Thursday, February 23, 2017

The in between



 the cold rain kisses my cheeks as I come to the car
chill fingers fumbling with the key
 I cannot inject into the locks
 cold yet not cold enough to freeze
 we face too many choices but none so stark
as life and death
more like out-of-season gnats
nipping at fingers and toes
 that saps the consciousness and drains me
for when the serious issues come
this change of season
this mood of death
is hope for rebirth coming
as the world arrives at its darkest hour
and we shiver through it all
a stumbling mass of petty confusion
we cannot escape
aching for the clear choices
the definite division between
good or evil
right or wrong
 happy or sad
but that's not real life

 it is always things in between 

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Lake Scranton (date unknown)



I never walked here with you,
Only with your spirit,
Stirring up the fallen leaves
With each foot fall,
My step echoing your step
From when you came here before
And I before that,
And we both in some other life
Strolling these paths
Perhaps helping to shape them
The way Native Americans did,
Leaving an indelible mark
Inside and outside,
Leaving a trail
We continue to follow,
One foot fall after the other,
Even when we are not together
We really always are,
One unable to walk here
Without the other
Even when each
Of us comes here
At another different time
An eternal union
We cannot escape,
Do not want to escape
Need to continue
In order to survive



Saturday, February 18, 2017

Caressing the moon




The crescent moon lingers
Over the uplifted tip of the arcade some
This last warm night in November
A witch’s cradle I cannot reach
Regardless of how I puff myself up
This dark night with day glow sky
Over a barren Asbury Park
And I ache as I walk among its ruins
The cooling air beating at my sweaty brow
And my rubbed-raw limbs
In a world of dog-sniffing and vacant lots
The space inside me nearly as empty
Although brimming over at the same time
With a building steam I have no way to let out,
And fear I might explode if I don’t
If only I could touch the tip of the moon
Where its lip lingers waiting for a kiss
Or caress, waiting for the round tip
Of the arcade dome to make contact,
This collision of words transpiring
Inside and outside as I stumble
From one end of the board walk
To the other, invisible and blistering

In the warmth of the eve.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

A taste of blood




I breathe in the fragrance of the flower,
Soft lips of the pedals nipping as I sip
From hidden thrones that draw blood,
My lips bleeding so I taste salt
And not the sweet nectar I seek,
Leaving drips of red at the flower’s core,
Always going back for more
Even though I bleed gain each time
The soft kiss and its bliss
Mingling with the hiss of pain
Through clenched teeth,
We cannot have one without the other,
The soft pedals without the thorns,
The nectar without the blood,
While deep down I always
Crave for me, bleeding on the inside,
Needing this same kiss to cure me
When it always causes more pain,
Needing to cure it all with something blunt
And more decisive, a delving into
Another universe, beyond the pedals
The thrones and even the nectar,
A relief found only when I have pushed myself
Up and down and around, and through,
Feeling the flower from inside and out,
Tasting it with more than just the tip of tongue
And bleeding from more than just my lips,
Feeling the build up of a storm inside
I know must explode inside you,
This taste of blood, this smell of flower
A mere tease to what I really need and want
And both of us knowing I can’t have it
Until I let the flower consume me




Saturday, August 6, 2016

sweat or rain


I don't know if it is sweat or rainthat makes me so moist on days when even downpour can'trelieve the heaviness the air, my lifeis built around such conflusions, theinability to distinquish betweenthose elements that define ourexistance, the good and bad, rightor wrong, the beauty from the ugly,and at times, I do not even knowjust how I feel, the mingling ofemotions that streer me this way andthat, as if the compas that I haveinside is drawn not just to thenorth pole but also to distraction,I am like a child in theproverbial candy shop, myfingers already sticky fromfrom all the possible choices, leavingmy finger print on the glassbefore this treat or that, needingnot just to see or touch but alsoto taste each before my mindcan be made up and possiblynot even then, I am always the child inside, staring out fromthe candy shop, suffering thetorments of weather I cannotcontrol, and worse, don't want to.



time bomb



I hear the tick of the clock
and think it is my heart
or a time bomb
or the slow ticking down
when the road comes to an end
coming or going
the gas tank
measuring distance
memory barely perceives
I hear the tick tock
and think of you
the mileage markers
I once count
when the bus weaved 
through the mountains
to where you were
holed up
waiting for me to join
the gang
to feel your pulse
through the tips of my fingers
as they cup around you,
we imitating
the rhythm of life
the in and out
and up and down
the coming and going
movement that takes us nowhere
and yet everywhere
we ever wanted to be,
I feel the miles
wear on the tips of our lips
like the rub of rubber
on the road
that brought me to you,
that keeps on bringing me back,
even in memory,
that draws me into you
like a fruit fly
or humming bird
my wings buzzing
from the mere effort, 
my heart ticking
this way
forever
until it stops 





death becomes her


Death becomes her, 
a dark shape in her light colored eyes, 
defining who she is from the inside,
giving her face definition
the way shadow might,
giving shape to a life
she might not otherwise have,
and a feature to which
other people gravitate,
the nectar out of which
love is churned
the edges of joy
always fringed with agony
her life a true romance
a dance on hot coals,
and hotter hearts,
her feet blistered
from the passage
that allows her to 
find peace at it end
the ballet streaming 
bits of her love
like confetti in the air,
bits of her that catch fire
in other people's hearts
that time nor distance
can extinguish
fueled by that unphanthomable thing
residing inside
the shadow of death
she has lived with
her whole life
a dance partner
only she can see
which loves her
because of it