Closing my eyes,

I let go of

unwritten books

that are a slide show

of old wishes –

all feeling

like myths

or metaphors.

As I pray

I invent

realms of atmosphere

catching my childhood

in a wavy net.

I release

the past

like a vampire

bathed in light.

Happiness.

7/11/16

You say you want to hold my heart

But there is nothing there to hold

So I will let you hold my body,

You'll never know the difference.

A pound of flesh is a pound of flesh.

I'll wrap it up, and seal it well

The stench of rotting skin won't seep through

Trust me, I've done this before.

That's why I have all of these scars

That's why I have so much missing from me

Because I've tried to give myself to everyone I've loved

But no one can have my heart. It is still broken and bleeding and starving. It's wild and dangerous.

If you saw it, you would surely run away.

I know you'll leave eventually, but for now, I need you to stay. I need you to stay.

-AshleyAnne

I had raised my banner,

And fought bravely until the end.

I broke down their defenses.

Pushed their will,

Until it was broken and bent.

I cried out in victory,

Unaware of the damage I sustained.

The warmth of life escaped me,

Betrayed by a gap in my armor.

Fallen I have,

To my enemy's blade.

The lights and sounds around begin darken,

As I begin to fade.

I do not think about the past,

Or the sacrifices that I had made.

But it all comes rushing back,

As I have come across my end of days.

Remember to come back for me.

Let my death speak of the life I lived.

Of the oceans I had crossed,

Of the exotic lands that I've been.

Point out the wounds and scars strewn out,

Like stars up above,

Infinite across my body and soul.

Allow it to be a reminder,

Of all the pain and hurt that I've seen.

Lift me up,

Carry me back upon my shield,

Cross my arms across my chest,

And in my hands the sword that I wield.

Tell those that I love,

My death was not in vain.

And in my dying breath,

It was my love that I spoke of by name.

Let those who question this crusade,

Know this is where my heart has led me,

This is the result of the choices I made.

Death did not linger,

It was swift like the blow in which it came.

Comfort those who do not understand,

Why it is I left them all behind.

Because love allies with no one,

Love is more cruel than she is kind.

I replay my last dying image,

Eager to see the face,

Of the one who was my equal,

The one who had ended my chase.

I lift up the visor to expose my assailant,

To look upon their face...

...

And what I found left me with no anger,

With no desire to ever place blame.

The face I looked upon was all too familiar.

Her beauty matched by no other.

The reason my desire went untamed.

It belonged to the one I came for,

It belonged to the love I spoke of by name.

All the runners and bikers,

perverts and

God fearing men, and

Buddhists who are 

beyond magic;

all of them gathered 

here before the

Sun rises while 

I create a myth about 

leaves changing 

color in autumn and 

dead Greek heroes 

who spent too much 

time comparing themselves 

to imaginings and deities 

that would just as soon 

cast them into the abyss.  

Minerva, your hands 

are brushes and 

paint leaves with 

broad strokes. 

I grab the earth 

and pull her hair

in clumps of dirt, 

leaves of grass, 

root and branch. 

While you hang onto 

Hephaestus with 

his root in his hand -

quiet sickness- and 

your curiosity about 

Ares and the muses 

and Mother Earth 

and gardening as 

an art and a vanity. 

Answers here!

Submit, then question!

I compare myself to 

runners and Gods 

and lawyers and 

art majors. 

I made up a story and 

you were inviting me. 

I made up a tale where

you planned to 

introduce me. 

I even got ready. 

Deflated, I pick myself 

up this morning and 

nurse my ignorance. 

I cringe and embrace 

what I do not know, 

wandering away 

into tall grass and 

rushes by a stream.

I look for starlings and jays 

and common birds for 

squawking and pecking 

at common stuff while 

common people run

and pollute uncommon earth 

that none chose but I

because common birds

think common bird thoughts

and light on uncommon 

branches with uncommon

husks of dropped seed

and evergreen leaves that 

don't turn like elm or

my father's hair. 

i never wanted to become

attached to you,

so the moment i felt that

little seed of warmth in my chest,

i buried it under dirt

piles of doubt and resistance.

i left that little seed

alone under the soil, because

i knew growing the

plant that is love comes with

thorns.

but you -

you cared for that seed.

you watered it with laughter and

there was sunshine in your touch.

so, as a result, the plant

grew and grew;

sprouting and stretching

and budding and

blooming.

you clipped every thorn

you could, choosing to

bloody your fingers instead

of having me bloodying mine.

i never wanted that seed to sprout,

but you forced it to grow...

and i can't thank you enough.

because yes, the

plant that is love comes with

thorns,

but the flower is too beautiful

to live life without seeing.

The lighter weights always fight first. The place was filled up now. My coach holds the ropes open and I step into the ring. He tells me this, "He didn't warm up. He's cold. Knock him out."

The ref asks me how I feel. I tell him I'm dying. He laughs and says, "You'll be all right."

Now all this time, the fear is indescribable. It had nothing to do with this kid or anything. There is something about getting into a ring surrounded by people watching you and fighting.

I'm thinking it's him or me. Over and over, like a drumbeat in my head. I felt like a cornered rat. Scared mean and viscous.

