Thursday, October 31, 2013

Fallen leaves

The old bank
Reeks of money
And greed
Swirling with the
Overhead ceiling fans,
The imaginary masses
Of the past filling
The downstairs where
The tellers used to sit
Cashing industry pay checks
for blue collared
The ache for cash now
Mingling with perfume
And petty schemes
Stamped out on faces
Rather than the backs
Of paychecks
Always looking for the
Easy way, when the right
Way is always too hard
And always thinking
This is “earning” a keep
When it’s just a cheat
While out the windows
Sunny skies defies
The season as if
Part of the scheme
With me, curled up inside
Waiting for it all
To unravel
Like it always must
The best laid plans
Ruined by the inept
Who keep picking
Losers to ride
While abandoned
Dreams flutter along
The sidewalks
Like fallen leaves

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

The end

I keeping hearing the old Door’s song
In my head about “this is the end..”
But it never is, like old horror movies
The monster keeps on keeping on
More energizer bunny than scary
Just a pathetic collection of crap
That some make up artist has
Assembled to resemble something
Fierce, all smoke and mirrors
Wire and paper Mache,
Designed to fool for a moment
Until the camera turns away
And this thing, this ugly contraption,
This Halloween scheme
Collapses in of its own weight,
Such as all things do

In the end

Tuesday, October 29, 2013


The seeds do not fall far
From the tree in my front yard
Leaving seedlings to spring up
Among the dead leaves and roots
The early chill filling the air
With a last gasps before the
plunge into the deep freeze;
We squeeze out these last days
Along this long river before
The cold falls and we must
Cling to places where
We can generate heat

For ourselves.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

This ghostly thing

It swirls around us like a ghost
Howling with the change of moon,
stirred up over lips of grave stones
time has cracked like hearts
Past, present, future
Swirl into the same spirited mist
Until all seems indistinct
A haunting presents that lingers
At the edge of dreams
But won’t expose itself
Except in tea leaves
Nobody can read
I want in the rain and wonder
Where to turn to next
Feeling the drip of it
On my brow, dribbling
Down my cheeks
As if I am crying
And maybe I am
Over what I can’t fully
Define, or find in this
Swirling around my knees
As I stumble over
These grave stones
Watching the spirits
Rise up and take flight
Not even waiting for night
Passing through me
And my clutching fingers
This ghost of a thing
I can’t grab onto
But desperately need.

Saturday, October 19, 2013


We are all gods and goddesses,
Feeling the warm space left
As rising in the midst of night,
Unable to tell which is dream
Or not, and lost in the trawl of
Talk that stirs the heart
And makes it beat, and keeps
It beating long after the
Talk has stopped,
The bell ringing in my ears
Not from any church steeple
Or anything outside this
Temple of flesh I live inside
A throbbing, trembling
Temple on whose alter
I am the sacrifice
Every bit of me
Exposed, unnerved
And vulnerable

Friday, October 18, 2013

Cool fingers in the night

The rain came
And went in the dead
Of night
Without my notice
Except for the cool
Fingers that swept
Up from my thighs
To chest stirring
Up in me
A storm
Dreams could not
My head fogged
With visions
When I woke
To find
The world
Hovering over me
A hard world
Aching for soft
And the chill touch


Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Breakfast of champions

I ease open the melon
With both my thumbs
Letting seed and juice
Ooze out the gap
Then press the flesh
To my open mouth
To lap it up
With the tip
Of my tongue
Feeling deep inside
The soft interior
Where the sweetest
Part of the fruit
Shutters and spills
Even more
Into me, this truly
Is the breakfast
Of champions
And all I could
Ever wish for

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Boiling point

In moon light
Everything changes
The boiling point
Of blood
Rising tides
Can not extinguish,
Because the fire
Is on the inside
Like a volcanic
Reaction building up
With moon light
The flame under it
Making it boil
A heat not from
Any global warming
But from some
More primitive instinct
As fundamental an element
As found in the cave
And we either learn
To released it
Or become consumed by it,
Waiting out the cycle
Of the moon
Until we can breathe
Easy again

