The Clockwork Woman Finds a Lover

But he’s nothing like
she wanted
Or expected
for that matter

I mean he was so . . .
so organic
With twisting
and twining roots
He was all branches
and bark
Sticky fluids oozing
all over the place
Disgusting really

All she’d wanted
all she was looking for
Was someone
a little something
To fill in that hallow space
inside her
Just a little tick
for her tock
A yang
for her yin
(She read about that kind of thing
in one of her magazines)

Now look at the crack
in her world
Where everything
in the Universe
Is free to come and go
And time is no longer
linear
And all her symmetries . . .
All her perfect symmetries
are broken

tigers in the Baja

she said
there’re tigers in the Baja
there are dragons in the Hills
there is no time for love nowadays
there’s only time for thrills

i lifted the instruments of resurrection
calibrated the technology
and mapped the barriers of chance
we met beneath a moonlit sky
she taught my heart to dance

she said
there’re tigers in the Baja
there are dragons in the Hills
there is no time for love nowadays
there’s only time for thrills

i held her hand and tried not crying
believing in the technology
praying luck from the gods of chance
we met beneath a moonlit sky
she taught my soul to dance

she said
there’re tigers in the Baja
there are dragons in the Hills
there is no time for love nowadays
there’s only time for thrills

there will be no resurrection
despite all the technology
she is broken on the barriers of chance
a dead heart can not dance

she said
there’re tigers in the Baja
there are dragons in the Hills . . .
and she was gone

Grandmother Burns

What do you see
beyond the shadows Grandmother?
I weep here at your tomb.
I weep the tears that a boy of ten could not muster.
The tears that a boy of ten could not understand.

What do you see beyond the shadows?
Are you warm?
Are you at peace?
Did you get to talk to God?
Did he answer the questions
that you saved just for him?

I can still see your hand reaching down
to a boy of five.
I see you in the morning fixing pancakes.
I see you letting a boy with sticky fingers
pretend that he is helping you.
I see your smile….
O dear Grandmother…
Why couldn’t I cry when they put you
in that damned cold box?
Why couldn’t I cry then
when it mattered?

I can remember…
Your hands still reach in my memory.
Your face still caresses me with a smile.
Your soul still walks in my dreams.

Sometimes we make pancakes
and I cry.