poems at work

Ghost Love

Meet me at the walnut tree, angel of the needle -
dance clad in the light of the moon, wild street-flower dear.
Scattered to the wind and the earth, return to the cradle -
I listen to the wide Southern sky: 'tis the mothership I hear?

The Current

Someone stole my wings, but I must learn to fly.
They kick me in the heart and wonder why I cry.
The current will erase every wrong I have been done -
and grant me my rest, when the doubts are gone.

Female Condition

Just a hole for them to stick it in:
no heart, no mind, this is what I am.
This is not what I want to be -
but this is the only thing they see.
Another man posing as a friend -
another night, yearning for the end.
And regrets grow like the noxious weeds
in unkempt gardens of nature's misdeeds...
Just a whore - that is what they see.
Just a hole - is there no more to me?
Tell me why did you have to pretend,
if you'd just use me like your hand.
I liked you until you "liked" me.
Maybe I should set myself free.
Or maybe I should hunt your kind down -
cover the world in dried blood's rusty brown.
No other way out of the genes' jail -
no magic potion and no holy grail
of surgery can cut that X away.