Color Wheel

Absorb and go;
Red lounge singer, God is blue;
Yellow Wombats cheer.

01/05/12

Scientists Create Invisibility Cloak

An event hidden;
Cloaked with the help of Cornell
and hypnotism.

01/04/12

If I had my way...

The play would be but
a secret; a tunnel; spit;
forty matches lit.

01/08/12

PITC

Pig Iron Theatre Workshop -
An Irish catholic schoolhouse
echoes Balkan hymns.

01/03/12

Said the Hurricane

to the Firefly:
Time will come those wings of yours
call us to dance again.

01/02/12

Write-a-day

To start, I think, perhaps
I'll try the ever popular
Haiku-a-day style.

01/01/12

Ollie

the soft nuzzle at the nape,
a nip of the hair to remind you
to look over your shoulder,
now a reminder of the sky
at the pang of surprise in
the missing playmate,
missing imprint on the pillow.

if you read this,

if you move beyond the scan and

these first three lines -

that don't meter or rhyme -

if you're reading this,

i don't mind if you,

move on.

i'd like to keep you, though.

with me for tonight.

to talk with me and drink with me

maybe hold my hand?

or walk the paths behind the theatre,

find the secret playground to

swing the swings,

test our pants for their swift,

friction against the slide.

see who can climb the highest,

exhaust ourselves with games

on the farmhouse deck

or barbeque under the

big yellow and white tent

ment for summerstage,

but which we confiscate for night.

i'd like to keep you,

to slam with me and read with me

to keep these wicked demons from

taking me.

please.

yet you never came

brunch at the frazer diner
to discuss it all
over coffee and eggs
and pancakes, scrapple and bacon
or maybe some of those just so salty sausage links.

we'll get a table, not the counter,
because there's two of us,
and we have hours to kill.

and maybe when the check has come,
we'll order some orange juice too.

homecoming

here are corsages,
wildflower bracelets,
daisy bouquets,
and pinned lapels.

there they wear single,
double, triple mums
with cowbells,

their patriotic pride
adorned in lucky rabbit feet.

sand dollar fortunes

Love,
work those hands until
they are knotted and cramped,

build sand castles with your grandmother
your sister, your lover
search out those razor clams,
sand dollar fortunes.

take that pile of mud and coil it
round, round into a pot.

your pinky, wrist, or waist

may play its mold, or base.

paint it, seal it with a star dusted glaze;
stand within an inch of the kiln as it bakes.

write yourself a love note every day,
write your child advice she'll never see;

create lists of your dreams,
blog your heartaches, and day breaks
celebrate your triumphs and trials,

look to wide open spaces,
camp under the stars,
take to the rapids,
and hike that rocky path along your soul.

archive of dreams

there is you
archive of dreams
pen to paper, blue lines filled in script
murals of words from 1992
beginning, streaming
7am till end of day
you must have woke at three
or never slept

mechanics of midsummer
playing out in your head
behind and before
your eyes
indeed
you haven't slept

you're young yet
it doesn't show in your skin
in your hair, not felt in your hips

in 1992
what makes us old
before our time
hasn't been streamlined
scanned, publicized

only script tucked away
paper files, kept hidden
reserved for exploration
later
archived dreams,
from the road:

a rose for your name
Tamika's shack
backbone spine
van ride
where secrets are spilled
broken hearts mended;
choice is always yours
even as you jump from its doors.

In the Making - 2010

Gobble, gobble

wine and dine me:

big 'ole box of wine

orange buttermilk dinner rolls,

green bean casserole,

sweet potato pie -

Run, Turkey, run.

The Glory Hole

It is as if your mind is sharpened to the razor’s edge,

senses sharp, a fine point.

You can feel the crispness of autumn on your back,

at your peripheral is, mutually,

the blue sky and orange glow of the glory hole.

Your hand knows its path

(it should it’s followed it repetitively in practice),

and is working its way up slowly, slowly

to dislodge the plastic dinosaur from the sand.

Scattered around your knees

are the remnants of imprints

that came before the dinosaur:

Barbie’s head, a corroded piece of metal,

the slinky, a piece of bark.

Pieces to be forgotten, imprints to be filled

with molten glass, cooled, then on to bake in Super Freak.


