The Sway

I'm not the one
who left you
for dead
{think in metaphors
coffee dark
heavy symbolism
and sweet similes}

My problem
is believing in people
taking them at face value
even when there are reasons
not to
My trust issues run
reverse

It's a cold morning
and the alarm
doesn't relent

We were halfway down
the mountain before
I noticed he'd fallen asleep

The hitchhiker in the back
was chatty
wired on meth
his smoke, simple and mild
but it landed behind bars

If there's one thing I've learned
it's nothing is simple
or black and white
We are surrounded
and drown in grey
no matter whose lips move
watch the walk

I can't teach what you already know
and refuse to believe

You're dead
and never coming back
trace the footfalls
that stretch
from Miami to Los Angeles
where we never crossed



Recounting Sparrows

We are a delicate balance
of blood and emotion
an intricate flush
of history
and iced tendons
to search
for the perfect blend
of art
and poetic phraseology

In the rushing hours
we fail to stop
short of completion
of competition;
repetition
of motion
that breaks the spirit
and drains the connecting
ligaments that snap

I want to be
on fire
once again
where freeing demons
is the order of the day
and running on machines
takes its weight
in gold bartered bricks



There, There

We rode these boards
like rails in the fifties
before our time

Pomp and pride;
sins of the poet's teacher
masked in papier-mâché
toy soldiers
and ink that spills
a-c-a-d-e-m-i-a;
more like
e-d-e-m-a

Circumstance and consequence,
the streets taught us well
the cracks in between
where we spat the spell
the correctness
of worldly gains
and word games

Falter only on your
self embossed image
reflected in the broken
glass where you sit
after arrogant eruptions
that make you
look silly and tired

Walk on
while we keep
our ears pinned
to concrete
and feel the pulse
of the city sidewalks
close to the subliminal self,
penned by plasma spasms
and erratic heartbeats

Absence and abstinence
breeds a profusion
of carcinogenic
self righteousness

So, go ahead
spread your gospel
while we gather
realities threads
by the yard


Leisa Pierce lives in Southern California by the beach and has been writing since age 8, lives with 1 husband, 2 children, 4 cats and 1 golden retriever. Her books include: "Moonstorms", a collection of poetry, "Sword Dancing", a collection of poems written with Vincent G. Novo, "Immaculate Solace" to be released in the fall of 2005 and several chapbooks.
Her poetry publishing credits include: Liquid Muse Quarterly, Comrades, The Writer's Hood, Born Magazine, Identity Theory, Wild Child Magazine, Sol Magazine, Purple Tights, Fluid Ink Press, Thunder Sandwich, Retort Magazine, NYC Poetry, Reader's Quarterly, Pegasus, THISPoets Magazine, Dream International Quarterly and Poetry and Insomnia.