I miss him

I miss him, like I miss a limb or a brother, the man gone bad, then good, saving himself from some fate worse than death only to have death take him, that scummy son of a bitch who stuck his dick where it never belonged, even some he knew I loved, a con man for a hand job, who ached for love he never got, I miss him the way I miss an itch after years (when) it (is) suddenly gone, I miss the wink I got when I knew he was up to no good – again. I miss the lies, his tie, the ethics he threw under the bus with each expired ticket, the man who thought all women available and was right, the man who lied when men said the same about him, I miss him and the dreams he gave up, when they seemed to hard to make real, when I dreamed his dreams for him when he got too tired, carrying them the way Simon did Christ’s cross until those dreams killed him, and I lived with his guilt. I miss him, like a miss a brother, his dreams, his failures, his cheats and cons, I miss him, and always will.

night dreams

These dreams seem real

Shapes of gray that grow large

Beneath me as I sleep

Shuddering between the pillows

As I toss and turn,

face submerged

Between the folds

Of sheet

as I breathe deep

and leap into the unknown

Morning Mist

The mist flows

Off the tip of the mountain

Like smoke

Rolling over each ridge,

Swallowing up

stone and limb

Sucking the life

Out of the lip of land

Leaving a glistening smear

In dripping dew

Glistening in the slanted

Gray of morning.

Two hot poems for Summer

1

It rains today

Rains and rains

The peeking rays

Hide in the chains

Of deep dark clouds

The scorched earth

Cracks and groans

And sucks in first

The pavement foam

Dripping slowly down

And on the glass

The world smears white

With little dabs

Of colored lights

Seeping through the shroud

And all day long

I wish for more

Wish on and on

Those drops adore

Wish each one was mine, mine alone

2

It consumes me

A vortex swirling

Around me

Like a tornado

Twisting me up

Inside and out

Squeezing me dry

Like used up fruit

Each drip dropping

Into your upturned lips

The tip of your tongue

Drawing each drip in

As if I am made

Of honey not blood

This twisted torso

Exposed to whatever

Ravages the storm

In you supplies

Your eyes flashing

With rage or lust

While I shrink with

Each new surprise

gray day at the end of May

The air grows heavy

 with the threat of rain

Gulls cruise over

 the still-dry asphalt

In search of the sea,

Grateful for the handouts

The kids cast

Leftover hamburger buns

From the local burger stop,

The gray sky

Casting a gloom over the world

With only streaks of light

To remind me the sun still exists

Nobody else notices

In their Saturday shopping sojourn

Too busy with bags

To worry over the tornadoes

Forecasters claim are

On their way,

This place and ritual

So engrained in my life

I even imagine it in my dreams,

Keeping me focused

When all else fails,

So that when the rain comes

It paints me

With the same pale brush

As it does the sky,

Softening the hard edges

Always protruding from

The ends of the world

I touch the wind

I touch the wind

With extended fingers

Feeling the vibration

Ride through my palms

Soft, yet pointed,

Chilling yet heating me up

And I know I need

To feel it roll over me

Making me tumble

Over this landscape

Of whispering water

And deep tidal surges

I plunge myself into

The rise and fall of it

Released and yet craving more

The kiss I miss

When the wind licks my lips,

The surge and urge

To reach deeper

And feel the gush of wind

As it consumes me

ALIEN VIRUS

it doesn't matter
who gave it to whom
he to you,
you to him,
what matters
is that you both
have it inside
you
and maybe
others, too,
what matters
is what
you do
with it
now