heart behaving badly

I always know what's right and wrong before the fact;

To say or do where you're concerned and how to act

I always know to take it slow

from battles' loss and lessons' learning.

I have no business yelling fire

when I'm the only one who's burning. 
There's nothing to be mad about

so sadly, it's just my heart behaving badly

My lips know better than to touch your face.

My legs don't stand too close,

they leave a prudent space.

But the sum of my behavior 

is mostly greater than the parts

and sadly: it's just my heart behaving badly.  

I can make my hands stay at my side

I can keep my eyes from growing wide and staring.

I can hold my tongue and swallow my pride,
take it all in stride for just so long, if not so gladly: 

though I feel my heart behaving badly. 

Then I see my features will never fit the empty frame 
your desire names as love and holds so dear

It's not for me to fingerpoint or fix the blame

It only seems a crying shame when you're 
so near to me but, sadly - it's just my heart behaving badly.

It's a cautionary tale l have no right to tell.

There's no punishment more severe

than what's already self imposed.

if it's a crime then I'm the suspect 

and the victim here as well.

The file is shut, the case is closed.

No questions sought, no answers posed

because when nothing's said and never done
It will never be done so sadly - so sadly, it's just a heart,

my heart, behaving badly.






(comments?)

wait

Don't fall on a rainy day.

Huddled 'neath umbrellas 

you are far too close

to take in sight of landscape 

or the directions of street signs

Clouds obscure the details 

in the sky and water beads on glass 

distort the images that pass 

across your eyes.

On rainy eves no stars are there  

to guide and any portal might seem 

to hold what you are seeking.

Don't fall on rainy nights.

Wait until the sun comes out.

There is time. 

Wait until the streets have dried.

Take your time.

Wait until your step is steady

and the path is firm; until your eyes

are open and clear the atmosphere...

wait until the perfect season 

comes to call, 

or perhaps you will never fall 

at all.  
Perhaps you should never
fall.

upon seeing a friend's childhood photo.

Little cowgirl all gussied up 

and right for her first rodeo.

All of four foot two, or so.

Broomstick Sally must be hitched 

and grazing by the patio.

Always seems to be a hop-a-long trail 

or train engine with cow catcher

that awaits someone else's beck and call-

just 25 cents is'all, ya know.

But then there are those nights 

so cold could catch a death.

The air so thin, can't catch your breath,

and all that six gun fires  

I'm told, is blanks anyway.

So say "No, thanks anyway"

if that's what's in the offering.

Yes, the Brownie snapshots 

can all be cropp'd;

the fantasies all been photo shopp'd.

The outlaws who would rob you 

should be run out of town

for trying to steal your 

precious secrets away.

It's only a short ride we're taking

so please if it's believe 

that ever you'll be making,

make it last a little bit,

don't quit for just 

a little bit longer.

Let's be friends, little cowgirl, 

and we'll see what round up

next winter will bring. 

confession

I must confess:
I never saw you coming
Until it was way too late.
Call it coincidence or 
call it an accident or 
suggest another word for fate.
I must have been looking
at things a different way;
shading my eyes from 
the natural light of day
when you approached 
from beneath my defenses
like a summons slipped under my door;
like the pounding of my heart
forgotten, ignored
and crying for more.

Will you need me any less
if I should stay?
Would you want me any more
if I go 'way
would you love me any more
(being honest)
or hate me any less
if I confess?

I must confess:
You took a path straight at me
and I was struck between the eyes.
Everywhere I was
you found me.
You were rising all around me
like the tide
No, I never saw you coming
and there never was
any reason to hide.

So let me drown with you now
take me down with you now
beneath these waves.
Be ever my ally
and my undoing
my life line and anchor
whatever weather is brewing;
my reasons for living
this life through;
holding  me together
and tearing me apart
like the pounding of my heart
forgotten, ignored.
Silent and crying no more.

If you want

I search for the words
of black and gray
but the words don't exist
at least not in that way.
Better they should be
born from my lips
to your ears.
No interference -
nothing in between
those that you hear
and the ones that I mean.
Any disparity
requiring clarity
can be resolved in our eyes.
So bring your face close
to mine, love
and if you want truth
it will tell you all there is to know.
And if you want kisses
all I have are for you
but if you want your freedom
then what am I to do?
It is yours for a song
for then all that I want
will already be gone.

I'm Thinking of You

"what are you thinking?"
you fancied inquire
like a game of truth or dare
and you couldn't believe
when I'd only answer
"nothing, it's all static in there."
But I didn't guess that
the question was loaded;
the tipping point past
where all trust is eroded.

Well, since you've been gone
the answer has become
emphatic and explicitly true
What am I thinking of now?
I'm thinking of you.

What am I thinking of now?
Now, now, now  and forever
Can't conceive I'd endeavor
to dam up the tunnel
my mind funnels through.
It's incontrovertibly true
I'm thinking of you.

All of my efforts
have been self defeating
and all of my words, regrettable
all the errors
that don't bear repeating
how I repeat them is simply incredible.
Even when I choose
to ignore them
your absence alone
has the power to restore them
though there's no interest left
for my singular debt to accrue.

I could try, I suppose,
to drown my thoughts
like so many others that do.
But that isn't in my make up
There's no casual craft
I can take up for awhile
to while the too much time away.
Can't just file them, sublimely, away-
the questions and the memories
that keep cascading through.
What am I thinking of now?
I'm thinking of you.
God help me,
I'm thinking of you.

secrets.

I wish I could let you in
on the answers. But you know
I don't have them
and I don't even know
if they exist.
I wish I could gift you
with reassurance that
everything will be alright.
But then, maybe it won't?

Even if I knew the words,
they are only a scripted cue
from the magician for whatever
his confederates have been taught to do
in order to hide the trick from view.
It's taken years of practice and deception
to make it feel so terribly real.

I wish I could divulge
the secrets you are seeking.
(Is it really any secret?)
I don't know.
Always seems as though
the secret of happiness
is in being happy
and the secret of life
is that it must be lived.
Not even love can
make happiness.
Not even love
can make things right.
Not even love can cajole
the rain to fall or end.
If it could,
I would always have flowers
for your table and the
honey for your tea.