Poem: from the rain

I walked that way this morning
The way we all danced home last night
Dark but bathed in moonshine
And the light from your soft eyes

And you were vaulting all the puddles
Because you’d bought these brand new shoes
They were pink and wafer thin
And made to have no use

You’re just a girl in love with life and you don’t know it
There’s something deeper in your smile, one day you’ll show it
One day you’ll see you cry because you love the pain and want a friend to hide with from the rain

You come crying back to me again
‘Tell me, what should I do?’
And I say the same thing every time
‘I would walk away from you’

But I wish that I could
I wish I meant enough to you
To leave you hurt, when you hurt me
In finding your 'something new'

You’re just a girl in love with life and you don’t know it
There’s something deeper in your smile, one day you’ll show it
One day you’ll see you cry because you love the pain and want a friend to hide with from the rain

There’s nothing but just enough light to cast a shadow,
And the whisper of the sea
And tonight a white light making silver of what’s grey
Was all you had to see

You’re just a girl in love with life and you don’t know it
There’s something deeper in your smile, one day you’ll show it
One day you’ll see you cry because you love the pain and want a friend to hide with from the rain

Poem: broken

i stepped around the corner
and there lying on the floor
my mother's angel
a halo short of perfect
tears streaming down her face
a broken wing lay beside her
twice now in 3 months
the image laid before me
and i wonder...


a fortune cookie opened
falls to the floor
shatters before me
"your love life will be happy and harmonious"
covered in the rubble
a broken heart
reading a broken fortune
and i wonder...

Poem: eight kisses

One


You can call
it emptiness, breathing, epithet,
or love, or the thing we can't

touch, while in motion.
The rush
of your mouth in me like icemelt water,

innocent, surging
like a creek,
touching,

stopped.


Second Kiss

I'd like to eat sunlight like an orange,
and let lighty juices run down my jaw
And neck and chest like afternoon rivers.

I may burn my lips, but that is nothing
to the sweet, resinous heat of summer
Roving over your body like a golden hand.



Third Kiss

And we're shine-lit
on the hillside in
the only star.



Fourth Kiss

The soul has no glimmer,
Even in this midday sun, and still,
Like a screw I would raise it always to drink
From the flowering well of your mouth.



Five



Sixth Kiss

Fishing a line made of average brushes,
Casting for angels in the glen of your mouth.

I spied them sleeping on your neck,
Watched them rise and fall, white thoughts spinning
From a dandelion in low summer, endured
A lure made of white quiet
To gather them as if by magic.
The cousined string stretched itself like a lover’s hair
Across the shoal of your coral shoulder,
The indefinacy of your collar’s gentle hollow.
I am the fisherman who works with craft;
The settling is delicate, and sounds like
Small metal inside of a fragile tumbler.

The enzyme cast.. .

I am slipping the fingers of angels between my lips
Making them lazy with pleasing
Then I eat their gauzy wings;
They disappear like spun sugar
In the heat of your mouth.


Seventh Kiss

Am I trying to write durable journals,
Words that will weather or remain intact?

More, I’m trying to scribe myself
In the pond of your soul,
Moving my hand, writing my name
As a man in your water.

How can I separate the narrow sweeps
Of your body from your strangeness, highway light?

True, your body is only the first reflection.
Everything holds your aspect, love.

Movement in good hope,

Cover me all like an infused honey sun.


Eighth Kiss

We left the blinds up last night
To watch the snow and lightning,
While the storm of your body
Pressed its anger against my sea,
Your rain greenly beating my ocean,
Useless, useless.

This fine morning you're happy'go'lucky,
Idle lioness, indolent, golden and lazy
And making dream'sound in the erotic
Deep beneath your yielded lips.

Poem: In the blink of an eye

i stopped shooting up
because it strangled my soul
i keep digging graves
to make me feel whole

ive stolen the sky
to show you the blue
i stopped getting high
to show you its true

i tore down these walls
to let the light in
this is the end
this is where I begin

i walked through the field
and watched as it grew
collecting the seeds
to bring them to you

i looked in their eyes
to see if they knew
but they came in disguise
so i didnt have a clue

i talked until i stalled
until the tank had run dry
i filled it with love
to feel more alive

i rose to my feet
and started to walk
with no words to speak
i invaded the dark

i wrote you a song
i cant even fucking whistle
but ill give it to you
so you can sing it to her

i wanted to sink
but you taught me to swim
all i know is your love
is a wonderful thing.

Poem: through shut eyes

theres no one in my heart,
no one in my mind,
no one here beside me,
because to this world im blind.

the crack of dawn,
the frost of night,
and everyday
it is a fight.

the window is shut,
and nailed secure,
so all thats left,
is that which's pure

broken dreams,
shattered on the floor,
constant dissapointment,
breaks them more.

stabbed in the back,
the knife stained red,
this mental torture,
fucks your head.

confidence,
is what they claim,
and with birmming pride,
they take the blame,

this game they play,
is fun to them,
but will their victim,
recover again?

if not they move on,
and continue,
this mental molestation,
destroys what's within you.

time will heal,
or so they say,
it seems to hurt,
more each day.

