Pushed up hard against the glass,
wish you had time to react, it just happened all too fast,
getting hurt left and right,
you feel weak because you can't stand up and fight

too afraid to seek some help,
because you are afraid that the word will get out,
now show them punks what you are all about,
and this time- you won't be afraid to shout

stand up for who you are,
because in life that will get you far,
don't back down and lose that fight,
know that I will be by your side until I know that everything will be alright

Turn the pages, hope it gives you space
They smell the anger & they love the taste
We have our ideas but we can't read text or tone
Turn the pages, take the turns too fast
I know your kin & know what shakes the mast
We have our knowledge but we can't call it our own.

She's waiting
with that lipstickless pout
her cat Léon
a "charmant" 2 bedroom apartment
and a once envied reputation
now deservedly sullied
and only getting worse.
Friends tell you she's got
rougher
sullener
dirtier.
She's waiting
at a sidewalk café
table wobbling on the cobblestones  
carafe, glasses of wine
balanced precariously  
while she argues about everything
and laughs
with old friends
new friends
and the stubborn ghosts
of those dead or gone.
You can still taste her mouth
that warmth
a hint remains in your wet
almost spongy inner cheek flesh
probe it with your tongue -
cigarettes
rosé
late afternoon sun.
Her face ever immaculate
yet always foundation-free
a lesbian's wettest dream
no make-up grazes staining
anybody's Yves Delorne pillowcases.
When you fucked
you could often hear
next door doing the same
will she still whimper
when you make love
and get up to pour herself a glass
immediately after finishing?
When you step out together
later that afternoon
will you feel as though you
have somehow
deliberately opened a door
into a dogeared postcard
or Truffaut film?
You know she's deceitful
runs to her own schedule
and clearly always had an expiry date
in mind for you two,
one she always kept
to herself -
"Those questions aren't
for asking, on verra..."
The cat has a tendency to yowl
at inappropriate moments
you wish she had a dog instead
or maybe just a goldfish
(there's enough dogshit
on the streets already).
Her apartment will still
smell of stale cigarette smoke
her perfume
and the geraniums in the window box
and she has asked that you stay
for the full two weeks
(sentimental, unable to resist
taking old lovers back in).
Will she beg you not to leave
burn your passport
in the stained enamel kitchen sink
while you take a shower?
Or will she quietly close the door
behind you as you go -
suitcase in hand
your eyes turned
pricking
away?



- - - -

What the hell did I do?
I'll never know.
I want to make it up to you
But you bury me like snow

With your confusion and your doubt,
It's always vague, never clear.
You hide away, mentally throw me out.
I want to help you, my dear.

How do I begin to show you
How much I really care
When you won't let me into
Your little world, my dear.

House full of memories still stands,
Almost ready to fall;
The cobwebs of yesterday lands,
Eternal, standing tall.

The voices of those that now sleep,
Echoes 'round inside me;
As I remember I do weep,
Blinded by tears I see.

Now another scene comes to mind,
Of a dream land I know;
Now softly glows the lamps I find,
Ephemeral winds blow.

O, see the childhood mem'ries now,
And all that I once knew;
Sad in fallen shambles I bow,
In other worlds I blew.

Those golden days lay flat I see,
And all the childish ways;
Have grown into a larger me,
And faded are those days.

Those days of Wonderland to fly,
Hours on endless hours pile;
But to those days I've said goodbye,
Just linger for a while.

Sad the house of dreams in ruin,
Is crumbled as a page;
Vague memories left are strewin',
To follow age to age.


~Timothy~

I do not regret the day we met
When all my courage I had mustered.
It makes me smile when I remember
First conversation we had ever.

I walked over to you, nervously
And I seemes to not know how to speak.
But we did have such a pleasant talk
That I forgot to ask for your name.

I do not regret the day we met
You have become to me a good friend.
Each time we talk I smile to myself
Relieved that at last, I know your name.