Monday, October 14, 2013

The sea inside and out

 I seek the sea
That flows
Inside and outside
 Of me,
Aching to dip
My oars
In that dark depth
I know lies
Beneath me
Slow water
Against my keel,
Rubbing my
Skin raw
As I grow
And seek
To come to it
Again, and again
For more.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

I forget to breathe

I forget to breathe
Each time I come
This close,
This pain that is
Not a pain
But steals everything
Out of my head
Which I do not miss
Except for the breath
I need to breathe
If only later in relief
When all I have is that
This whisper of memory
This lingering scent
This soft touch
Against my palm,
My mouth, my thighs,
I forget to breathe
When I need it most
And yet

I hardly miss it.

On the inside

The rain
Drips down my cheeks
As if I am crying
The summer heat
Gone now
To a chill that
Makes my bones ache
So maybe
These tears are real

On the inside

Wednesday, October 9, 2013


It beats
Even when I
Don’t want it to
That savage
In my chest
That spreads me
Open to reveal
All that I
Am about,
Beating hard
When I need
To breathe deep,
When I feel
On the brink
And can’t think,
Every bit of
Who I am
There for
To see
One beat
At a time.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Flush (with video)

(content slightly changes from the original notebook stuff and video)

The blood rushes through me
To my face, and I cannot
Breathe or think but blush
And gush out in hushed
Sounds words even I can
Not comprehend – so much
Huffing and puffing
I can’t stuff the stuffing
Back inside so that I am
A stuffed doll unstuffed
As my insides come out
All sides at every seam
Dreams bleed out of
My eyes as I start at
Or around or avoid all
That I want or need
To look at most I
Flushed out like
Old leaves from
A rain gutter – utterly exposed.

Lost in space

I circle it like an astronaut
Searching for a soft place to land
It’s curved surface intimidating
Yet provocative
Sloped sides leading to a hard peak
I need to mount
My mouth watering in anticipation
Of what I might find there
Or below where my spaceship
Might plunge
Deep into the moist valley.
I am lost in space

And always will be

Sunday, October 6, 2013

The earthquake inside

I grip the arms of
My chair because I’m
Scared I’ll fall
Off, whole city blocks
Shifting under me
Inside of me
In my mind, and I
Eye the walls as if
They will crumbled in
On me while the
Real disruption is
Inside of me, not out
A siege of something
I can only hold on
To survive, steam
Fogging up my eye sight
So I can’t even see
If and when the
Quake stops and I
Can let loose
Of this chair

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Squeezing hard

(inspired from reading a book Passionate Hearts)

I squeeze hard
Until something comes
Out that I can lick
And then I lick it,
Wrapping my lips around
The tip I just squeezed,
So that I can taste it
With the tip of my tongue
My fingers wrapped
Around the base
Pressing to make it
Come, needs to feel
It come out, needing to
Feel in all inside of me
So that you can taste me,
Too, from the inside out.

The simplest thing

April 17, 1989

How can it be that the grass comes again, springing up out of the holes of worms, grass blades with joyous faces climbing towards the heat of the sun after months of death, and winter's crush?
How can it be the leaves return, as if crawling up the bark of trees from which they have fallen, shedding the brilliantly colored death robes they adorned in fall for the pale yellow green of this cold season, their graves unable to resist their urge or cease the ever gnawing roots that feed them?
How can it be that fish swim again after living in ice caked waters, stirring back to life after the frosts of winter fade, digging themselves out of the mud, their faces still stained from the graveling hardships of devouring bits of stuff from the dirty river bottom?
How can it be that planets and stars blew out from their single cosmic egg, reaching, ever reaching, only to contract again, to return to the soul of the egg, only to erupt once more, in a cosmic love-making that creates new realms, new heavens, new life?
How can we think ourselves different – that we along in this huge universe live and die forever, lacking something in our soul and intelligence that is not denied the simplest blade of grass, the weariest fish, the small speck in the sky?

How is it we dare think we, too, do not come again?

