WarningThat dark twinge of stormunbalancing my left eye -lover, take warning.I came through the back door,unhinged and savoringall your little pieces.You said you loved my twisted english,the way I broke words apart,just like daddy's enemies.So slide me under your doormat -I miss those dirty feetand the disconnectof your tongue.You know I love how youwaste my eveningsand bring me the dangerous bitsonly a lover could swallow.
BeastYour loveis a curious beastshe whispered,her voice disappearingdown my spine.Its back is boar brusque,bristling between the sheetswhere dark hangsover us,and its legslike fine gazelles -lithe and sweetly haunchedagainst my sighs.I love its strong flanks,brindled like the wind,stripping back the airthat haunts this roomand the swift peltof its bellynestling denselyin the chasmwhere only the moanof tangled breathingbreaks the silence
DinnerThe first time death came courtinghe sought my kidneys,delectable morsels,sweet meat for such a famished guest -enough to whet his appetitieand lure him back for more.The second timehe craved my heart,warm as a steamed pudding,plump and plated like a lobster -such succulent sustenancefit for a kingThen he envied my eyestwo orbs like oystersbrimmed with saltor ripe olivesthat he could pluckand roll between his brittle lips.But it was my skinhe coveted most -that supple, quivering layerflayed tender by his handsbreeding life so rare and warmthat he would never get to taste.
BrotherMy reluctant brother -grey suited hairand that scarbeating on your liplike an unfortunate rhyme -long have I thought of you.Your pockets are shallow wastrelsand in the crisp foldsof your trousers,I find that timeis a leper -an ill-fated starthat pocks this dream witted nightand turns my tearsto sober music.For I have found your hopesa hollow thing -your promises a cold frostfor my supperand all your pretty wordsthe still birth of my misfortune.
Desert SongThe night is listingtoo far to the left,asphalt carrying the roaddeep into the canyonwhere the cacti keepa lonely vigil.I taste graveland the crunch of starslike chrome pressedagainst the windshield,its cobweb dusting the roof above me,my face cracking the dashboardlike God's own map.Breathing becomes an artand I can hearthe crazy clatter of limbsdefying gravityas the gas tank makesa bargainwith my soulleaving nothingbut a solitary lizardto hear the desert's song.
BlinkBlinksaid the boy with the cameraand this momentwill never know our names.It will take your best parts -the smile you saved for Sundayswith your good dressand handkerchief,knees pressed tightagainst the resurrection,hoping mother never guessedwhat prayers were leftupon the altar;the kisses gathered for your lover -passion's flagrant promises,not the chaste monstersschool girls dream ofwhile sweaty palmspin wilting corsages to tulle.The surprisesdelivered to the front doorat Christmas and graduations,circuses disguised in boxesand envelopes stuffed like dates,all wrapped in heady silk;and the tearsyou thought everyone knew -steady friendssince gloves were small,secrets that swore to leaveat pillow fights and seancesbut never let you breathe.All capturedlike flash in an iris,glorious imprintsand the grain of paperyellowing gently in the atticlike your heart's montage.
Mad ManI think I lost usin a glass of scotch -softly drowning,going down likeevery mad manI ever envied.Why did I believeyour lips tastedso good,sweet and heathenlike the heatherI laid you inthat last nightI came home?I had a thingfor damaged women,and you could drinkyour mother's last wordsin everythingwe wasted.
Heartbreak Hotel, 102 and 814Room 102I'll bet you give as goodas you get, she winked,sliding the worn kmart down her bellyand popping the cherryof a red bull.So, why don't you crawlup this quiltand try to undothe damage my husband left?I promise I won't break your heart,just bruise it in placesthe wife won't see.Besides, that suit doesn'tquite fit you rightand I like my men betterdressed only in the dark.Room 814Just let me just sink my teethinto this quart of vodkaor your thighand try to figure outwhy I covered the dog in newspapersagainand the couch stillisn't speaking to me.The weatherman is not my friendbut I sure can find peacein a stanger's bed.So put my mail out with the trashcause you don't love this boyno moreand these empty bottlesonly make me angry.
gonethat limp,lamp-bitten soundleft warbling on my deskwhere the glasswent sick with longing -how do we start over?your note said it allwhen you put down the penand I could feel the airforget your name,coals in the gratehissing their warninglike a dirge.i was born too lateyou said,and the robins bare mourningon their breastsso beautifully.your feet always knewthe way home,fighting their instincts,with the purgeof simple liescrushed under themlike the lost giftof caring.