This moment is not about what you have to do,

it is not about the next keystroke,

or what is to come -

It is about the sharpness of your senses and the steadiness of your hand.

time in coming

he'll write you love

letters from the attic
before he sneaks
down the steps
to catch a glimpse
of your world
the tween sketch comedy
absorption of days,
the deepset evening sky,

its thunderous doubt,
lightening strikes
absoluteness

you'll save love

letters composed of
song lyrics,
his kiss goodnight,
and in a moment of
weakness, you'll
retract, flush it all

but between your fingers,
folded in upon itself again,
read infinitely,
behind bold eyes
cross legged on the floor
in front of that old chest -

time in coming
will circle around
itself again

Henry

Forever playmate,
Mentor to the feral grey -
Loving spirit guide.

at the mumma's

there's this frog,

sitting on a plant,

sitting in the fountain,

staring at me,

posturing,

as flower petals fall

into my coffee cup.

Gossamer Moon

rises above our converted barn,
the farmhouse roof


ignites flames
in your eyes,
marries with
the bonfire
at our feet
as voices lift;


the future of PeaceCorps, CSAs,
homegrown local circles
of communion at once
drawn in the dirt.


Only a spark,
a pencil,
those ice cream stains,
a broken heart,
a marriage,
a child,
a bit of tie line,
or recycled flat

remains
of the last story.

Tonight, though -
a child alchemist
weaves, enchants
four legged quarks
into gold.


Voices rise
as we complicate,
disintegrate, break down
into soft giggles over spilled wine.


Eons earlier a climb,
the dreamgiver's dance
up scaffolding in dreadlocked blue.


Now around the fire,
soured remnants of glitter mix
with lager, lipstick -

a virgin will sleep beneath
the ghost light tonight.

Shifting scenes dissolve between
nightmares of fourteen hour days,


her smile, ringing laughter
after the first mosquito bite of summer;


a mug of rum around the bonfire,
the excitement of the child alchemist;

a spark,

a pencil,

those ice cream stains,

a broken heart,

a marriage,

a child,

a bit of tie line,

and recycled flat;

our rising
Gossamer Moon.

QUIP

signs on the road
Horse and Buggy, right
Christ's Home Office, to the left
Paradise Pre-Owned.

~

arrival
two white, single beds
a chair. White pages turning
among these white walls.

~

alarm clock
bacon to wake you
local greens sustain the soul,
prayer for the eating.

~

on the road
resilience in peace
slips by, seven hours past:
a petrified glen.

birthday wishes

in all this desire
uncertainty
i forget
balloons in the bathtub.

images of catastrophic
proportions
dance before
i can place myself asleep.

i awake in the worst
state of mind
angry and sick
until i think

New York in the Spring -

Mimosas at the window
a Broadway show
watching the tumblings
of spies in training

leaping over benches
coffee on the lake
rock band
making my way in the rain

riding the subway
you looked deep
"We could be in love"
"For a day"

Balloons in the bathtub until then.

Sara Waxman...

is exploring LINCs of universal truth. including (but not limited to) Shakespeare, Myth, and Creation ~ don't be fooled. there are such things as dragons, you only have to look up to catch one in your palm ~ wrote the president ~ brain is slip-sliding out her ears ~ that boy can still make you swoon ~ likes pizza and beer. and terrible cop dramas. too much, in fact ~ is barefoot with a beer for her last night in the Big House ~ DO NOT EAT A HABANERO PEPPER NO MATTER WHO DARES YOU. GODDAMN ~ grilled salmon, eggplant, port mushrooms, and chilled wine + some sun = fantastic ~ i can't believe my mother is cursing on facebook ~ your past and future precisely divided. don't take another step ~ barefoot, still ~ wants nothing but the stars ~ end days, day's end, tomorrow's start ~ thinks facebook bday wishes are the best. that and balloons in the bathtub ~ is a summer thunderstorm ~ river wild, river child ~ has my fly been down this whole time?????? ~ is thinking of....

in the making

updates from 2009

New Moon

Slivered almonds,
A half pear.
A long walk
Spiced nostrils,
Fresh cut pasta
24 shrimp
and parsley.

facebook

I feel you there,
blurred around the edges.
Can you feel me here,
this patience game
I'm playing -

A swell at the base of my spine,
an act of divinity or
the dorment
beast waking
with the sunrise -

For every misstep taken
I lie in waiting,
for a time when
the hopped, mist edges
of gold fill your lungs.

