I'm Only (nodding to Tori Amos)

I wrote this back in 2003, one of the last poems I wrote for years. 

Taking my soul from the ice cream assassin
I left my heels where I couldn't fly
Seeking out light and clean realms I can pass in
Deep planted seeds in the Autumn don't die

How many exiles await in the underground
How many can Flightless and Sightless deceive
Where do go to fit under the big top
Where do you plant your orchids for your New Spring

Walking myself through the Fire trial
I washed the filth from white sheets I was given
Blinded my judge with white wit and wile
Then burned down the court where I had been driven

Still you search where it's burned out rendered barren
How could you find me with your cataract eyes
I know what you wished for and what I promised
But you don't mean it you don't really see it.

Now sewing on patches to get whole again
Covering tattoos of tears I cried
These threads will follow wherever you begin
But I won't move you from where you died

Just put on your hair shirt if that what you've chosen
Get your own ashes and live through your own fire
I'm not your Savior your Lamb not your New Spring
I'm only me   I'm only clean

Monet & The Seine

The police are murdering children
because they are black
Rule of law has become
ruled by terrorism

Robin Williams is dead
Suicide
Because the world's favorite uncle
couldn't make himself smile.

Thank God for Monet.
For his hazy pastel mornings
on the Seine
Thank God
he could see and share such beauty.
Such an escape
down
Such a river
Is much needed.

(written at The Philbrook Museum)