A Dance of Poems

Line Waiter

In the dystopian future

I am a Line Waiter.

I earn a decent life cuz I stand my ground.

As surrogate.

No time to wait in line? Make the appointment anyway

then just show up!”

get the picture on yr phone?

Sometimes people throw coins, too

When I dance a little shimmy. Nice perk.

All day to contemplate the ones before

Philosopher by inadvertency (trying to keep self-amused.)

Lots of thoughts to think; no blame to be had.

We’re all in line somewhere for something we don’t

Feel in front of yet.


– – –

Don’t be shy, little words, just dance write up

Blow past the mind on your own mission

Of being seen at the same time as being said

So, don’t let me get in the way,

Just swarm by, mob the

Blood-brain barrier,

Well up in the ears,

Overfill the eyes,

Wash over the feet

Fill my hands so that to

Shake them is to write you up.

  • – –

Broad & Chestnut Meet

I was keeping that Philadelphian ‘never-build-taller-than-Billy’s hat’

In the ‘partment; didn’t really realize that until

Things started getting taller than me

On the surround

A 7’ bookcase, the split-leaf Rhonda finally

Supported on a walk-found branch so we are


The top of the desk calling for its own inspection

Each time I sit down. Its vortex operational

In triangular Joy.

It all moves by

Same as it ever was.

My surroundings shift like a river

I somehow manage to stand up in.

  • – –


Saturdays start early for me…I wake with

The yearnings of a schoolgirl who has survived

A week of hell & has time before Mom gets on

About the vacuuming … time to get out with a

‘bye’ n a grab at a banana and head downstairs

for Blue Boy – the 26” bike my Missing Dad

Bought me cuz he didn’t know I had a little under

24” frame – so the bike

Was a grab-mount

Feet already pedaling the ground

Before the saddle-leap

Already in motion, side by side

Up, up & away.


Ever get this notice?

You pull up Word & it offers

In effect, a snick on brainpan

A kind of “Ah Ma’am, you left this”

Someone waving my flea market



Eyes go round circuiting

all the memory banks at once

“What document?” My fingers

Assure an affirmative:


‘Bring it to me, sweeti,’

I coax it up & it’s an

Address I typed in two

Weeks ago for an envelope

That jammed the printer.


All alone, you are formed, molded, finally

Stamped with a Diploma & a birth certificate

(on second thought, Mom kept that till needed.)

Released into the world

Like a trained animal into the circus

Applauded by a crowd you didn’t even know

Was out there all this time.

Put into the slot, sitting in the darkness

Of the not-knowing until a Uniformed Daylight

Rattled the chute

You were snatched by an unfamiliar glove

Driven, sorted, allocated by some invisible

Zip Code machine

Deposited in the tray of life

Like change in a pocket

Carelessly delivered

Tho carefully addressed

In a life where you’re the Occupant

As often as not.

  • – –

We have Ghost Houses here

In T or C

We have places that once occupied

A “where” here, these can shimmer

Into place:

Overlay a yard or a park

So you blink & maybe find a coffee.

For where you thought you were

Is not where you are.

There are incipient ranches

A mirage between the highway

And the mountains looming

Like giants: the Caballos

The Horse Mountains for when

‘they’ hid horses there.

We have nearby a changeable lake

Atop a drowned fort-militant

Something to do with hostiles

While we trespassed unmercifully

Treading their flag

Writing on ours, “Don’t.You.Dare.”

  • – –

First Person

The lance that pierces my side is not made by anyone out there. I take full-on responsibility for that one. You can accept that as you wish, but my point in putting it out here is a kind of alert.

I recognize putting it all in the first person can come hard; I’m hoping to get there. I’m feeling more … umm … “real” isn’t enough of a word, all watered down with usage. Maybe genuine? (We see that on leather tags but not much else.) It’s an interesting feeling. At a time when I feel most personally powerful, I am relegated to virtual living over being alive.

From the little doors that creaked open when my daughter sent a wedding picture of her parents, some distant dreams have emerged. I see the hope in those eyes; I see the life that still wants to come forward & be lived beloved – by all or none or some and done. With these choices, I cannot lose.

