Free bird November 13, 2014

 

I hold it up in both my hands

This trembling, feathered creature

I can identify only as a bird

Because it has wings,

Broken wings on which it

Cannot fly away,

But will the moment I mend them,

The way it must

Its soft touch lingering

On the tips of my fingers

And on my lips as I wish it well,

Aching to touch it again,

And again feels its softness

Against my calloused palms,

Feeling its warmth against

My warmth,

It breathing my breath

This precious moment

Caught in an instant

And release, this heart break,

This lasting gift that

Must be given away,

Real and unreal,

Previous, but not possessed,

A dream dreamed

But not forgotten,

A memory so vivid

It always seems real,

My wings broken like its are,

My heart throbbing

With the same need,

My gaze fixed upon it

As it sails into the sky,

A bird with wings

Then just a dot

Against the brightness

And then gone.

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The knight of night Sept 30, 2012

 

What is it that so attracts her thus if not a ring of gold on her finger or the fence that keeps the mowed lawn contained

does she love for the sake of love or is love simply not enough, and who would be the waking soul if she could have he wants, it all, the arm around her when she drifts to sleep still there when the morning light peeps in, and who would be the person invited, someone who is heart is so beknighted, the face that would not fade in time but remain as potent as to remind her how good a lover can be at last, as to compare with those of the past, that it is all so astounding that the face she sees at night is still around when the morning bells toll  and her gaze still fully adores, can she really find such a man, someone she can keep near at hand, that indeed would astound, if he could really be found

 

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Melted metal September 15, 2014

It rumbles through you

Like a late night earthquake

The back beat ripping

Open this thin civilized veneer

To expose what we all are

Deep inside,

The tsunami rushing

Through out vein

To some primitive call

We thought we had

Long evolved from

We breathe deep breaths

And drink deep draughts

And still it comes on

A fire in the belly of a beast

We all become
the screech of loud guitar

Like a hot poker

Stirring up slumbering coals

Until we turn into melted metal

Aching for that moment

When inspiration makes us

Solid again,

This life gets into the blood

And then lays dormant

Even after all these years

All pretence at being

So prim and proper

Until the first note

Like the first light of dawn

And we crumble

To the rumble and shake

And we become what

We have always been,

Swept up and consumed

Inside and out,

The floor boards vibrating

Not from the bass drum,

But from something inside us

Pushing its way out.

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Eyes as gateway to… Jan 11, 2015

  

I can escape her eyes, even in memory, like an open invitation to a party where I do not belong, eyes a gateway to more than just her soul, to the rest of her. to her slanted mouth I take an invitation to a kiss. she most likely doesn't mean. or to her perky breasts I ache to hold as I mount her, this dream is memory, all coming from that look, from her gaze, eyes that swallow me whole, making me want to get in on the other side to see what she sees when she looks at me, The uninvited guest to a party that is for anyone else but me, eyes clinging  to that residue of desire, maybe fear, always doubtful of my intentions, waiting and watching to see what I might do next

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Asbury Park 9/13/14

Autumn falls on the boardwalk

With a gush of rain

Like a stage curtain coming down

On what was

To leave what will be

The creak of wood moans

Under my footstep

As I make my way passed

Madam Marie’s,

A slick, precarious trip

But no longer scalding

As it was

Not extinguished

But a mist rising

From each crack

Like steam

From a tea kettle

I feel the bubbling

Inside of me

Even as my brow drips

With the cool broth

Of this changing season

The vacancy of the place

Only making the urgency acute

Winter forces it all inward

Putting pressure

On this frail frame

That stumbles over

This sacred ground,

Aching even now to be

The savior that rises

From these streets,

From the spidery web

Of the ruined casino

To the crumbling art deco

Of the once and future theater

And back again

As rain washes over me

And through me

To the sound of the nearby sea

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Fits like a glove Jan 10, 2015

 

It fits like a glove only it is not a glove, and I use more than my fingers to fill it, drawn in, feeling each inch inside, like a glove that is not a glove, and I swell to fill it, and still feel the need to feel more, to fill it up with all of me, and all that I can get pumped out of me, the in and out of it, tight, tighter still, and deeper, a pain cure for a pain I feel each time, the need to release it, yet never too soon, edging in, teasing the tip before I can make it fit, like a glove that is not a glove, a place filled with more than just my fingers or my tongue, tight tighter still, drawing me in so deep I cannot get out, never want to ,going in and in more, feeling how tight it can get around me

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Zen September 13, 2014

 

I press the button

And hear the distant sound

Of machines and cables
bringing up or down

The cage I need

This vertical lift

We ride to and from

Destinations marked out

On no road maps

The elevation marked
on no altimeter

But rather inside my head

Where I leave marks

Of my own importance

The way my uncles did

In pencil on the dinning room

Door frame when I was small

To see how much I’d grown

Though now I am no taller

Yet still need to measure

How high I stand,

If I have lost stature

And how to get it back if I have

Who I am reflected

Not in any mirror

But on the faces of those I see

Through the small window

Of my cage

As I travel floor by floor,

My life measured

In the groan of cables

Above and below

When all I really want

Is to be where I am

At any given moment,

Free of the need to be

High or low,

Rich or poor,

Powerful or powerless,

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