Thursday, July 23, 2015

You move; I move

(date unknown)

You move and I move
Like sheets of Teflon
That creates heat
Without friction,
This heat boiling up
From inside
To burst out
And subside,
Our lives bent around
These volcanic eruptions
Needing the feel of it
As we stir up the lava,
And the bliss of it
When it all breaks free
Each phase
A perilous adventure
We might not survive,
The climb to the top
The sacrificial plunge,
The lost moments
When we cease being
Who we are
For whom we become,
Broken on the sharp
Shards of loved and lust,
Then reborn,
Like a phoenix
We rise from our own ashes
To repeat it again
And again,
The insanity of pending death,
Defying feat we need
To perform in order
To feel as if we are alive
You move, then I move
Then we both move
Somehow managing
To find moments when
We can feel inside
And outside
As we stoke up
A fire neither of us
Can control,
Or would want to,
Learning that the best part
Is when we have
No control at all

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Getting a grip

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

I sweat just to think about it
This climb up and down
With nothing more than
Fingers and toes to grip with,
The lip of it hanging over me
Like a cliff that might tumble
Down at any time,
This life of risk,
this grip on the tip of it,
Both hands too moist
At the palms to keep me
From slipping
and still I climb,
Pushing myself up
And into each crevice
Feeling the fabric against me
As I move one precious inch
After another,
Aching over progress made
Fearing a back fall so I cling
The sweat dribbling down
From brows to eyes to mouth
So I taste the salt of it,
Get drunk on it,
And the pursuit of it,
The ache to over come
And keep climbing,
Often with no other purpose
Than to see what lies
over the other side,
To see if I can reach it,
Knowing that there will always be
More of it to climb
And stare over
When I finally manage it.

Monday, July 20, 2015


Mystery wraps around her
A mummy with only the glint of her eyes
In this dark placed filled with phantoms
I cannot make out,
Her shape the brightest
As if death’s second life
Has already consumed her
And we live with the blaze
Of her existence
Feeling it scorch our bones
We, the unnamed masses, who
Get buried in the glorious tomb
As tribute to who she was
And who she will become,
Our lust for her life meaningless
Against the praise we must cast upon her,
And do so out of some deeper
Compulsion we cannot resist,
We consumed by her flames
Slave to her life
Chained to her fate
Stumbling into our own doom
Just to heap praise on her,
We foolishly believing
We have wills of our own
And might – if we wanted – do
Something other than what she demands
The whole time feeling her flames
Engulf us.

Morning dew

Beads of morning rain’s residue linger on the pink lips of the meadow rose petals like tears half cried from an overnight storm I only dreamed about, the aftermath of this shaken world filling me as I stroll the meadow path.
The air is heavy over me and inside of me, my thirst barely quenched from sipping these lingering leaves, the pink petals spread to expose their yellow interiors while all around green and purple thistles make it them impossible to touch.
A kiss brings me blood and bliss to my ever hungry lips, and still I sip the tips of leaves to linger and look at, but not to touch, blistered of thirst on my lips, instead of a kiss, as the pink flowers drip.

Study hall

 (date uncertain)

Her long blonde hair
Drips over the back of the seat
In a study hall that is not in a hall at all
But in an auditorium
And we seated like spectators
Waiting for a movie to start
That will never start,
The tips of her hair dusting my knees
Like a tease,
She is so pretty my eyes ache
Just to look at her,
With me so shy
(when I was still shy)
I can barely speak,
But study every move she makes
As if she was my text book,
Catching glimpse of her lips
Or eye lashes each time
She turns to talk to this friend
Or that friend
On this side or that,
Her lips so pink they make me bleed
Her eyes so blue, I drown
She is not a mirage
For a boy stumbling from a dry
Dry desert,
I could touch her if I dared,
I would kiss her if I could,
I’m just too scared to ask,
And so I nearly explode
When she turns to me
And wants me to take her
To the dance,
Me, the shy kid from study hall,
The long-haired beatnik type
Not her type at all
In a school full of cool kids
And jocks,
She a dream come true,
Long hair framing a perfect face
And my head filled with visions
Of being so close
I might embrace,
She asking me to meet
Beyond this hive of echoes,
Beyond a study hall
That is not a study hall at all,
Me, the kid seated behind her,
And she reading me

Like an open book.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Sigh to sigh

(date unknown)

