Vampyre

If you bit me and found

That my blood tasted sweet

Would you drink me all up

To the very last drop?

If you bit me once more

And my blood tasted bitter

Would my vinegar cell count

Compel you to stop?

If I asked you to kill me

By drinking me dry

And I tasted like sugar

And sweet cherry pie

Would you even think twice

Before watching me die?

NS 10.31.2009

Cauchemar du Jour (Nightmare of the Day)

last night i dreamed

of a basement room

a cave of sorts

with a center abyss

and rows of chairs

surrounding it

hundreds of chairs

like movie theater seating

and the people come in

and they walk in thin lines

on thin ledges

to reach their seats

so they can sit for a spell

and sleep

i held a kitten to my chest

and watched it

grow in my arms

dreading the day

when we would lose

our strength

and balance

and fall

NS 10.31.2009

Caught Up

In lieu of you
I found distraction
in a box of petty things
that came to catch
and feed attention
quelling qualms
of diamond rings

In lieu of you
I came to ponder
what light means in brighter terms
and thought about
the eye of wonder
the heat that makes
the fire burn

In lieu of you
I caught a moment
splashing color on the floor
and when I asked it
for its number
it laughed and drew
a twenty-four

How long to wait
for hearts to beat
like drums of dancers on the street
like fragile wings
of butterflies
kissing beggars
on their cheeks

With you I found
another world
filled with luckless lovers’ lore
caught up in this
distraction fails
and I’ll stop to think
of you once more

NS 10.30.2009

Pretty Words

If pretty words could make you love me
you’d have loved me long ago
but still I’m losing your attention
for pretty words are all I know

I can do naught but rearrange them
set them up in metered rhyme
make them say such silly things that I
hope you’ll learn to love in time

But pretty words are lost to your ears
as scenery’s lost to you r eyes
and as my touch is lost to your hands
so is love and so it dies

If pretty songs could make you hear me
you’d have heard me long before
you heard me crying at your window,
beating fists against your door

I can do naught but let the notes fall
from my lips like frozen drops
of summer rain in winter weather
waiting for the snow to stop

Pretty Baby, don’t forsake me,
I know you find my plea absurd
but Pretty Baby, I can’t help that
all I have are pretty words

NS 10.30.2009

The Rain Equation

At what rate should one walk through the rain in order to arrive at Destination A the least wet?

They say if you run, you get wetter.
But if you walk too slowly, it’ll take forever,
and the amount of time you’ll spend walking will make up for the raindrops you’d be hitting if you ran.

So, then, how does one come to determine the ideal rate?

I suppose you’d have to take into account the amount of rain coming down, per square inch, as they say? Though this hardly seems quantitatively sound.

And I suppose you would have to factor in the size of the raindrops –
is there a sheet of petite drips?
Or are there few but massive drops?

And I suppose it would depend on how far you’re going.
And in what direction the wind was blowing.
And through the type of place you were walking,
since the country has trees, and the city has scaffolding.

Would it matter if it were winter?
Would it matter if it were a sun-shower?
Would it make a difference if you didn’t mind
getting soaked as you walked along?
Or if you were dodging raindrops like stray bullets from hunters,
zooming across your lawn?

At what rate should one walk through the rain in order to arrive at Destination A the least wet?

NS 10.22.09

The Butterfly Effect

When the world ends,
I will draw
butterflies
on skyscrapers

in five hundred
colors. I
will give them
their proper wings

so they can fly
over the
rubble of
old city streets:

Painted Ladies,
Monarchs, Tailed
Blues; I used
to know more types.

and as water
rises up,
they will rise
up to the sky,

up to the clouds,
to heaven,
to angels,
to share color

with a world yet
to join the
masses that
drown in the tides.

And they will see
the water that
comes closer,
but will not fear

the waves below
that crash and
rush and cry
out with sadness

because all they
see are these
butterflies:
a mosaic,

a beautiful
masterpiece,
God’s genius
saved in insects.

And when the flood
washes them
away in
a sea of white

the water will
turn black and
remember
they changed it all.

NS 10.21.09

A Barrage of Mixed Feelings

I remember when I didn’t wear blush
When I didn’t wear dresses
When I didn’t wear bras

I remember when I didn’t have earrings
When I didn’t have braces
When I didn’t have teeth

I remember when I didn’t know music
When I didn’t know Mozart
When I didn’t know chocolate

I remember when I believed in the Tooth Fairy
When I believed in the Easter Bunny
When I believed in Santa Claus

I remember when I didn’t wear smirks
When I didn’t wear anger
When I didn’t wear horror

I remember when I didn’t have OCD
When I didn’t have ADD
When I didn’t have anxiety

I remember when I didn’t know hatred
When I didn’t know war
When I didn’t know race

I remember when I believed in peace
When I believed in love
When I believed everything

I remember
And when I remember
It all comes back to me

NS 10.21.09