Trouble ChildThe car crash in your headtestimony to knife flashpoint blank gun shotticking like a time bombputs a hole in mother's headand lets her breathe.They pull youout of the wreckage -steel splintersslivers of brainjagged bruisesstill breathinglegs twitchinglike a milky chrysalispinned to a card,chewing the reminders of childhoodsmeared across wallsin bright red paintand toys crushedunder foot like insects -the black tips of angel wings,fragments of tin whistlesdolls' headsall collected with smilesin a bag at the doorwhile you try and undo 30 years of liestaped to your coatwith a kiss each morning,and daddy's blessing.and in a white room of glass I watchthe lobotomy of your past,dissected with the surgeon's bright scalpel,glisten its new wings.redemption comes in a plastic bagthat you inhaleinto a sharp, clear oblivionTicking....
Late Summer EveningSummer dwindlesand cools her heels in courtyard corners -ducking behind sand dunes,counting scarlet leavesand harvest moonsin warm breaths off the gulf.Ochre glints in the grasswhere monarchs hold courtand dapple the airwith new wings.And in the distance,the hurdy gurdy ice cream mankilters, truck careening,chasing down the duskas children play tagthrough sprinklers in the dying light.Mothers unpin ghosts from clothes linesand gather on porch swingsto sip Scuppernog and trade secretswhile street lamps spark to attentiontheir soft halos meltinginto mottled green and blackwhere fireflies vie for attentionand pale white moths laze across spun gold....
Fate Lines, Part IIThe next two years were marked by two cataclysmic events. The first, at the end of my 14th year, was a rite of passage experienced by countless young men before and after me; but that does not diminish its importance in my life. A wise man once told me that our vices are usually defined by the time we reach 16 - he was proved to be very true. I was never a man for strong drink. I watched plenty of other men, their senses completely befuddled, reel and lurch around me and quickly realized I preferred life without my senses dulled. I also had very little interest in the vice of gambling. I could play cards as adroitly as the next man - even better - but the games quickly dulled and seemed rather pointless to me. I had all the money I needed after a certain point, so there was no lure there for me either. For appearances sake and in observance of the social mores, I sat down to faro and other games from time to time, but it was never a passion or need. My weakness took another form , one
CarnivalFingers sticky from taffy apples,blood oranges and candy floss,clutch balloons like long lost ghostsand the wrappers of sweetsscatter across the wooden pierwhere a sideshow barker sits -one finger crooked in welcome,his mind the faded postersof your curiosityCoins spill from your fingers -shiny copper to cross palmsas a strangers smilebewitches your stepsand lures you in.Childrens bright shoes flash
the whirl of painted poniesand music rattling like tinwhile overhead the Ferris Wheeltilts dangerouslylike a twisted top.The clowns crayon slick smiledarts like a razorand dares you to followbehind the mirrorsinto the maze.And under the big topan acrobat hangslike a tiny doll -wires crossed, net cut,twitching like a slip knot,as the crowd holds its breath,waiting for the show.
Krakow, 1942Little princess never seesthe belly of the beastsliding up under her skirt,wrapping around her feeton the mean streetswhere clocks tick backwardsand the world tastes of salt.She never notices the dagger eyed manslouched in the slatted doorway,breeding mayhem under his coatand pick-pocketingthe pock eyed childrenwho sleep between the wire.She never hears the death rattlethat rips soulsloose from boxcarsand twistssad history under footin the dead calm of nightmares.Little princesswears an unscathed kisslingering over her heartlike a lonely warand sucks the breathfrom a sky run dryby children who wished down the stars.
Her MouthHer mouth tastes like autumn -late harvest snap of winesap applesrich damson plumsbarleywineand silver stars -November aphrodisiac...
Golden EyesHe could feel the coming of summer every year - this young boy with the golden eyes who wandered the village in his bare feet and tattered blue pants which his mother seemed to be forever patching for him. He could feel the warm break in a curl of anticipation that hovered on the horizon before taking the village by surprise in one of those sudden storms that crackles the sky and washes winter down cisterns and wells, bidding a final farewell to the frost and snow that huddled under cellar doors and behind porch steps.Summer was the time when villagers tucked their work a day worlds up into their caps and aprons and turned their attention to what lay outside their doors and garden gates. They unshuttered the windows of doors and shops and packed up picnics - hampers full of cold ham studded with cloves, cakes tart with lemon icing, tomatoes that burst their skins and wine that had laid chilling in the cellar all winter - and made their way down past the docks and piers to w
DeceitThe perfume of deceit,like long pressed wedding rosestrapped between vellum sonnets,unfurls its dangerous scentand trips your heart yet againwith pretty words and fabrications.You watch her bait the trap -all silken nets and spider webs -the gentle art of witchcraft,promises of evermore,and tender dreams and wisheslike sweet manna on her tongueAnd in that gilded prisonyou willingly inhabit,old visions steal your reason,and send your memories fleeingalong lost corridorspicking up the piecesand deciphering hidden meaningsBecause the girl who never wasAnd never will beworld without end, amenis your fairy tale come trueand holds your heart,dangling on a wire.
