The wind blew softly
over her kind face one day
as her eyes raised to the sky
those honey-colored wonders
realized in a most blissful instant
that she was finally alone and Free........

(c)1993-1994

MBA vs. MFA

Work; play
Dread; surprise
Achieving; learning
Cut-throat; helpful
Finding; exploring
Linear; open
Exhausting; refreshing
Left; right
Objective; subjective
Demanding; relaxed
Suffocating; oxygen
Logical; intuitive
Outline; random
Conscious; sub-conscious
Intrusive; soft
Financial; existential
Need; value
Tangible; intangible
Forgotten; remembered
Trivial; profound

Things I'd do with My MBA

1. Management consulting
2. Organizational Culture consulting
3. Marketing plan development consulting
4. Advertising Account Management
5. Business Analyst
6. Market Research Analyst
7. Media Buyer
8. Book Proposal Writer/ Marketer
9. Literary Agent/Publisher
10. Social Media/Internet Platform Company Marketing & Creative Development
11. Frame the piece of paper and be thankful I didn’t lose all my hair in the process

Calligraphy Labels

There's a scent in the air
When you drink too much wine
And the steps that you take
Seem to be too many
The wind cold enough to sting
Through your skin
Freezing everything but what's inside

That scent in the air
Can smell like a stale version
Of the bottle still sitting on the counter
Or in the fridge
A fermented stench
Hanging as though it's about to burst

And then it does
Slowly bubbling past the cork
Spilling in streams down each side
Of what once contained it
Erasing the illusion
That its liquid can be confined
Or hidden behind shiny colored glass
With pretty calligraphy labels

Retracing Seventeen

Across that field you’d come
With your glowing blonde hair
Softly waving its threads against the breeze
Another glance left open to interpretation
Another almost spoken set of words
Felt through the eyes instead

So on we’d go
Into our separate ways
After the world of discovery
You immersed me in
Without any intent or responsibility
To the aftermath of danger’s titillation

Smoke filled rings
Swirled in disguised escape
A young soul lost
Behind the wall of books
And a stage
She’d soon discard
For lessons beyond promises
Contained in fantasy,
Truth’s expression,
And the unspoken heart

Of a grown soul still lost
Retracing her steps
To that field
She walked across
Until it became a memory
Of youth’s innocent hope
That the world contained
The possibility of dreams
Bigger than what could be seen

Gone are the smeared pink petals
The rose used to wear
Your blonde locks and blue eyes
Frozen in a seventeen year old’s unfinished beginning
An unpromised dream soon to unfold
Onto an unseen reel
That will someday be played
Within the experiment we still call today

Sunrise and Pretend

We stood on that pavement
The sky heavy
With its soon-to-be rain
Saying our good-byes
Hoping that it wasn’t
The last touch
Or the last sound
That meant
We were still each other’s

Your dark eyes still
As always
Your voice telling me
Not to think of it as a mistake
Mine full of tears
With a shakiness
So uncertain of my future
And us

The truck was waiting
But we held on
In that embrace
So unlike the ones
We had found ourselves in before
We promised each other
This wasn’t really good-bye
Not wanting to let go
Of what we were
And who we could be

It could’ve been our last
So I told you I loved you
Like always
A few words of hope
From your lips
A nod of agreement
And the last visible tears
Transferring their wetness
Onto our hands

Years later you said you were proud
Of what I’d done
I told you my life was better
But that I missed you sometimes
Your arms were safe and tender
Just like I remembered
The smell of expensive cologne
Making it seem as though
We were still stuck in what was

We tried to promise what we couldn’t
A life of what could be
I still miss you sometimes
And wonder if we were crazy
For wanting to stay embraced
In a world of only sunrise and pretend

A Young Girl's Bathroom Sink

I stand apart from myself,
immersed in this false candlelight
Watching the water drop endlessly
into this so called white basin.

Knowledge, experience, truth
come from the above source,
slowly forming at the faucet's tip.

Each clear drop falls
to its place on the empty surface
until this sink of mine overflows
past the brim,

Taking me back to yesterday.

Sweet oblivion for one moment only
for as my visions fade into today
you pull the plug on the drain
that sucks away each drop
of life-giving rain
that has turned a soothing escape
into despised ghosts.