Half past twelve. Time has gone by quickly
since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
and sat down here. I've been sitting without reading,
without speaking. Completely alone in the house,
whom could I talk to?

Since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
the shade of my young body
has come to haunt me, to remind me
of shut scented rooms,
of past sensual pleasure - what daring pleasure.
And it's also brought back to me
streets now unrecognizable,
bustling night clubs now closed,
theatres and cafes no longer here.

The shade of my young body
also brought back the things that make us sad:
family grief, separations,
the feelings of my own people, feelings
of the dead so little acknowledged.

Half past twelve. How the time has gone by.
Half past twelve. How the years have gone by.

poems are like the seasons,
constantly changing yet always beautiful in their own way--
ironic, tragic, sadistic, blasphemous.
i can smell the sweet scent of the crescent moon
as it's cold white rays dance across my eyes,
around my head, in one ear and out the other
so quickly that a whistling whisper reverberates inside my dome,
yet unknown to me was the feeling of fleeing--
running away to a land of John and Jane Doe's,
nobodies to me, though somebodies to themselves, I suppose.
here we would sit, regressing our last lines,
of crescent moons, yet now the sun shines.
how can it be?
such a social tragedy, to escape and relate
life as it was to the life chosen to take.
no more "dudes", "dawgs", crude words or flaws--
just life as we know it, no need for applause.
the dying days of life astray have taught us and led us on our way
to the tundra of thunder, it crashes down and haunts us,
once cold, no light, now steaming and much too bright.
go ahead, raise me to the Heavens,
i dread the day my angels no longer beckon,
"His path is now set, we can intervene no longer."
demons will rise in rupturing riptides
as Hell freezes over, yet flames override.
Carpe Diem, Carpe Nox,
i've seized the seasons squealed the silver fox.
the crescent moon looked down that day,
upon us all, upon the choices we made.

Regard
Gaze and contemplate
My milk skin

Ashen
Disrupted only
By my scars

Others
They gawk and ogle
Yours on mine

Ebon
Smooth and oh so dark
When near white

Color?
I’d go blind before
Seeing love

As black and white

Sitting in the kitchen
eating oranges,
the moon so bright
the garden is made
   of shadows.
Cat rubs against
my leg, as if
to say "Go to bed,
put the day away."
I think about life's
twists and turns --
perhaps that is the mystery.
The goddess shines
   bright, eternally --
just beyond the open
   door.
Crickets sleep
bathed in silver and quiet now.
Cat slowly slides
across the kitchen floor.
How can I have gotten
   this far?
Weathered all
the twists and turns --
that mystery so slow
   to unravel.
A feline stretch high
upon the screen-door.
Cat wants to climb
   to the moon.