where she goes. Feb 6, 2014

  

nobody knows least of all me where

she goes

whether she will ever come back

 who exactly these beings

 she calls angels are

what exactly happened

to make her leave

was it a small man again

ruthlessly reading the virgin mayor

the riot act

or some other reason

 even her poems do not

bring better understanding about

 “don't try to save me, she one wrote

 Yet she needs salvation

 the way we all do

these angels on her shoulders

whispering words of wisdom

and hope she can't derive

 from the more ordinary people

in her life

nobody knows but her

 as to what exactly transpired

why she flew the coop

or slip the shell

to where she is gone

what new shell

 what New path

 she hopes will save her

 now that she has worn out

the current path

nobody knows where she goes

while I sit on the edge of my chair

scared she might be gone forever

 

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admission of guilt 2014

  

I admit it 

I wanted to get sucked into it

 lost in the desert

unable to find my way out again

aching for her Oasis

 brain numb

not at all in control

of where I am

where I might end up

wanting her to hold it all in her hands

aces up her sleeve

I admit I wanted not to have to think about it

 to go where it went

to end up  whatever way it happened

a space cadet floating in a vacuum

 with her steering his spaceship

I admit I wanted to lose my soul

to have her take it

have her twisted in any shape she desires

I admit I wanted to stumble around in the fog

 waiting for her

 a female Jack the ripper

to find me and do with me

whatever she wanted

 I admit that I still want

what I wanted then

 

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gifts. aug 2, 2024

  

I learned the lesson the hard way

when she gives you a gift

 take it no matter how small

 it is not insignificant

like those from back when

 she came to my desk

asking for things she didn't need

 seeking to keep the connection alive

and I foolishly always wanted more

 like a birthday at the bar

or the poems about quicksand or compassion

and now all these years later

 we are connected again

 remotely, barely

 a fragile hookup

I dare not question

I just let it happen

 grateful for the significance

the non-verbal clicks

that wake me up each morning

and put me to sleep at night

 whether he loves me or hates me

 it does not matter

this in wire that has

each of us on each end

remotely

together

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I dream of it Sept. 9, 2014

 

 

I still dream of us, even when I don’t want to, the remorse gazing out at me at night, when I am alone, when I am desperate to pump it all out to keep from exploding.

After this long, you’d assume I would cease to percolate, when in fact I boil all the more, even more than I did before, dream upon dream I wake from to find not real, reeling from the impact of imagined hips engaged, pounding like jackhammers, digging as deep as I dare to go.

I still dream of it, even when I know I ought not to, the attraction of heavenly bodies still as potent as the Big Bang.

At what point does the universe cease to expand, contracting only when I come back to consciousness. It only grows in my sleep, hard as steel, prodding at the soft boundaries of the pliable universe, which groans with the banging of bedposts on the cheap motel walls, the desperate cries I hear turning out to be my own, always wanting more.

I dream of it when I know I shouldn’t. I just can’t stop.

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conquest. 2014

  

I am not Alexander

from that Old Sanskrit poem

 conquering nothing

not even her heart

still I linger in that same city

overlooking that same rive

r the 7th heaven on the hill

with its string of rooms

at the end of which there is

only one bed

 one woman sleeping in it,

that shining Jewel still

glowing on the horizon

still a memory of her there

 forever even though I know

she might not be there someday

I am no Alexander

 who has conquered all

I dwell in the memory of only one conquest

 I would have made

if I could if I could go back

 to one city, one house, one room, one bed

where one woman resides

And one heart I need to conquer

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Don’t know how to stop aug 30, 2024

 

I ought to stop

each post from the past

digs it all up again in me

so I begin to feel now as I did then

when I thought it was all behind me

 when in truth it never is

when feelings as go as deep as these

 they cannot be exhumed only buried

and perpetually they try to rise up again

so each breath I breathe today

is filled with what came then

and recalling those days

digging them up even faster

 bringing them to the surface

makes it impossible to bury them again

I feel as I always felt regardless

of time or distance or all the other stuff

that clutters the in between

I ought to stop

 but each time I try

 I feel the impact of endings and loss

and so I must keep on digging up

 re-examining feelings

that I always secretly felt

even when I pretended I didn't

 

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precious stones 2014

  

my love is not a diamond

 as some old poets might suggest

no sharp edges upon which

 I might cut myself

nor is she a nugget gold

 so Grand all men lust after her

 precious and yet not as appealing

 as I might achieve

 my love is a pearl

her skin so smooth

her touch so cool

easy to take under my tongue

to revel on her

to digest her

 as if I am the oyster that gave her birth

my fingers stroking her

 polishing her

feeling her curved flesh

 as vivid in my brain

as if I could see her blind

more precious than all

the precious stones

and all I could ever want

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