inside me there is a crazy woman

inside me there is a crazy woman
grieving for her son.

she is beating her fists on everything
she is pummeling the air
she is howling like wind
she is tearing her hair
and banging her head
and running
and running
into darkest nowhere.

sometimes her tears pour from my eyes
and her screams cascade from my mouth
and her anger
and her sorrow
and her terrible pain
shatter my bones
into sharp little bits
that pierce my skin
in a thousand bleeding
wounds.

inside me there is a crazy woman
grieving for her son.

sometimes i talk and talk

04.10.06 sometimes i talk and talk

sometimes
i talk
and talk
and my words tumble
through air,
to dance in a rosy ether
composed of hope
and sorrow.
Colliding with apparitions,
drenched by Mary’s tears,
they pirouette toward
(beseeching)
an illuminating grace.
Underneath reality,
there is an absence
that is a whole world.
There is a door
opening on sky
a wind that sings me
to sleep.

approaching unbearable

driving home at midnight in the rain