When the sky alights
with fireflies,
miles away you kiss
another's misguided flame,
ask questions with no right answer;

and flit across fingertips.

A Prayer Worth Posting

Green, is
the color of envy, and
so is her jacket, so
in its folds remember, the
strength needed, by another
to match breathing, calm
your nerves to sleep, think
who would do this for you, and
who would you in return, imagine
who to care for,
sit

face

be
there for, pace
yourself until you've
mastered, the art of
digesting deception, and
well meaning intentions,
as the moon doesn't lie
and neither will dreams -

so let the green of her jacket
melt into the grass and pass
through the earth until it
is absorbed by space and
the infinite beyond.

Five Year Plan

You ask
as the ambulances pass,
What's waiting?

and I deflect,
throw back

after seeing
a broken man
lying by the
side of the road,
a strong woman
in grey uniform
standing at his side.

What's waiting?

Flashing lights to our right
to the left, no sirens yet
the tears nearly brimming
I pull back
to the river, the churning
waters of Dimple
and the flip of the raft.

What's waiting for
you is your son
awake, happy
waiting for you
waiting to walk

and instead of what's waiting
I think on what we've just left -

Two years spent
dreaming and scheming
wasted hours in
negative space -

instead
now
finally
after an eternity
the strength,
the power of
the river
churns my
day to day.

I don't want to
dream of what's waiting,
of my five year plan.

I want what I have in
the space we've just left.

Match.com

The locals describe the festival as a "modern day Woodstock". It's earthy, and dirty, and reminds me of my youth group days, where as teenagers, we used to sit out under the stars at retreats and talk the night away. Bonnaroo has (I think) about 100,000 attendees each year (maybe more). All camping, dancing, drugging, and sunning together. There are three stages and three tents where bands play, the main stage is the "What Stage", the second largest playing space is the "Which Stage", there's also "This Tent", "That Tent", and "The Other Tent". There are vendors lining the paths, a ferris wheel, and a freak show with fire eaters and a peep show.

As you walk to the freak show, you'll pass a community art project tent. Hanging from the trees above are giant raindrops. They have wooden frames, and are hung from wire cabling. On blankets outside the community tent (and on tables inside) people paint squares, mixing eco-friendly paint on cardboard palettes. As days pass, the raindrops become covered in cardboard squares painted in water tones: shades of blues, greens, yellows. As they finish, artists turn in their squares and the workers twist a nail through the top of each piece, then attach each to a raindrop. Later when a raindrop is completely covered, workers fly them up into the trees.



One of my squares was an interpretation of the henna painted on my arm - the earth meeting the sea in swirls of blue and green, never touching, an inch or less from meeting. My second, a dedication to one of my favorite songs. On it was a big blue head with a golden crown. Later at the Phish show, someone was passing around name tags, and I became, "Prince Caspian". During Phish's second concert, the song was played in the second set.

But what I will remember most happened in the lull between Phish's sets on the last night. Allison, Carl, and I sat where we stood for the first set. Then small talk: We are all from Philadelphia, although Allison and I have never met Carl. Carl is a stand up comedian by night. I work at People's Light by day. Allison works at the National Constitution Center...Then Carl asks if Allison knows Nora Berger-Green, who got him an acting job in The Laramie Project at Arcadia. And I remember that he was the best thing in that show, that we couldn't stop asking "Who is THAT?" And the only answer we ever received was "He's a Grad student." So, Allison says - "I'm directing a piece called Four Dry Tongues. Would you want to be in it?" I say, "Do it. You were the best thing in Laramie." And so Allison casts a piece for the Philadelphia Fringe at Bonnaroo, in Tennessee. A part she has been turning over in her brain since weeks before the trip, and which she was never quite able to cast. On the trip home she asks if I will Stage Manage/Assistant Direct, and I say yes.

almost broken

Mirror, you are cracked
seven years bad luck.
Snapped shut, denied a last cigarette.

Thirteen splintered edges,
seven refracted pieces,
carried in a purse.

Mirror, you are shattered,
cracked, refracted beyond repair.
Seven years, now seven sutured scars.

untitled

Currently
stretching
a giant carrot
across the room.

As it twist turns
from orange to purple to blue,

remind the students
that a white wall
can be any color they choose
because

white reflects all color into light.

The Disintegration of Matter

The persistence of memory
Splitting
across conflicting schools of thought –

Suspended over the exterior world,
I am
immersed in the interior
landscape of the mind.

