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 

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

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.

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