The bell rings. Like most fights I just remember fragments. It was the same combination, the whole fight, three quick, hard jabs and a right hand. The first knock down I thought he slipped. I didn't feel any contact. It felt like I was punching a sheet hanging on a line -- I was punching right through him.

The second knockdown was -- I started to get excited. I realized that I could get out of there right now! I never wanted anything so bad in my life.

And then it really hit me, I could win!

This kid was backed up on the ropes getting an 8 count.

The ref had waved me to a neutral corner. I looked to the corner where the judges were and there was a lady judge sitting there, she was blond and good looking.

Her lips were parted and her eyes were shiny. She looked hungry. They all did. I felt this huge rush of adrenalin. I started to jump up and down in place. The murder came up in my eyes and I turned my eyes on my opponent. I had picked up the count at five.

The ref waved me in and as I closed the distance I felt my head lower and my chin tuck and it was like I was outside of myself and within at the same time. But the point is that I was being careful.

I saw the brass ring. I had him on the hook and I wasn't going to let him off, it was him or me.

Three hard jabs and he brings his gloves in front of his face. He's trying to hide behind his gloves.

Now here is the peroration of my whole story. I saw an opening, a space between his head gear and his gloves. It was like the clouds parting for the sun. Time warped, slipped away, disappeared, it was a moment frozen in time. I was in hyper focus.

I decided that my glove would fit through that little opening. I pulled the trigger and knocked him out. At the moment of impact, I twisted my hip into the punch. I put my ass into it. A perfect right hand and the hardest punch I ever threw and I could really punch. That punch would have knocked out any amateur anywhere.

He went down and his neck was on the bottom strand and his eyes were wide open but sightless, he was out cold, out of this world. The doctor came running.

I looked into the audience. Two teenage girls, about 18, were looking at me, their eyes shiny with lust. I thought: so that's the way it is – power!

There was such a confluence of feelings going through me -- deep, deep pathos. I thought: this is one fucked up world.

I didn't prance around with my gloves held high. He was just a kid. But it was him or me. And I decided it had to be me.

So I hug this kid. He looked resentful. My coach is spreading the ropes for me. I tell him, "I still don't like it." Then I start snickering, "I could learn to like it." He tells me, "They won't all be this easy."

I beat the next guy. He ran and held.

There was a three-hour break until the finals. I was tired, I was emotionally spent. I didn't want that last fight. And I had seen the guy fight and I really didn't know how I was going to beat him.

I later learnt that he had lied to get into the tournament. He had 7 fights going in, instead of five. I had one, as I said. One of the guys he beat told me that.

He stopped me with a right hand that hurt me and I got an eight count and I rushed in and got caught again. I never went down. RSC.

Referee stops the contest and he stopped it in the second round. I was taking a beating.

Yes, I felt ashamed. A lot of people wanted me to win. There is a lot of racial shit in the states.

I'm not really a fighter. I made myself do it. I wanted to be like my friend, Jamie Ollenberger. I admired fighters. I got a very late start and what success I did have was because I had very heavy hands.

Once I asked a very good retired fighter and trainer, Hedgman Lewis, a welterweight active in the late sixties if I could even call myself a fighter. He said, "You got in there. You fought."

I didn't have much of a career. I was basically 50/50.

I walk up to the microphone. Folding my hands together, I look at the judges.

"Your word is hyacinth."

I see it in my head. I remember when I wrote the definition of it--"a flower"--down next to it in my review packet.

I feel relieved. I know how to spell it.

"H-y-a-c-i-n-t-h" is what I think I say.

"H-y-a-n-c-i-n-t-h" is what comes out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry, that is incorrect."

I'm met with a huge applause for making it to the final four, but I'm confused.

Didn't I spell it right?

I walk off the stage. The principal congratulates me. The other spelling bee finalists congratulate me. But I don't know what I did wrong. I should still be up there, on the stage, spelling more ridiculously confusing words.

But it's okay.

I already knew that silly mistakes were my downfall.

"Rudolph if that man doesn't stop shooting someone is going to get killed"

"I think that's the plan Deer"

There's a famous Politician on

the scene

An avid "outdoorsman" as has

ever been

He wants you to know he's a

God fearing man

And goes to church whenever

he can

Family time is something he

craves

The entire family is in on his

animal raids

He loves killing deer and counting

points on each rack

And teaches his children just which

deer to attack

He sees nothing wrong in killing

and praying to God

Then with a gun intending an animal's

life to rob

His lord and master finally whispered

in his ear

"You want to be blessed while you cause

death down here

Those are oxymoronic thoughts you have

in your head

I fear it's your soul that will wind up dead"

We walk among stars,

Spinning and turning endlessly.

Our gaze points outward,

Searching and looking endlessly.

We sleep in the arms of nebulas,

Resting from our weary troubles.

Our souls search for our other half,

Yearning to be complete again.

We live in a neighborhood of gas giants,

Surrounded and embraced forever.

Our worries float among the galaxies,

Care free and wondering forever.

Grief can take me to bed,

awaiting the completion of the process

that changes my thinking from muddled

to pluripotent once again.

Outside my mattress cocoon is the rest of life.

Whatever that will entail.

Inside are the very slow growing cells that

will completely replace my liver in three weeks.

I don't count on anything anymore.

You couldn't brain wash me now.

That portal has shut.

Each agnostic prayer

is to be made different.