The uncertainty principle of
the exterior world
criss-crosses against
my father Freud
to a point where
all I can see is
a wedding dress
and broken glass.

The barren landscape
points in no other direction but
towards nuclear physics
and the annihilation of
Hiroshima.

wordplay

my mouth
runs away
from my brain.

the other day
i inadvertently
mentioned
in a question

that i thought
my boss suggested
i sleep with her husband.

A Face I Will Never Forget

Today
Frannie and I met for lunch.
New Wave Cafe
has excellent salads
and bacon crisped
with charred edges
that melt in your mouth.

I saw Bones across the street.
I noticed his ribs first, his foster mother second.
She stopped at our table on her pass
back to their home in Queen Village.

He has the sweetest eyes
when you pet him
he looks up to you,
it's as if he knows
that this moment
is forever,
that this day
is the only one,
and your hand
on his head
is all he needs.

If you stop
he will wait
for you to come back
for your finger tips
to find his chin.
All those scars
aren't getting
deeper, nor lighter either,
and they can wait -
for he is his namesake,
he will always
be Bones -

But for one moment
on the corner of
a clear, crisp day
with a breakable sky,
Bones has his moment
and I have mine.

Mr. White;

i built a wall.
it was exhausting.
but i also got to build angle wings.
and create a human sociograph, bar graphs.
i took a journey
where i met a woman
from the 1800s who wore gloves
to hide the red dye on her fingertips.
she told me she is leaving her husband
and of her dye brush,
hidden behind the house,
left for her daughter to find.

i'm working on completing the story.

i noticed how in philly
the sky comes to the tip of the trees
or the flat of the rooftops
depending on which side of my axis
you stand on.

never the ground.

i talked to david bradley.

the something we created
was filled with overlapping voices;
poetry,
cardboard symbolism,
child's play,
musical instruments
created out of the floor.

i built a wall to protect myself
but stripped down to uncover
Lady Jane.

it was

exhausting.

the moon shifted
it's telling yesterday.

always smiling right
before they leave-

maybe it's not
a Warning,

the hazed grin,
laughing whisper,
of limitations,
all his misgivings -

but instead
a reminder
to stay me.

Sara

laughs when i say the "h" is extraneous.

i watch as she decorates a cookie
green with purple icing,
swirling ties that shift
with a small flick of her wrist.

he says, "it's very asian."

behind a self deprecating smile
she replies "exactly as planned".

she can't know
the choice she made
two years ago
shifted my universe
completely,

set me here

watching intently -


i have cultivated
an apathetic manner
for moments such as these.

she hands over hot apple cider,
keeps whiskey and water,
as i paint a lopsided
christmas tree a purple stump,
green leaves, adding a fudged star,
and little gingerbread men
all too small for the scene.

not exactly the
styling i was going for
but i was distracted
as i am

watching

this
ethereal woman
i've never met
in my dreams.

Neutral Scene

A: It's so weird in here
B: yes
A: Where's your team
B: offsite
A: ...
B: tomorrow
A: ...
B: what will all this look like
A: An outer line - extending out
B: i've seen
A: Inside a room
B: and here
A: Much like there
B: like there
A: Like here
B: good
A: Yes
B: no cattle stalls i hope

A:

torn out, magnolia tree

mental block rim front -
plush grey dust bunnies
at my eyelids
jump in unison
to block your
question before me -
plans fall fast
as yesterday spirals
out my ears
in iridescent webs
before the imprint
can settle behind my eyes -
what day it is
fades fast from memory
as thought lines,
venn diagrams,
drip down and out
to twist upon the matted tissue
in my lap -
webfoot ed
falsify ed memories
form streams of
needless excuses
on shredded kleenex

as walls break way
with the annihilation
of an age.

while you were in the bathroom...

spherical / metamorphosis
cocooning in ourselves
exponential / expansion
revolving out upon itself
iridescent / web
trapping us between -

you and me

and this tangent
on the American Dream.

city hall/suburban

forest under the subway/concrete secretions/blue peaking through/just past/ a soothsayer's broken arm/midnight calling to the morning rush/hush/walking on/two blind prophets sing/ one speak easy guide dog/an armed guard towering above/wishing well/a change charmer's silver bowl

offering up

a quarter of his worth.

shelf life

i'd break those glass eyes
if we didn't have long range
planning to get through.