Snowman
I built a dream inside my heart
a faceless man no one could place
a pure soul
a perfect mate
What a fool I was
to build a man
with snow
March, 2002
Tressa Lee Breen
Venus Fly Trap
Venus Fly Trap
Tiredness
seeping thru me
Sticky
Cloying
Poisonous sap
thru an old tree
My brain excretes weariness
a sponge soaked with deadly venom
running thru my system
aching in my eyeballs
clumping in my throat
numbing my heart
Weakness is planted deep in my creative womb becoming a venus fly trap
Devouring
inspiration
motivation
living and thriving on death
No idea takes flight
No Aphrodite springs from the foam
Consciousness closes down as the hours of the day get ingested by the trap
March 30, 2002
Tressa Lee Breen
Toilet Tissue Dreams
Toilet Tissue Dreams
Rolled up on the spindle of my mind
Soft
White
Pure
Sheets and sheets of dreams
Planned out and boxed in
squared away
my imaginings get wheeled over
dwindling away the hours of my days
Turning over
wiping away
the tedium
the manufactured process of earning a living
Spin
spinning
spun
goes my life
Idea never becomes action
just remains fantasy
to clear away boredom and getting flushed away by time
March 30, 2002
Tressa Lee Breen
Teased
Teased
The sword of sunlight piercing thru the dark
for a moment
Two minutes of diamond rain
during a draught
Falling into that warm blanket of unconsciousness
as the alarm goes off
A guitar
without strings
A song
without voice
Notes
without music
Hearts
without love
One night of sin
in a purely boring life
March 23, 2002
Tressa Lee Breen
Spin Cycle Lament
Spin Cycle Lament
I drag and carry the soiled worn memories
to the dark corner in my soul
Old and rusty white
toothless and gaping mouthed
the bought purifier
gobbles up my dirty past
Powder snowflake absolution
liquid sunshine cleansing
Water drowning
paths not ventured
schools not gone to
words not written
songs not sung
roles not played
pictures not drawn
risks not taken
Rinsing away
jobs hated but worked
uncomfortable but safe places stayed
compromises unwanted but made
lovers taken but not loving
time lived not alive
Spinning out
the same old cloth
the same old days to wear
Then the twin inhales them
burning deep
searing in weaved patterns
I slip them over me
surrounded by their artificial warmth
with synthetic purity clinging to them
like toxic mountain flowers
March 11, 2002
Tressa Lee Breen
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