cakes

If all were deaf but to speech
And blind but to features
If all lacked touch but the physical
And smelt nothing without air

If front teeth said it all
And hair color changed meaning
If fingernails told truth
And freckles proved poor markings

If wind turned you to sand
And water turned you earth
If fire turned you to ash
And coldness turned you ice

And you were yet inside all these . . .

I'd have you still
I'd have you still

No Words

R

a

c

h

e

l

s

C

a

l

e

b

Captain of a Soul

The ship went down
I should have drowned
It would have been the noble thing,
But I jumped ship
Only to rip
And tear my very being

Ben, Before Breakfast

Ben wakes, checks his competition in the mirror, and sets out to beat it. The shower, hair gel, breakfast of champions, and hot iron for today's choice of business casual: light pink, heavy pressed--all unite to form Ben's five-star front. He finds the mirror again to prove himself. About this time, Ben's younger brother and only successful side-business (he pays rent) shuffles into the open bathroom door, blinks at Ben, and offers an approving nod to his own reflection in the mirror. Ben, presently flustered with his seeming inability to just once look better, faster than his reflection, turns to Joe and, after a quick glance at the tie-dye t-shirt he is sporting, says, "For example, I would never wear a shirt like that." This picks up, as if seamlessly, the conversation the two brothers began the first morning after Joe moved into the basement, and carried on in like manner every morning thereafter. Joe smiles, admiring Ben's contemptuous expression, and retorts, "And neither would your reflection, it appears, which explains why you're still standing there, unable to out-dress such fierce competition. Ben doesn't respond, but remains standing there, a look of almost fatherly pity for the rebellious son etched on his face. But Emily and the two toddlers have moved into position at the breakfast table and Ben leaves Joe to wink at his bearded complexion in the mirror.

color

Haven't you seen death?
or at least the shadows of it?
Haven't you felt famished?
or at least the hunger in it?
Haven't you been homeless?
or at least the vagabond of it?
Haven't you wondered
just for one moment
why it's so hard?
You relate in at least the smallest way to the extremes of art,
So why not dream?
Why insist the color bland or the topic dull
and call that reality?
and call that living?

There is color in the anguish of man.
Why bleed grey?
Blood is deeper Red than you've ever seen.