I loved you so long ago
when my heart was filled
with hope and trust
and had no scars.
Back when tenderness
was all I knew of love.

Even now what is left
undamaged of my heart
still loves you.

You walks softly in the
shambled ruins of my heart
on dark lonely nights.
like a familiar ghost
full of memories
and lingering in
the living world.
Wailing in echoes.

I try to let others
into my heart.
but your jealous
ghost haunts the
night hours
and they
cannot stay.

Alone and lonely
I know you
do not want me
but will not let anyone
else have me.

As hot as...
those eyes when he sees
almost predatory

always do they genuflect
upon their roughened knees  
a sordid kind of scene

obscene / unsanitary
craven cries to Loki
for pleasures
****** writhing /
feeding fists

sweat of the easy / a quickened fix
men with members stiff as petrified
sticks / jabbing in a hastened mix
teeming muscles / hungry hips

like electrified evenings of swollen eels
sustained by suckling Gamorra's ****
fiending always
for the slick and the harsh

crystalline mist / he is undoubtedly marked
by the unquenchable blue fire
of his lust / afflicted addictions,

never will he tire - incessantly
defined by ***'s maledictions

I grow hot like sunlight
bright - even in the darkest mires
he's an unmatched lover in satin flight,
a dragon / a well-endowed sire
formiddable in succulence / remiss of sight

i weep without regret when

once i followed him toward the night
forgot what i was and

accept what i am,
endure in all burning light
fueled by the sword of Pan

love keeps me warm
as he keeps me lit

i am reborn / magnificent
a forlorn phoenix
omniscient  
songs for his careful choir

i am one chosen - truth among liars,
i fly above / kite toward the sun

this is what I am / what i was
this is what i've become

then a willful puppet
without inhibiting wires

still my love will never tire
transformed by lost desires / hot as blue fire

this is who i've become

i am the light of the rising sun

The Lion of kingdom come...

Preacher, don't send me
when I die
to some big ghetto
in the sky
where rats eat cats
of the leopard type
and Sunday brunch
is grits and tripe.

I've known those rats
I've seen them ****
and grits I've had
would make a hill,
or maybe a mountain,
so what I need
from you on Sunday
is a different creed.

Preacher, please don't
promise me
streets of gold
and milk for free.
I stopped all milk
at four years old
and once I'm dead
I won't need gold.

I'd call a place
pure paradise
where families are loyal
and strangers are nice,
where the music is jazz
and the season is fall.
Promise me that
or nothing at all.

I have no name
and have thus
been dubbed
nameless
occasionally sir
sometimes bud or honey
nouns of vague description
for a vague guy.