Makin' Lemonade

They been makin' lemonade
all wrong.
They the graft.
They the graft of one snide tree
to another,
like pained lemon to cane,
without havin' to feel
past a gamey fame
meat market tray,
all stray
all day
sour,
wrapped in
crocodile tears
and crinkled paper
tinted - money green.
They been making' lemonade
all wrong.
Like it's flat all too soon.
Like they didn't have a choice
though they did,
swallowing fizz with the biting bitch
of another's sick
in love with bubble bulldozers
and nothing much good
and never left the school yard
propaganda.
Viva my heart
and Viva those
who been makin' lemonade
how it should be.
Cut the strings on noses
attached in the air to nothing
but pretend and  forgetting and pulpy
kickbacks most wouldn't think of as food.
I'll be makin' lemonade like this...
like I made it myself
Like I didn't have to do it how he said
Like i can face any direction and that direction is enough....
Because beautiful means
Viva Love
and that is all you should have done.
Viva my Heart
and Viva yours.

Understanding to the Landing

Every day in every way,
in up or down
or rutted clay,
in whizzing dreams
or rocket love,
or mopey, slopey
downey mud...

Understanding
to the landing,
may you reach
your heart
for handling...

...handling
every day
in every way,
in up or down

or rutted clay
in making you
in shaping new
in back and forth
and more and few.

When they feel you
when they won't,
love and hold you
when they don't...

All will be your lesson
Smiley
Quirky, sweet and
wild and wily.
Understand - you
can and will,
from summers heart
to winter's chill...

Every day in every way
in up or down
or rutted clay
Understanding
to the landing
may you reach
your heart
for handling

life...

Escalator Boots (Definition: Love)

It's light - through the window
like a stream of nothing
made something...
with brown to burnished amber
dressed in thermal
translucent stripes.

It's up - far and ever
in a letter made of music
and shameless curiosity
and free treasure
on a blind forever
or a million different shape shifters
where cloudy isn't in the way at all.

It's there - with the flowers
in the violet in shy not shrinking
in a wild  purple periwinkle
squealing burst of delicious cravings
though dooryard, still a scent like
raptured paradise.

Its both and in-between- mountain base
and tree rooted steady
in the ready for a climb
made of escalator boots and
rivers in eyes full of hikers
that look for canoes to survey the
majesty from a well of brimming wonder
into arms made of everyones ocean.

The Intramural Circus

The closet door
to the human rind
to the vessels and veins
to the heart
to the tent
in there made of
everything you...
where the somersault
Queen is exciting
and the rope is
the balance
and kiting
mettle.
Circus and the
halo of flame
in the centre
in the constant
beat of a dance
and the juggle of
coloured balls
that we drop
and pick up to
try again with.
To the unicycle troupe
running rings like saturn
round the scene
and building a shape
made of us and trust.
Circus in the right ventricle
circus in the left.
Right to the treetop lungs
in suspense with trapeze swings
that clinch joyful flight seekers.
Left to the everywhere laughing clowns
circulating lolling beams
on a ruby sea
that burst from
here til Sunday
Upon elastic lips.