So, while there is an everyday life, it is made to be accelerated through these days. This comes at a time I am ready to slow down & pick it apart.

Or at least that’s my take on events. After this much isolation, I’m more able to pick & choose that with which I crave comfort. More than ready to be the observer, the chronicler, the descriptor. But who am I recording it all for? Isn’t it obviously me? So I wriggle my feet & agree to just do it.

Shapeshifting isn’t for everybody. It is what I’ve been doing on the inside for all my life. I recognize this now that I see old pictures. Please understand I shredded as much of my life as I could when I left Nashville… in fact, the machine burned out a fair bit before I left. There were parts I had to lie to get back, but it wasn’t a Big Lie. It was a Handy Lie involving Xerox copies of my life.

All of life is abroad now. When restrictions are put away, it will burgeon forward as we have never before seen. See? There I go. Rephrase: “as I have never before seen.”

A once-friend said I live on many levels. Once in a while, that observation returns. Am I still interesting? Who do I need to interest besides myself? Yet my favorites are those distractions that catch me in unknowing need so I must respond; this I perceive as childlike. I enjoy to think my child is getting to play aloud. (An example of this is standing in a sunbeam: the sun has reached the level of the windowsill & spills unrestrained into the room. I adjust the blinds & am caught in the light & heat moving up, taking me in & then full upon my face. Light on mountains arising.)

Maybe all these blogs have all along been imaginative etchings done by her.

I’m ever so glad one of us has grown up! The me-in-charge has wanted to sit back & just take notes for a real long time.



No matter how many times we’re told we have to save ourselves, we still go for the, “yeah, but you sure you can’t help?”. It worked with mom and dad.

Americans hold a view of themselves that they’re not panhandlers. In the desert, this can mean you dry up & drift off. We pay attention to one another & to stories.

It’s not the time to drift off, be cast adrift, lose the drift, not right now. It might be the last bike down the hill through a dark town where one woman holds a brief lantern in welcome. (I held that lantern out in a dark street & only heard the bike as it braked.)

Digression runs a close parallel to the ideal. The commentary is overheard on both parleys. Comes a time when the only way to undo a knot is with patience & sourcing. We have reached that time.

We are everyday people. But we can excuse ourselves to keep an eye on excellence should It be in the immediate. I see now how often my expectations of excellence call it forth.

It has always been so, been what this is now which is sheerly your perception of it. As mine is. In practical terms, if I move my winter curtains to put up sheers, I will lose to discomfort in a jiffy. My comfort zone sports blackout curtains with blinds.

There are always changing times. When times need a boost it’s a boot with a bust in the butt oncoming. It used to be mostly individuals, but I have just enough room in my paranoia for one more, should you care to investigate. I might, can you hold on while I check?

(He’s got a bust of Che Guevarra in his office, for God’s sake. And the curtains have obviously just been unpackaged, you mean to tell me the White House has no iron?)


I have become a third world country. What does that mean? My life is rimmed around a definite high each day & I get to choose what it might be: A morning walk, a sunny place to sit, a terrific book to be lost within… I take my bags to the market to fill & since they are infected with Covid, I get to do this myself. I could probably take the world record in holding my breath in time to grab a few things at the market. (Can’t even get into the only other grocery in town – which is Walmart – with the lines & what not. Thanks, China! In so many ways, thanks! I find it interesting that my bags carry the virus & my face: not my hands sifting among avocados, not my jacket which l has brushed up against all kinds of possible hosts, etc. You know that rant could go on for a couple of days.

I get to choose from my five or six winter outfits – an exciting moment! I am not permitted to buy any other clothing which cannot be acquired from my [Chinese] Walmart; thus supporting the overt providers of Covid. Interestingly, I am not hearing of gigantic death numbers from the virus in China. Did they flatten the curve?

I am singled at work for not wearing a mask. The fact that I find it very difficult to breathe or do quality work while wearing one – that my clients give me permission to not wear one – that they themselves feel put upon forced to wear a mask on a massage table where they must breathe deeply for maximal benefit rendered irrelevant by conflicts of science & con-science.