Poem: slipping away

a hollow shell,
theres nothing left,
this life is hell,
i wish for death.

the world decays,
melting down,
it slips away,
without a sound.

it creeps upon you,
without warning,
nothing to do,
suddenly drowning.

surrounding sorrow,
nothing improves,
upon the morrow,
slit the grooves.

bleed away,
all the hate,
what was done today,
was the act of fate.

you can run from it,
or turn to face,
and all this shit,
it has it's place.

nothing more,
just blissful peace,
no longer sore,
you have deceased.

Poem: in apartment b16

I throw you as I hear the widow cry
beneath us. I imagine
her to have a veil of make-up running
down her face, or maybe she is bent
in the shadow
of a crucifix or a sun catcher,
starving for some light.

I heard she once went bicycling
over the dry dirt
roads of Italy, and chased the man
she loved into a private
landing.

Then in Boston, or New Haven,
she would laugh, throwing
her stockings to the wind
as she watched them parachute
down where the children
played.

They would smile ,
and life would begin.

But, really, as we drag and pull, she
is gone. She has moved past Amber
Street, and has taken
to baking breads,
and holding them
in her arms
as she once held
her children.

Poem: Botox Happiness

As my writing becomes more real
I start to feel
The things I denied myself

And if I keep living this dream
As hard as it may seem
I'm living on a shelf

If I let the tears flow
eyes stinging
I'd be exposed

As my feelings grow
Self clinging
I destroy the happiness I posed

And if I sit here spilling
My eyes filling
With unexplained tears

The world will cry with me
Emotions set free
We'll be relieved from our fears

So help me
God.. so help me
As I crumble in my pink colored room

Let me breathe
LET ME BREATHE
Let my life resume


In lies disguised as smiles, in my Botox happiness.

Poem: Sixty Too on HI

A fifth of the hour has
passed with grey skies peeling
apart cloud-by-cloud.

Hardly pleasant when rush
hour forces attention
deficit on dutiful drivers.

More coffee may help leather
lungs lift. Steam and lisps continue this cycle until
my mouth shuts. The tires s
tutter tooth brakes and tongue-twisters
slip simultaneously and swell
in a sudden sizzling centigrade 60.

Definitely a day for downers, says the barkeep
down the street. His pub runs them into a
number depression before drinking becomes a chore.

A dash and smug, ugly smiles
make smut seem fashionable and sober
to the tunes in lane left. They hit like stillborn pathogens.

Clogged arterial vehicles divide yellow slashes. Street
time split in half with mathematical precision,
the decision to exit my auto was made well
over six minutes ago.

Where was I? Ah.

I'm down in the bar with tipped brim;
slippery singles sipping alongside me.
Specks of spackle sputtle,submerging
spirit-full into my glass shotflask.

Today-
Keg-throat barrel horns blare under a blazing
nearby overpass and continue to fellate ethanol
tracts. Siphoned oil finds swill fits
swell in a tub labled HOT.

Taxi picked me up less than five ago and there's this
guy, this fucking guy seated to my left here. He was
in the bar all night. I saw him go into the bathroom around seven or eight.
Maybe it was ten and I don't know analog clocks.

He smells of whine and vinegar. I think he
was cell phoned during his bathroom tenure.
When I saw him finally return, this guy.
this guy sitting next to me v
o
m
i
t
s
all over the god-damn floor!

So now I'm beside myself and he's beside a drunk
who can't clear thoughts on what's what with this
foggy situation.

But it makes me wonder.

If he compares hand-size to cocks
or feet and like-wise. Or if he likes
sleazy cologne on day-old flesh, rotting
cell-by-cell to the floor, or onto shoulders
of his brown leather jacket. Perhaps that
was dandruff. Rugged it was, I didn't chance
on another look.

The ride home is a sodden
hitchhike with dead soul,
rhythm and blues singers whining
out of a sealed tin trunk.

Foreign diplomacy excludes me from asking where we're [be]headed.
Isreal drives us another inch towards public terrorism. It's scary,
how my life isn't in his hands but the wheel. The steering
deal of our life is operated by a trustworthless man in drab
clothes eating swad from a thin plastic bag.

We found a stop that resembled a street
corner, he exited while I hailed another
canned phrase to him [he must've kissed the curb].
No romance for another slimy night, and the
clutch gave up around seventy-third.

I handed the cabbie a tenspot while glancing
bow-legged to eighty-first avenue. A right-turn or
two found my rear end awkwardly backwards,
facing the garbage cans outside my window.

Morning was already against my facial
features and furiously, I fumbled my feet
against the doorframe. At once, bedded
disease became intended deprivation.

The leaves outside aren't getting greener and neither is my pillow.

I know some day soon
I'll hear about my car.

Or at least the drunkard I ran over last night.

Poem: school without failure

when i was young,
and it was spring
we knelt down in the trees
of cedar point playing
jack to the beanstalk

i had soaked my legs
in clover honey
because i heard it was good
for the skin,
and with those leather eyes,
inherited from his father,
he smiled
while ants bit
and died in my knees

it was only may
and with legs pinched
by grass and teeth of
salt my hands went down.
without water
i drank, shaded,
while he fell
out of sight.

then feeling
fingers pull
my arms i was reminded
of my mother
and what she taught me,
through broken teeth, about
our pagan
sacrifice.



its almost billys birthday (and prom) in 29 days and 83 more days until graduation. its ending so quickly.