Tag Archives: wanting to escape

Gatlinburg By The Shore

I drive straight through until I get the sea, just stopping for gas and quick snacks.

Gatlinburg on the shore is what this town is, but I can see the endless waters here.

The threat of rain as I sit on the beach, the sky the color of an old, neglected tombstone.

The waters just as dark in color. But oceans separate the worlds, the planes of being.


I walk on the sand, heading away from gaudy, crass city. There are cigarette butts

and beer cans and plastic trash in the sand. Nothing sacred or beloved. No pride at all.

I walk on the sand, and maybe just in my imagination, I see a mermaid out in the water,

and I hear her tempting and mournful song, the only true psalm in praising loss.


I stand there, between kingdoms, wanting to leave this one forever, not knowing how.

I see, however real, a mermaid past the breaking waves, a dream of spirits and angels

that made all this world pure and treasured, before we made all of it all about ourselves.

Her song is mournful, a psalm to loss, and standing there, I wish for the will to go to her.

Childhood Jungle

James Agee Park, ragged and scraggly,

is not the childhood jungle of the playground

of my elementary school, hemmed in by

wire fencing, enticing with it’s mysteries.

It’s 3 am, and still hot and humid, without mercy.

So few stars, but there is rocous laughter,

loud music, raised voices.

I drink iced tea I bought for a dollar.

I might be here till morning. I might leave in a

minute. I’m waiting for the nerve to go,

or for aliens, the fey, or angels to take me home.

For anything to change.

Few stars roll above me, but they broke their promise,

their light did not show the way, and holy writ cut out

my innocence and lust, so I could be a better consumer.

I finish my tea, and crush the ice in my teeth.

A light blinks in the sky, moves strangely, almost drunkenly.

Maybe the mad bastards or the alien bastards have come,

or it’s just an out of reach wonder in a bad, sleepless night.

I remember a past love, and hold the memory fondly.

The Girl Who Came Before Thunder

The mad heart flies to the to heaven,

to the eternal and tender blue above,

to the dreaming sky that can soothe

it’s sores and scars and pinprick kisses.

The stars where the soft angels singing

in the quiet moments when dreams

crashed on shores sparkling in moonlight

and a girl who came before thunder held me.

In my dark room, sleepless, stockpiling wonder

as the time trickles like blood from tips of pens

and the invocations and memories they write,

to make a roughshod heaven of my disgrace.

And the stars weep ice and cherry blossoms,

as I call her back, the last hurrah for innocence,

to the empty place in my bed, and I call back that kiss,

that came too late to save me, but was only sweetness before death.