it's obvious,
isn't it?

it certainly
seems
like it

you see
it too,
right?

maybe
i'm imagining it?

it's probably
nothing

but

your head
is upside
down

facing inward
and
laughing at
itself

and there's
a light in
there

that's always
on

just
thought
you should know

~           *light on,
still-frame freeze of black bodied eight-legged life
     clinging to stained acrylic. we stare at each other pretending we're not real
until one of us moves.
                    
it was me.

you've never been
more beautiful
than when i
don't know you
yet

all that
hidden skin
ignites
my
raw furnace

every drop
of light that
kisses your
body
is an invitation
to rise
like the
sun and shower
you in
blazing
desire

every orbit
of your
celestial body
beckons
my flames
to lick and
lash
as we spin
through each
other's
gravity

coming

so close

you
threaten my
core
with eruption
as you
pass by

lightning-
tipped *******
at
twelve o'clock
on top
of orchid
petaled hips
perfuming my
garden of
thirst

i want to
do to you
what the
bee does
to the lily

folding the sirens of
eternity in on themselves
as this scant hour
rebuilds its stage
over and
over
in the light of my eyes

already there is a perception
of being caught
in a loop - of a lesson
playing out
before a malady
of ignorance

i am free to see it
and i am free
to miss it

it is the long
breath
of the breaching
whale - an exchange
of currents for
the transformation of
sky into
ocean depths

it is
the
hidden union
in transience

recurring
in beautiful
obscurity

listening to
Father John Misty in
pink
over
pink time

schism-
shifting
into
poppy red

with a pleasing
depth
of shadow
just
within reach
between
them

(while)

our faint
blue
light

speeds

through
the universe
towards
the
ultima Thule

i'm no good, but
here I am anyway,
again
typing words
into poems.

i'm afraid that
all this is
a waste of time.
that I read some
poetry somewhere
long ago and
mistakenly believed
that I too could
do that.

but I can't
help it,
these words still
show up
somehow.

even
when they
don't end
well.

Displaying myself for the auction of love, I stand poised in the light of anxiety.
     "we'll start the bidding off at ten dollars, do I hear ten dollars?" cries the auctioneer. I run my hands down the buttons of my shirt making sure it's neat and straight. "come now ladies, surely one of you lovely creatures would trade ten dollars worth of paper and cloth for this tall drink of water! Do I hear ten dollars to start the bidding off?" I use the sweat from my palms to tame my hair down. Scanning the crowd from under his sharply slanted brow the crier retreats a step, "alright, how about five, do I hear five dollars?" I put on my brightest smile, conjuring every ounce of good-heartedness I have in me. The room is silent. No hands go up and it's clear that lowering the price of bid won't change it. The auctioneer bangs his gavel and declares 'no-sale,' then gestures for the staff to remove me from the stage. Two sharply dressed men then lead me to the back for 'processing' where I'm told that 'someone will be along shortly.'
     Behind the door is just an alley with dumpsters and trash bags full of glass bottles. They shove me out with a pat on the back where I land right next to another man dressed just like me, only much older.
     "how long you been waiting, pal?" I ask him as I sweep away the garbage from me.
     "any minute now," he says weezingly.
     "come again?" I say.
     "she's going to turn that corner," he says, raising a brittle finger towards the end of the alley. "I've been expecting her for some time now, but you know how women can be, she's probably just doing her hair." he laughed and it turned into a hard cough.
     "look buddy, I don't think..." I begin, but just then a beautiful woman comes around the corner and starts toward the gentleman caller.
     "ha! I told you, didn't I tell you!", he says through a mostly toothless mouth. "My lady, you are truly a vision, just as lovely as I remember!" he proclaims, holding up a bouquet of long-dead flowers. When she reaches the man she pulls out a pistol from her purse and sends one straight through his flowers and into his chest. He falls back into a bed of garbage bags still holding the flowers, his last smile frozen on his face.
     I look at the woman and she winks at me as she puts her pistol away, turns and walks out of the alley. I stand there for a few moments, processing what just happened. Then I bend down and pick up the dead man's flowers, run my hands down the buttons of my shirt and tame my hair. "Did you see that," I think to myself, "she winked at me!" A smile stretches across my face. "I wonder if she's coming back? Better wait here, just in case."