Friday, October 4, 2013

Morning coffee

Morning coffee

I brew coffee each morning
Though on mornings like this
I drink it cold to
Wash down the remnants
Of sleep I carry behind
My eyes, the playful
Remembrances of some
Sweet scene, the
Touch of warmth so
Scalding my tongue dare
Not sip hot coffee
Or get scaled again,
Tip I burned in
My dreams, the tart
Taste of the previous
Day’s brew teaching me
Life’s fundamental
Lesson that
Sweet and tart
Come back to back
And though I sleep
With one
I wake up with the other


Flat tire

The air hisses out of the
Tire with the sound of a
Snake I once encountered
In the desert but did
Not get bit.
The man at the gas station
Had warned me not to
Over inflate the nearly
Bald tire or it might blow
Out – and it did.
Who knew you could
Get so deflated from
Too much of a good thing
After so many miles of
Not having enough,
Life seems to be a
Delegate balance between
Too little and too much
And trying not to get
Stranded on the road
Side from either


I don’t taste anything
At first
When the tip of my
Tongue eases in –
It’s the moist
Softness enveloping
Me as if to take
The whole of me
My roughness
Oozing over
This smooth
I can no longer
Aching to be
Consumed at
Any cost,
Aching to keep
Feeling what I feel,
Aching for one more taste
That I know
Will never

Be enough.

Thursday, October 3, 2013


The sheets blow in the
wind like angel limbs
Growing tangled, then
Untangled in a dance
To which no one knows
The steps, the ache
Of contact, the
Tender touch tuned
Violent with a gush
That yanks limbs
Apart, only to plunge
Them together again,
A kiss, a slap
A wrap around
Each for the slow
Release, every bit
Choreographed by fate
Or whim or gods,
An every lingering kiss,
Twisting and untwisting

Until we are undone


(This is one of series of poems inspired by recent reading s from The Book of Eros)

It is not the apple
That drips of sweat but
My fingers as they curve
Around it, my warmth
Contrasted against its
Cool as I imagine another
Shape that fits as well,
But feels warmer in
my palm, my flesh
needing that flesh
if not to feel
whole, then at
least to feel real, and
so I pretend as I
take that apple to my
mouth and let my
teeth sink through its
red skin that my tongue
tastes another fruit
much more forbidden.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Turn here

Yeah, I know – we all do.
Turn left here.
A leaf deserted by summer, fall,
Welcomed by winter wilds,
Yeah, I can see the need to decide
Whether to fly
Rustling in cool desperation
Pushed and pulled
Or stay, to bury deep in the
Crisp, fragile, smoky ice,
All gets distorted by the ever
Widening circles of falling rain,
Frozen tears
Turning red from rubbing
The mud – like blood.
I feel my heart beating hard,
Cracked open, spilling my life
Onto this dismal gray,
As the slow read rises out from
The horizon
I am a leaf locked in winter’s
Embrace, unable to flee or fly
Waiting for sunrise to thaw the
Ice and set me free,
But these days never get warm
Enough. I get tinged with hope
Before all goes grows cold again and
Then I can feel my fingers move
Or my toes, but they do not
Move for long before I am
Frozen again,
And when it gets warm I
Still do not fly
Nowhere to go, no one to
See, nothing before for me than
The endless cycles of ice and thaw
And the endless flow of the river at
My feet, a river that will at some
Point rise high enough to bear me
Away to somewhere I do not know.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

This mess called life

God help me if life ever punished me for all the mistakes I’ve ever made,
That pile of crap that I pack in the back of the closet where nobody can see,
You’re not supposed to get crucified every little wrong turn, twisted thought
Erratic or erotic act, life is supposed to be a journey from which we learn,
A kind of adventure game where we guess the riddle and move on,
Unscathed by any permanent injury or injustice or sense of shame,
Just a matter of finding out who we are in this crazy mixed up world
Where nobody knows who they are and we bump into each other
Always asking: do I know you? Do you know who I am?
Can you ever guess what my purpose is and if so, can you help me get there?
I guess we’re all in the same boat, each with a tea spoon to keep it from sinking,

Each of us needing all the other tea spoons to bail us out of this mess called life.