DreamsThe nocturnal slur of wordsand headiness in yourhipsand throatlike a shipthat drifted outtoo far -such is the stuffof dreams, my son.Storms that hoveroff the coastof your smileand those tiny seedlingsof ruby huemaking poor menwish for riches -such is where we make our bedonce daylight slipsfrom view.Love that leaves usthreadbare and blindto all but pleasureseeking shelter,and those incantationsof the fleshspun by fledgling senses -such are the prayersthat slip our lipsonce darkness claims its due.
Mark of CainLike brothers everywherehe kept the stain close byperhaps to remind himrevenge is a dishbest not served.He could not rememberhow or when he got it.Maybe it was that first winterof the bones -the cold was so meanit broke the horses hoovesout on the riverand he'd held his brotherunder the thin icejust to feel his weightturn the water blue.Perhaps it was the springthey both fell in lovewith Rachel.She wore too few clothesand her smile,slung low in the pocketbelow her hips,always dared themto try and pull her blouse upor steal cigarettesfor her to danglebetween her lips.His mother sworeit was during the summerall the trees died.The locusts grew round -plump pods that burstwhen they got caughtin the streets' hot tar.He'd thrown his brotheroff the roof,wondering if boys who limpedcould flyand why his tearsgot stuckon the way down.But he remembereda day in Novemberthe sky so blackit made the bloodin his veinsstand still.The droning of leaveswas
Sail OnSail on,little wing,with starlingsin your pocketsand that turned up smilebelow your navel -glorious budof mischief.Don't you knowGod made this dayjust for you?The grass begs for your kneesto rolland the palms of your handsto strokethe vivid green,and the skywelcomes you like Calypsointo my waiting armsCome put those petalson my facelike only youknow how to doand make me hum.We are burning daylight -glorious blisterson my toesand right below my beltlinewhere your sunbroke promiseand set my spinesinging.
UsedThe day seemed used somehow -well counted moneysquandered on trinketsshe'd already worn in Istanbul,or slightly spoiled custardleft to suffer the wrathof the noon day sun.It seemed too familiar -an aqcuaintance's worn handseeking solace in her thighswhile her husband made friendsof his port and cigars,remembering the texture of her stockingsagainst his chin.She knew the guilt of it -last Sunday's brandyleft on the terraceand the sounds that nestedin the eaves of the cottagethe summer she turned twelve -all returnedlike mummers on holiday.It made the hours too delicate -the frail perfume of the minutes doubling backand second guessingthe endings of storiesshe read as a child -every moment not quite fittingwhere she thought she'd left them.
Love ComesLove did not proclaimitself my saviorand wait open-armedunder my window at midnightfor my suffering to tenderly fall -one last impressionupon the mattresslike some stranger's bad habits.It did not gun me down in the streetor slip a bladeto carve my ribs,tabloid lustleaving its fingerprintsto console my enemies,my face flatliningagainst the heavens.It did not roll and toss meinto self-made darkor fitful dreams of couplesmerging knees and elbowslike cattle,angry and toilingagainst the thick trick of disguiseInstead it came clean sheetedtucked and cornered -cool and comfortinglike spring's knowing glanceand as arched and certainas the vibrant greensprouting from the thicketof your smile.
Ramshackle HeartMy ramshackle heartspeaks French in doorwayswhere street lampsspin like dervishesacross the sidewalksand the light curlsup to the skyand lays its breath upon the night.It beckons a beautiful womanto slide out of bedand run awayfrom her dreamsand slip intoa dangerous shade of redin front of a jealous mirrorthat can read her mind.It lures her to dance,an invitationof tango stepsthat bob and weavelike punch drunk stars,hip to hip,my hands whispering a sonnetunder her breasts.It kisses her moutha long and luscious untellingof storiesand wanders down her armslike firegilding my palms,making her skingo tight and hot with wonder.It presses gardeniasbetween her thighsand watches the petalsfloat upto the surface of her skinlike angelsdrinking autumn winethrough a sieveof dulcet smoke.