I am tired of seeing Fauci’s face. His Hitler salute is not a raised arm, but an index finger pointed upward as he calls the shots for my life. I read Switzerland is doing fine, South Dakota is doing fine… Herd immunity is proved out. Statistics are down (even the CDC says so) but for whatever reason, I wear a mask to every store. Which amounts to the few open here in town – Chinese Walmart, Chinese Family Dollar & Chinese Dollar Store plus a couple all-American hardware posts.

I am wearing down. I hate to say it. I dislike admitting defeat. I miss our small businesses. I miss being able to eat a meal I did not prepare myself. Last night I didn’t even have dinner & infrequently in my life have I gone to bed without dinner like some truant. I miss friends, entertainment, the occasional movie, drives to nearby old West towns to spend my dollars on postcards. I have put about 400 miles on my car since March – an invitation to an oil change had me laughing as I tossed it.

I’m done with conflicting news, one source telling me I’m dead so just lie down already, another telling me I live in Jesus, a third assuring me the Pleiadians are en route in answer to my thumb stuck out over the horizon of Earth, a fourth to say the Pleiadians are sitting to one side watching “the show” & unwilling/unable to help. Pleiadian Uber?

I will live as long as I live & no longer. It is up to me to make these days reactive or passive. I think of it as “clapping for Tinkerbell” where she will fade from existence without applause (a cheap crowd participation trick.) I am down to one hand clapping.

I want to get back into gear. I want to tend my volunteer duties, travel at will & with a way, get a definitive reply when I reach out – because it seems as things have slowed down, no one is keeping up.

Nothing is normal & I want some semblance of that back!

Oaths: Legalities: Legal Ties: Insights

This is the part of my life where I’m allowed to be funny, to be creative, to talk to people using language I’ve spent a lifetime developing. Instead it was “Shut up, it’s The Covid” at all times.

I do not consent. I am literally of a different mind when it comes to all of this talk/script going on/playing out. I am fiercely for health in everyone, for all of us to be mobile, active, determined, forward-facing … (what’s your add to the list?). I want the freedom to be outrageous at times, to wear hats with plumes or belts with bull riding clasps. At this time of wanting these, I am in the mindset of wanting them is having them & not doing them. Did you follow that? Thinking about as doing? My excuse & acceptance…

Anyway, I am an actress who’s quarreled with the Theatre that loved her & this is never done other than with Drama (which is usually an emotional subset of Trauma.)

I am a woman who sees her debts as decisions & perceives debt on levels seers do. There are times when I’ve scattered paths like pennies & been found to round off miracles. That there are people who love me despite the boundaries of love I usually reside beyond, amazes me. And I love back!

I have done Lover as spider woman, creatively exploring & ultimately deciding no one’s mind except mine needs to be present in my present. What I love best about being Present to all of this allows it to interrupt & re-present itself. That can always bifurcate, but I’m quick to categorize & ‘opinionize.’ (The next layer to peel away is that opinionizing. The Lovers of the deck have always been, for me, 1) being alone or 2) being with another. Tumult survives no matter how much oil is poured upon the waters – on the “wanters.” )

I’m a lion in my own world, but a kitten on the screen door for many others…the one with claws dug in so tightly to pry her off is to exercise fearlessness at peak levels. I’m up there hanging on, trusting the view of what I see will be the view when I’m again out there. You know, when I’m older & after I can locate the alleys. When I find a reign to Queen.

Eccentricity is an aura of everyone in Truth or Consequences. The amazing blending of eccentricities is what we feed upon & enjoy its dancing, blending/braiding. If we don’t know you, we do know of you. And are perfectly willing to leave it at that…until we get to know you – which often happens by simple propinquity.

I think this started better than it’s going to end. In an acknowledgement that each of those Present moments made up for the rote of life, that each enforced “rote” is now sustaining me where I in-dwell, in-habit. It’s an admission of being Ok My Way. If I’m okay with me, there’s not much need for all else.

We are all re-solving our Vasanas.