sunflower blues

for Allen Ginsberg
i am not blue.
i am a sunflower of more than
one color.
though i hold too much water until
i am green,
i am not blue.
i am a red kettle boiling over.
that is not me whistling this
is a primal scream.
i am dented irrevocably
and i hold too much water until
i am rust.
i am not blue.
i am a sunflower of more than
one color.
oh mother you were meant to be
enriching earth not polluted dirt,
i choke as they pull
another petal
another petal
another petal
another petal.
i am not blue.
when i die-
you will be the one to whither
and I will live inside the sky.

where I went

and now that the anger is gone

there may be a few more glimpses
like looking out of the window
through a thin veil of silk.

a look into what may or may not
have been the flicker of a candle
the shadow of it's smoke or quite
possibly the drapery catching fire.

Something called for a new home
if it wasn't the fact that this
one had burned down then why
the packed suitcase?

I just might finally leave a note
that maps out my escape route
this time-but I did so enjoy
the mystery of my new self
and others not knowing where
I went.

confession

confession is all:
it is what my poetry is,
and that is my life.