Because Of You... Because Of You...Do you remember the promise you made?I do, as clearly as the day you said the words.And yet, here I sit crying because you broke,your word to me.You broke your promise, our sacred vow.A vow made from the heart.An oath to never leave,To always be there no matter what,To never break this deep bondthat we had forged.Forged from trust,Melded together from compassion,And understanding of each other,And all we had been through in our lives.A dear and deep friendship that was supposed tobe forever.No longer will our words dance upon a page,Words meshing and clashing,Feelings being written because they wereunable to be spoken aloud,I am again solo, alone in this dance.Each time I cried your hands gently wiped my tears,When you needed a hug, I was thereCrying the tears that you couldn't shed,Stilling the sirens song with an Angel's melodyAs you were there so I wouldn't do the forbiddendance and lose myself in the process.Although miles separated
Double Edge SwordHe was always a careless boyWanton and freeScarred and proudof the way he opened my mouthand rendered me speechlesswith a slither ofwords that made myknees weakand heart weakerI resisted until I felland cut my knuckles againsthis chest, beating downa reckless laughthat knows no mercyor shameor lovefor what he can't capture and havelike the broken toys of his youthpossessed but usedand in the endnothing more than the play thingof an imagination run wild
Grandmother's HouseThe smell of hot concrete rising from the sidewalkand the tar on the wooden bridgeThe sound of trains coming and goingSo close that the small house was rattledIt was always summer, there.Screen doors and a small rotator fan were enoughto keep out the mild heat of JuneThe train whistles sang me to sleep at nightWith their wistful traveling tuneIt was always summer, then.
Think no more of meI pale in this ebony sanddigging endlessly to depths that neither seas nor star can findhiding within bowels that excrete a resin of deathly demiseThere is no scorching orb that lights my wayNo shadowed pearl that comforts a need to sleepjust stillness
effacing lifefrom thoughtfrom windfrom needAnd silencea conspicuous absence of colorSo acute that it resounds as the drumpurging the contented songs of pleasure from hellI am pock marked and rottingA dirge that will scream her words to no one listeningI am lost feeding nothing but the blacknessthat has become my skinmy bloodmy charred bonesI am lostI am lost
My Story to TellI considered writing a bookBut you'd be surprisedBy how much I've forgottenMy urban languageFlows much like my thoughtsIn glimpsesRandom events from the pastCome to me in dreamsHaunting my sleepLike nightmaresVisionsOf non beautiful thingsReminding meMonsters are realAnd they live in us allThat's my story to tellBut the world doesn't want to hearOf monstersAnd no one cares for tragedyPeople want beautyInspirationHopeIf they wanted to feel depressedThey'd turn on the 6'o clock newsI'm just thankfulThey won't ever see me there
AmendsThey tell me you're dying,when you're not etching poetryinto glass.Words as fragile as the surface they're written on,not nearly as transparent, though.Dotted between the lines like Morse-code,concealed in true poetic verse.If you want to meet a poet,just fall and one will rise.The ink flows deep within the lines,we just have to die to find it.I guess I forgot to stop breathing.Yet I see your plead.They tell me I should make amends,only the forgiveness you seekdoesn't come from me.That boy is long gone now,and with himany debt you owed.Still if it helps ease your passingI'll say the words.Like writing a hot check;it'll get you by for a minute,but in the endsomeone always comes to collect.I forgive you.
reductionI'll tell the truth:I am a thief of theworst persuasion.if you want honesty,I don't think that we willlast.give it one or twoor three yearsyears tense with opposing forcesand unusual magicand our reaction will becomplete. we will bothgo back to our own kinds.haven't they always defined lovein terms of chemistry? (opposites attract,but like dissolves like.)and here is the confession:here is why I am odious:I know this andI will not withdraw.here is the electron bridgehere theanode, cathode, the ill-fatedreactants.I set this up like dominos;I wield it like words.I am an oxidizer,and I intend to get as much of youas I can.I am scraping our hoursraw.
Time Heals Nothing..in MeTime Heals NothingYour sprit passes threw me like a cold breeze on a warm day,no physical being left to see,but I know you are with me.TIME HEALS NOTHING!!!!!!!!!.....in meI've gone to all the places you would be,still I cant except your not with me.your grave is so lonely,like two staring eyes in the night.TIME HEALS NOTHING!!!!!!!!!.....in me
New ClothesI remember attending his first lecture,"On the value of clothes and the art of disrobing" he called it.His spirit was robed in peerless flesh for the occasion,"to aid your feeble eyes, and to ensure visibility""Looking around me I see how each of you is shroudedin the dark folds of habit, determined, it seems, to live"in the meanest anonymity. Those coarse-wove habitsstink of fear. I will invite you to purchase from me garments"of true liberty". The listeners stayed silent. "Fear no mockery,the first to buy will have robes an emperor might envy!"