Inside Out

Have you ever wanted to be inside out?  I have.

I’d like to be a free lady of the wind and seasons. 

I’d like to be a woman of the late night places 
where passion breathing stars spit out virtue, 
red and dwarfed.

I’d like to hear the naked beauty of desire fed into the wheat fields.

I’d like to chip into a mortared brick and wait out the morning. 

I’d like to be born with a sweet flame and a silken web.

No more ancient, aging, ailing outer-facing rind, 
wasting with hope.

Scrape away the tired shadow mask at last.

Escape the weeping cellar full of old bones pushing through the riven boards
let’s have one more sacred candied day, a final ritzy season.

Frosted with that inside story I kept so quietly mine.