to the Pearly Gates. Peering through, I saw Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Joan of Arc, The Ark, Noah slumped at its helm, Martin Luther, 95 Theses nailed to his gnarled hands. Martin Luther King, jr., waking in his dream, Adam and Eve’s fruit salad, apple-free, Gandhi at the all-you-can eat buffet, My Uncle Stan, with no cancer, Genghis Khan—jesus christ! My puppy dog, Polka Dot, tire marks ironed out, Lot’s wife combing salt out of her hair, My childhood dream of becoming a model-singer-a

I watched her walk, head down, shoulders hunched, quivering, up the slick sidewalk, him stare, jaw tight, head forward in the humming car—Can we truly say that we’re evolved humans, not animals, in the suspended moments where we feel like this? As I stood there, watching my spun glass child carry in the shards of her heart, I sighed for the innocence lost, wept for the mending ahead, and tensed for the brooding storm at my feet. In that moment, I  loved deeper pictures colored outside the lines, held closer crisp memories laced with pink tu-tus and plastic crowns, and grew stronger holding still than I ever would have moving forwa

When stepped I back From the inconceivable masterpiece I thought I’d made of my life, I found it lacking. Handicapped in spirit, anemic in soul, My great life’s work I cried Dead and desolate. Then, God painted you in. Unplanned, unpredicted, You are a King James Bible Carried in the thong straps of a stripper, Shining human molar cuff-links On the French sleeves of a Pope, And For all the arched eyebrows, The grody, blackened fingers Of  their Heresy compasses Pointing North to you, The chipped bricks at my window, Dark threats at my door, I am made whole by you— Complete at last In the ha

 Jezebel, Upon retrieving My morning paper, I saw you sunbathing nude On your terracotta roof. Go buy yourself A diamond-studded forklift: Your fat flush didn’t work— With wide-angles A macro fisheye HD lens Has enough super pixels To pierce your cutaneous soul And enhance crunchy, sun-dried lines Around sour, green eyes. Today, A six year-old child Will find shards of you, Blowing down the street With cigarette butts, Tattered junk food wrappers, Tomorrow, She will starve and purge To be half of what she thinks you are. How long Before we learn Not to wrap you in aluminum foil And call yo