I cant bare
not loving you,
it drives me positively mad.
So sometimes I make myself
believe I never stopped.
That you were here
beautiful as sunlight,
the perfect sunny day , ruined
by the inevitable rain .

Childhood, far too short
in my opinion
At what point does a person
Put away childish things
And dreams
Store them in crates and boxes
Memories to look upon
But never understood again
Never am I more envious
of a child then now ,
while I put away childish things

You took the breath
snatched from my open mouth
fortified my dreams
with your easy sense of peace
wisdom watered down with youth
in utter sympathy
you loved what I believed
was unlovable.

Home
is where rain falls
sweet tears of her's ,
everlasting rain.

Home
is where green is all you see
Blood of mine ,
so green.

Home
is where one scent is held
perfume of her's ,
Never ending love.

                                    Home , Her

Rome burned
in a red iridescence
the houses burned
as did the ruins
And everything seemed perfect.
For Rome burned
in sunlight
and reminded us
of everything we were
and promised
to us
everything we will be

C'EST PRESQU'AU BOUT DU MONDE..."
( IT WAS ALMOST TO THE END OF THE WORLD )

She believed that
deep deep inside her

the flame of a femme fatale
burned brightly.

Could imagine herself stepping out of
some classic Film Noir.

Cultivated herself
to look like Marie Windsor

opposite the dangerously gorgeous
John Garfield.

But her life it seemed had her
stepping into an Edward Hopper.

The isolation and the paint
still wet.

The lonely lady
glimpsed in an hotel window

from a passing train
autumnal rain.

Still she acted always as if
she was in her own movie l

walking around  her tiny flat
naked

except for red stilettos
red earrings...red lipstick.

Making up her own snappy lines
to some imaginary leading man.

"Are you decent?"
"Yes""

"But you're....you're naked!"
"You only asked if I was decent!"

The mirror laughed
catching the reflection of who

she could have been
given half the chance.

She never
stood a chance.

She threw a cigarette up in the air
caught it between her lips

her one and only
party trick.

Lit or unlit.
Searching for middle C

on a battered piano
her mind off key

abandoning it
the piano's yellow smile.

She watched the sunlight
carve a block of time

out of the dividing wall.
fading the wallpaper roses.

The bed that was always
empty...always unmade.

She danced to Weill's
Youkali Tango.

Put it on again...again.
Scratching an already scratched record.

The needle gathering fluff.
The porcelain milkmaid...dust.

She disliked the way sweat
gathered under her *******.

They were always a little too large.
Hated men staring so hard.

Ahhhh the faded romance
a sunset heart attack.

Couldn't have wrote
herself a better script.

Staggering in her dance
gasping that all too unsubstantial

air as if trying to
catch time

the presentpastfuture
falling out of her hand.

The wooden acorn
of the tattered blind

tapping against
the ***** window pane.

Neon going green.
Then red.

Now blue.
And then green again.