A Cerulean precipice grows  
wrinkles. Blouses scatter into oblivion.
Rusty chain, in the room with no time.
Tea-kettles antagonize moonlit lovers.
Shotglasses chase, through ghastly cornstalks.
Cascading lights speak incantation.
Flash dance to late night serenades.
Phoenix plumes in Sunday hats.
Laying poolside, argyle splashes.
A magnetic lioness creeps.
Daring glances spread gossamer lies.
Alabaster halls consume infant minds, while
Dusty caps unlock elusive touches.
Black widows drink white wine.
Anise waters drown lycra mermaids.

Black widows drink white wine.
Magnetic lionesses creep, cold and calculating.
Drunken sobs echo, under locked bedroom doors.
As toppled shot-glasses lay, in scattered pools of ***.
Poolside lounge chairs plummet, making argyle splashes,
Coming to rest with cell phones and wallets.
Frigid lake water, antagonizes moonlit lovers.
Daring glances spread gossamer lies, unlocking elusive touches.
These alabaster halls consume infant minds, yet
Not tonight.

Ride the wave, the wind roared.
Sinking little with each footstep.  
I wander the beach.  
Finding myself lost amongst thoughts.  
Only the breaking waves provide a beacon.

Slowly the waves mount attack.
Grasping, they pull from shore.
Larger and larger they grow.
Too much to handle.
Capsize.

The waves embrace, pulls, deep down,
Smothering. I find myself lost.
Slowly choking away my life force.
Straining to keep sanity,
I push to the brink.

The rumble of the swash,
signals the nearing shore.
A newfound sense of security,
the beach.
Peace and Serenity.

Do you remember those walks,
those windswept fall days.
Miles spent like pocket change.
Even when we had forsaken, one another.
Those walks that seem, eons ago.
Those walks that I still take.
Those walks shattered innocence.

The
Soul is
Not even
Real. A man-made
Convention from fear.
Just as religion and divinity,
Are works of fiction. For god is already dead.

The acrid smell of aged *****, lingers
As I stare drearily out my bedroom window.
I contemplate antiquated men in Smokey backrooms,
Spinning and weaving the most brilliant lie,
Which has ever been conceived.

Hello bygone
love. By the turbulent river reminds me
Of you an I on our
Walks. Down town yesterday
I ate a lonely lunch at
That quaint corner Café.
Where we had our first
exchange. Cards age in forgotten
Boxes.  In the winter
We drank fire
-side. Huddled To keep
warm. And the sticky summer
nights. Where no sleep occurred.

Dear Love of my Life
Your warmness gives me
Life.  I have so enjoyed
The time that we have spent.
Yet, the death of each leaf, reminds
it is fall and I must soon
Depart.  Do not fret my dear
For I will return to you.  For
You, my love will never die.