Friday, April 4, 2025
Free bird November 13, 2014
Thursday, April 3, 2025
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
Melted metal September 15, 2014
the screech of loud guitar
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
Asbury Park 9/13/14
Wednesday, April 2, 2025
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
Sunday, March 30, 2025
Zen September 13, 2014
bringing up or down
on no altimeter
Light and dark Nov 10, 2024
sharp sun light splits my world like a comic book mask, one side bright, the
other side black, forcing me to choose what side I wish to reside in, when I
can’t have both, scalding light, illuminating the path along this River but casts
huge places into deep dark, no moderation here, not even the sore face of the
water where the glints of sunlight is most intense, this path bringing me to
the edge again, to the places full of memory, scorched out of my brain from too
much glare, I follow along a trail I took in less brittle days, my feet knowing where
I've been even if I can no longer see it and must rely on my intuition to keep
going and my memory of days when things were less divided. and those brief
glimpses of Joy I recall and treasure, even if I can no longer see them
Full moon September 09, 2014
The real me Nov. 9, 2024
My shoes splash through mud left from a brief night time rain, sunlight
glistening in each puddle as morning comes, and I rush off to places I'd rather
not be, the endless ritual of routine that lacks meaning merely aids in
survival, not of the fittest, just those who learn to comply, while inside as
always, another shadow lurks, one that aches to break free too, violate
something or someone, to find joy in being bad, the excess of who I am spilling
out of me from every pore, the need to fill up all those holes and still have
something left to do so again, the splash of my feet over muddy landscape, my
shape perverted in the reflections of puddles disturbed by my passing,
reflection of my real and distorted me, I keep locked up
Saturday, March 29, 2025
Brush fire September 04, 2014
I can only suck at my finger tips
Deluded Sept 29, 2012
She says she doesn't hate all men, just some, then looks at me, we both
carrying the baggage of love that might never have been love, just the shadow
moving across our eyes, unsubstantial, mistaken shape we can maybe see for what
it is, dare we step out of this cave to see what real love looks like in the
light of day, or will we wilt under its scalding pressures as it unveils us,
reveals the illusion we foolishly mistook as real, do we prefer the darkness,
this Shadow, knowing it for what it is, yet preferring it to what otherwise
brings discomfort, to face reality, to bear the scolding light, we must shed
what we assumed, does her hatred to some men mean she already stepped out into
the brightness of a light I cannot bear to see, as I remain here, deluded
Milk and honey September 02, 2014
Flowers without thorns May 4, 2014
Not all flowers come with thorns, not all draw blood if gripped too tightly,
this though, among so many other mental rumblings, coming into my head as I
wake from bed, stiff, excited, yet warmed by the warm air spring brings, the
new season firmly rooted after more than a month of dismal rain, pain bringing
with it pleasure, if we endure enough, the dead roses from the dead of winter,
replaced in part with other pleasures, other flowers, other of hearts, flowers
with which we might never part, I think, as ease from sleep into the welcome
warmer world, sunlight with its ever cheerful mood and always bright outlook,
streaming through the window as I wake, partake the days refreshment, the
rituals of morning giving away to those of the afternoon, the scent of New
birth sweet and in part yet dark too, as if the turf out of which spring
springs, no thorns to prick our fingers on yet just not pure joy
Friday, March 28, 2025
Laying it on thick (from My Little Book of E) ,August 31, 2014
to know as much as I should,
Needing someone to rub against Feb 16, 2025
Heavy rain falls on my Sunday laundry ritual like a deluge, inside and out, a
deep chill rising up from my bones and I can't get warm from, needing to rub
against somebody to generate fire, the way boy scouts do with twigs, though you
can't get fire from wet wood or old matches, and so I huddle in this doorway
and wait for the storm to pass, the flick of drops pecking at the rim of my hat,
at my face, at my eyes, smearing the world, confusing me with images of what is
or what I want to be, the rain against me, no umbrella or memory can protect me
from, needing a body to rub against, to Kindle a fire I know his long dead,
stir up with hope of heat, enduring the rain and the pain of memory long gone
Pointed shapes , September 18, 2014
even fully awake,
Paradise Jan 9, 2015
Paradise is not all it's cracked up to be, love making in the afternoon, cuddles at night
The in and out ritual that means more than in the front door,
the dark of night alone, the wish for arms and lips and hips, missing when
needed most, the locked door, the people the fright of who might knock at night
when all others have fled to other homes, other arms, other lips and hips,
sometimes Paradise is a vacuum, the silence that resides when all the voices cease,
the peace we seek when we need more than the rant and rave of imagined love.
sometimes Paradise is being free of the bonds, the promises, the deception,
sometimes Paradise is being alone
Sunday, March 16, 2025
The salty haze of uncertainty August 29, 2014
that dark night in May May 3, 2014
I still kick myself for bringing card and candy to that bar
-- that night when she took pity on me for my birthday but wanted to fuck the
bartender instead of me, or perhaps an orgy with the German couple, when it was
still odd man out, four is company, five is not allowed, that dark night in May
when I got drunk on my own hormones instead of bottles of wine
I still kick myself
for not seeing it in advance, how unwelcome I was, how I ought not to have gone,
let alone left early, abandoning her, even though she had already abandoned me
this idea we can fix things that are too broken to fix, no
amount of magic able to bring the magic back
that night in May I can never forget but also will always
regret. wishing I had seen it all coming