I watch you watch me
As I started at the top
The first button
Popping open
Between my thumb
And forefinger
You do not ask
Where I am going,
The road map
Is clearly marked,
The first followed
By the next
Until it opens
Before me
Like a gate,
And still you watch
Wide-eyed like a doe
But not naïve
We have come
This way before
If not together,
Our need mingling
With the heat
So we both sweat,
Your eyes like
A temperature gauge
Telling me exactly
When I’m getting warm,
Moisture on your brow
As my fingers feel
The soft landscape,
Circling the tips
Of these twin peaks,
A glorious explorer
Lacking any sense
Of shame
Pushed on
By my own
Rise thermometer
Until the heat threatens
To blow its top off
I watch your eyes
Watch mine
As I breathe into you,
Eye to eye,
Mouth to mouth,
Thigh to thigh,
Sigh to sigh

Lost soul

(date unknown)

I stare into her eyes
Because I care look no where else
And still I drown
Like a drunken sailor
Staggering over
The shape of her lips
Or the part in her blouse
Her curves making me
Swell up like a sail,
Feeling myself driven
By a wind I cannot control,
While I sink deep into her eyes
Despite my best efforts
To stay afloat,
Hearing her song inside my head,
A poor man’s Odysseus
bound to the mast
to keep from straying,
and still I stray
a glance down, a wish for a kiss,
or touch of hand,
a lost soul in an endless sea
of my own desires
rising and falling to her tides
as I stare into her eyes,
knowing the whole time
I cannot help but drown
And breathe her
deep anyway

Saturday, July 18, 2015

When nice is not enough

(Date unknown)

This is not the way it is supposed to be,
I think, but do not stop,
Nice is a four letter word I hate hear
When nice is the last thing I ache to be,
And vow not to become one of those
Lonely old men who want but can’t
Get up the nerve to take what they need,
This balancing act between proper
And profitable spoiling their lives,
When we can live our lives only once
And better to push in and feel strong
Than to miss it altogether,
My hands lingering with the scent of you
While my thoughts know I many
Never breathe it in again,
Thinking of that old cliché about
Better to have had and lost than not
To have had at all, said by some
Poor fool who knew nice
Would never do at all,
But where’s the edge, the point
After the plunge when nice guys
Pick up the pieces
Nice but not nice inside,
Where all men know well the truth,
And so I reach in and feel it
While I still have fingers to feel,
Not carrying what I’ll think

About in the morning.

Friday, July 17, 2015

First touch

(With Sandy in the balcony of the Fabian Theater, 1967)

I always thought it would be hard
Or firm before I slipped my fingers
Between the buttons that first time
In the dark long ago
I still think that way
Each time I reach in
Even when I know better
The tip of it the only part
That ever gets hard
Oozing out like a maple tree’s sap
So that my fingers get moist
Though the taste is not as sweet
As I always think it should be,
Yet better than I often imagine
So that I need always
To get my mouth around it
To get some more
A ritual, I never weary of,
Reaching in to gather the fruit
I eventually must consume
Not always in the dark
Like that first time,
But always with the same
Unquenchable hunger
This need to feel
To feel, to taste, to touch
With whatever part of me
I can, to feed this rage
Inside of me that won’t stop there
But goes deep,
All the way to where
The sweetest sap flows.


Aug. 30, 2014 

The juice dribbles down my chin

From where I bite through the skin
The prick of flesh
And the rush of sweet bliss
The aftermath of a lovefest,
Of feeling the flesh first
The smooth curve against
The palm of my hand,
The hard place
Where the step detached,
Rough against hand and tongue
The wanting, the waiting
The need to have what is
Deep inside where my fingers
Cannot reach, nor my tongue
Until I break through
And let it rush over me,
My mouth unable to contain
All it has to offer
But I want it all,
And drink deep until
I drown in its sticky dripping
Like a honey bear
Consumed by what
He aches for most

Friday, July 3, 2015

Existence itself

Friday, July 03, 2015

I press against you
As if the world depends upon it
And it does
This contact like crash of continents
Before time divided them
This press against
This heavy caress,
This kiss filled with the need to survive
Knowing that to lose it
Is to cease to exist
In a universe that makes us
All feel so small,
Life is not measured by big things
But by tiny moments – and movements
You breathing as I breathe,
Taking me inside so I feel what you feel
And I move inside your skin
In a cosmos filled with supernovas
And exploding suns,
Where planets collide in cataclysmic intensity
This touch we touch does as much
Vibrations that move out
From where we embrace
The universe itself
Our heart bets pressing against each other
The reason the universe exists
More than mere a big bang
Out from which existence starts
But the only reason to exist
I press against you because

Existence depends upon it.