the three windows

(bend and you will become whole.

so says the tao teh ching.)

you were afraid of waking the neighbors.

you were scared of walking through my living room

so you crawled through my window.

i thought you were joking.

all throughout the night,

while we were not cuddling,

i had the construction people build a twisty slide

for my escape.

it was chilly out when i left.

i hired my dentist to wait at the bottom

for the sole purpose of handing out lollipops.

sucker.

this one has a magic window.

"ah."

through this window you can look out of all of Los Angeles

late at night

and imagine what the nightshift is doing in the buildings

with elevators racing up and down.

"oooh. interesting."

yes. i knew you'd like it.

this couch here is for fake yawns, caressing, and lit cigarettes.

go ahead, you can touch it. feels real, doesn't it?

"mm hmm....oh, and how about the bedroom?"

oh, i was saving that for the end, madame.

the bedroom room has music

that pops out of very tiny speakers

installed in all six of its corners.

when the jukebox of love is on,

it sounds like a very tiny circus

is playing familiar songs far off in the distance...

see?

"i see.

i'll take it."

she had to watch her head.

the latch jutted out from ceiling

when the window was open.

her hair got caught on it

often.

this make out room was meant for people

who were used

to military crawling along the grounds

of mine swept

and wanting hearts.

she knew he was a native to that land,

but

it wasn't until the sun came up

that she noticed all the scalps.

i get into stories about the ocean

If I

jumped up

and clung to you with sandy feet,

the

only

appropriate response

would be

to fling your head back,

laugh,

and carry me

into the waves

with you

forever.

i need a time out

i need it like i've been hit in the belly by a giant red rubber dodge-ball half the size of me,

with a scraped knee bloody and still burning

with no friends on my side

and ten minutes remaining

of this recess that wasn't a recess at all.

it was an onslaught of no good snack trades,

lack of band-aids,

no whistles,

asphalt bruises,

distant laughter,

and ugly crying.

shaky and gasping,

a grown up is feeling like a twelve year old who's

afraid of looking like a baby in front of everyone.

can i go back in time with the grace of now?

a mish-mash of wisdom from all of my ages:

I summon the maturity to wash my wounds, dust my elbows off and sweep the little kid ponytail off to one side.

I laugh at the grown-ups watching because this turn,

this is the turn i pick my magic square.

This turn the marker falls just right:

with a flash from the sun,

slowing the seconds,

morphing them into a montage of hopscotch victory,

ninja style double-dutch,

and capturing the flag without turning back.

if i can look forward enough to do so,

i can look back until i become drowsy from all this hoping.

ancient tradition says detachment is a part of it.

all is transitory.

all my happenings are done and there is only this:

a heart that draws things to me. breath that gives me light.

a sighing out of joy and relief.

Yet inside, still existing beautifully, is that shakiness.

under real and cosmic blankets, while i'm curled up in a ball,

is that feeling and that very basic need

of being

held.