Colonial mansion, in an ocean of grass,
windows aglow as I walk past.
funeral service now used of verandah,
but I hear music, not mournful stanza.
french doors open to a reminisce,
with boyhood heart, of vitreous.

Footfalls on parquet floors,
tux and gown past crown moulded doors.
captured ambiance of a setting sun,
shown from chandeliers highly hung,
day I was born, born day of the prom,
I smiled cordially, and my date fawned.

girls betrothed by corsage on wrist,
rare french curls--a lunar eclipse.
bedraggle boys now dapper and genteel,
vest and bowtie, a knightly feel.
chapperesses smiling at maidenly gait,
happy drowse in  mansion estate.

cufflinks, silk gloves, nail polish of gloss,
beheld tonics and sweets, carefully aloft.
opening cord, an arrow from cupid's bow,
striking coquettes to their tippy toes.
they sprang to dance,I stepped back,
invisible in shadow with tux of black.

shoulders, lake ripples easing to shore,
hips, gentle waves, right before pour.
boys stiff, as if waists beheld sabres,
legs, sweeping brooms of on shore waiters.
"your too handsome to stay here unseen,"
said rivaling chaperess, semblance of queen.

"you should dance ,"said glittered lips of pink,
bent like sparrow wings, during teacup drink.
privy to why in shadow I hid my blush,
her class my crush, that crushed me so much.
she strained me, even the shadows she gave,
black silk, stretching,--convex and concave.

crude metal and wood classroom seat,
clasped her waist of slender physique.
she was guarded by a window in curtain mail,
and tended to by servants of light and gale.
light loved her skin of mediterranean sand,
and wind enraptured with brown strand.

light penetrated strands, blondly hot,
wind would blow, cooling pony tail off.
her shadow curtsied under my desk,
long legs danced in irritableness.
mourning class is abuzz with scent of prom,
flower not frost, rules the school's dawn.

I gave my consent,to an earlier invite,
then on, suitor blinded me with light.
and Great Gatsy, and looming prom night,
subjects of sparrow wings pressed tight.
" show of hands, who do not have a date?"
slender wrist arises, from an arm curvate.

alone, she shown that no one asked her,
this stone of Rome amongst boys of plaster.
hand fell with boy of teachers match,
wind shrouded her,from the window sash
rays gave discomfort,to gaze her way,
but I looked through burning ray.

to see a trace of a tear,in eyes ovate,
a godess unsought, with sadful face.
I, poor, fatherless, could not possible go,
to prom, with princess of arched portico?
I could not interweave my hands to dance,
or know, where I could place my glance.

wind blew a scrap from her desk, indiscreet,
it was pierced by light at my feet.
"will" and "with" were dotted with a heart,
"prom" and "me" before most painful part.
my name in her beautfiul free hand,
the colour red, from hearts inkstand.

class bell rings, I travel to mansion dream,
blue grass meet oriel in cul de sac seam.
eyes turn to cotton, in shadow as I ponder,
as pain was forgotten, I came upon her.
invisible hands, lifted my chin to a red shape,
our eyes met, her's smiling, mine agape.

only a glassmaker could imagine my sight,
seeing hot curves form in dance floor light.
only a wax-wing could have rivaled her eyes,
waves gently broke to gown down her thighs.
"will you dance with me,"she softly entreated,
" I don't know how,"a coward repeated.

a princess which tournaments were held,
for which every timber of mansion were felled.
not for Greece, mansion corinthian column,
for her, from quarry prom did befall them.
I could not tarnish this feminine form,
with my lineage in crown she adorned.

I turned from beauty, to dark acres tread,
under willow, I play the last thing she said.
my name, as I shunned from last chance,
back under willow, cane marks my stance.
I have preserved her forever, shying fate,
even if it was with my own heart-break.
*
I still see her--in the most beautiful prom poses,
still, I see her, as lights flicker out, and a coffin closes.