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