Martyrmy little paper saintI keep her in my pocketwhere she crosses my heartlike a gris-grisand take her out to flagellatewhen prophets gatherto undermine free thoughtassassinate charactersand picnic on each othershe wears a hair shirtbought at a pawn shopfrom some poor schmuckwho lost his religionand had his shoes stolenI love to hear her litany of sinslike a worn out 78they live in her headwrapped in shiny paperreeking of late show reduxand dialogue from myspacemy wasted little angellikes to feast offdreams tied to anchorsand communion wine in tin cupsone day I will take a match to her toesjust to watch them curland put her ashes on my foreheadmy will be done.
First EncounterThe warm edge of just beginningbeckons like a newly threaded loom,taut with possibility -the threads a tangled coatof many colors.There is such unforgivable seductionin the unknown -all you can tasteis riddles;and the shockof unraveling secretsreverberates on your tonguelike the low rumble of summer.Mystery is a pillowyou place your head uponand beg for happily ever after.And in the corner of your eyeshe sits -the rich India inkof her words teasing your anticipation.If she offered herself up,skin peeled backto reveal the raw beauty of flaws,would you even guessat the bright wealth she weaves?For she holds your heartwith the stitches of silver needlesand silken tendrilsthat ensnare your effortsto understand.
Haikus for LoversRain sheens on your skinbrightening winters twilightas we skip puddles.Wood smoke curling upenshrouds your head and shouldersportrait in soft greys.Unfold those fresh wingsand take to the air gentlydawns light has brokenA tendril of hairframes the hollows of your facesoft dance of shadows.The moon loves to hidebehind the glint in your eyeswhere you keep secrets.Silk runs down your backyour hair a burnished curtaincatching candle light.
Danger SignThe thinly veiled threat of youruns my jawlike a black velvet fingeraching for riddles.You are all soft silk and whisperssweet suffering and innuendoand a jade's gamethat loves to taunt me out of my skin.The unplanned danger of meplucks your mouthlike a hornet stinging nectar,drinking in your taste.I am all nightshade and silvercoarse textures and rough propositionsand a rogue's gamethat longs to leave you unhinged.
EloquenceYour gently barbed tongueeloquence at its finestcaptures pretty prey
VespersLose yourself in me.Be the unbidden thoughtthat follows me to bed.and tosses my pillowsinto dawn's lingering traces.Be the gentle wagerI make with the night,the ravage of starsthat follows me untilI can make peace with the dark.Be the first tumble of dreamsthat steals into my mindand unravels me in eiderdownwhile the day steals from my limbs.And when morning breaks promise,be the first touch of aurorato brush against my skin.
Lip LockLip LockA whisper whisks across the lips,The barest breath against the skin.The hands shift down from face to hips,A small step closer, leaning in.The nostrils flare, inhale desire,Get drunk with lust in little sips.Resistance wavers, wearing thinAs tongue-tip teases, eases, slips
pillage deep to taste within.Stroking
fanning the fire.
Walking Through LoveWalking Through LoveTheres a difference in the airbetween us two, a subtle frictionthat wasnt there before.Laughters been replaced by silence,moments shared together arefewer and less enjoyable.Voices seem to be constantly raisednot in praise, but ratherin criticism of one another.Once we were able to solveany problem, but not anymore,somethings died...something inside.Loves lost the edge in this fightfought on once-friendly grounds.You say if someone has feelingsfor someone else,but before you can finish thatthought I tell you that Idont feel anything...Im just walking through love.
ExposedExposedYou let yourself inwithout even knocking.The walls Id workedso hard to buildyou walked right through,like they never existed.You peered into every nook and cranny,unveiling my every privatethought and emotion.Nothing was sacredto your scrutiny,Every room fell victimto your invasion.Only until my soul was baredwere you satisfied,and when you finally did withdrawyou left the doorto my mind open:Exposed.
A friend...A Friend...A hard to find treasure,worthy as the most precious jewel...Someone who loves you unconditionally and someone you love in the same way,A cherished love one you can always rely on for sharing all your dreams and nightmares,because that friend will always cry and smile with you,no matter the hour,the day or the month.A real friend can be the best medicine when sadness,pain and despair come to us because that friend will be with us in every good and bad moment,during those terrible tribulations and circumstaces that life give us,but also in those moments of plenty happiness through life...because a real friend is someone who will be with you in jail or in a hospital bed and there will never be bundaries nor barriers between real friends...A friend is like that warm blanket we can reach when we are cold,we can wrap ourselves into it and feel warm,protected and safe...And we know life has blessed us when we can call someone: My friend.
RememberRememberI gave myself to you in lovein the darkness of the night.You held me close and tenderlyuntil the sign of light.I gave myself to you again,it was better than before.And every time I gave againit made me love you more.But then you gave yourself awayto someone who wasnt me.To see you holding her so closebrought back those memories
Remember how you held me closein the darkness of the night?Remember how we stayed that wayuntil the sign of light?Remember every time we met?It was better than before?I remember, if you dont,and that hurts me even more.I want to say these things to youbut Im afraid of what youll say.I gave myself to you in love.Remember? You threw it all away