I am not for sale.  I am the whistling of roses.  I am the dragonfly that pollinates a nose full of lilies.  I am so infinitely mine—invisible as air, and as heavy as a grain of sand. 

Tell me you're mad.
Tell the truth.
Tell the truth.
Tell me how you’re feeling, tell me how many times you’ve forced yourself not to say: “I’M ANGRY”
Tell me you believe me,
that I love you and that I would do anything for you. 
Tell me you trust me,
tell me. Tell me. 

a dog claims its territory
by raising its leg
an urinating on the object
unlike dogs
men claim their territory
in a more civilized way
they mark it with paint
or divide it off
with fencing wire
or drive a stake into the ground
like our animal counterpart
we let the world know what is ours
because we mark our territory.

The Storefront


It is another day
I open my eyes from sleep
And prepare for the
Morning’s End
The mirror reflects my face
My eyes have a history.

It is time to go outside
I am walking now
The day is beautiful
And I see people walking
And carrying out their day
I find myself on a narrow
Street
With businesses and restaurants
And wonderful coffee shops that
Carry memories of relief

I come to an empty storefront
A business that once had been
But had now moved on.

I look into the window

Faded from what I'm supposed to be But stuck in a system full of endless duties I search for elusive magic, mystery But the manual of instructions pull me back into wiring Everyday a clockwork routine unwinds A model set of answers in which I'm confined Batches of variables, packaged and refined Performance recorded, judged and scrutinised I call out to my spirit that's not on ground Somewhere among the cosmos, swirling around But the system and its formulas pull me down A nameless domino in which I'm bound They scan based on the set criteria Under their inspection, there's no deviation

I'm trying to be strong But I'm so lost I'm drowning in my pain and sorrows I'm trying to be strong I'm trying to hold on I'm really trying But this so hard Strength where did you go I'm drowning here

A girl has found a little frog
squatting on a rotting log,
its dewy body dozing there
as motionless as frozen air.

Impossible in this dim light
to learn it’s an hermaphrodite,
incapable of procreation
due to freakish deviation

as it grew from tadpole stage
into a frog of legal age.
She goes to grab the beast. A hop.
The water puckers with a “plop!”

It got away from a child’s clutch,
but not from mankind’s toxic touch.

Two paths.
To the left the past,
to the right the future.

Left or right?

None. 

Lets stray the paths into the woods where I return into your arms and we are one.

Soft flesh of the earth.
Breath of sun on their leaves.
Embrace of wind in their branches.
Burning bite of the logger's blade
as it sears them to the core.

Their dreams are their lives
and their lives are a dream.
Each winter they eat the snow
that melts in their branches.
They dream-taste the ashen sky.

Appeared in Asimov's SF