We drown in fragrant fluids
of the flesh
A gasp...A sigh...The little death
A silent hand strokes back our breath

No longer strangers...eye to eye
Our limbs entwined
A moment longer
And then...

Shameless moon
blind white
motionless climbs
above a sleeve-worn stone

Limb by naked limb
night -entangled trees
release queer shadows
on bare bone
distorting memory
and the tainted foliage



KMC @ 2011

within this span
of fleeting time
i weigh the marrow
in your bones
exalting courage
most of all
i see your steps
from dawn to dawn

rich or poor
i watch you pass
black, white or tan
i do the same
let mankind know
my door swings wide
let anyone
enrich their name

though i am proud
to see you grow
i must require
that you fulfill
one vanity
that i may know
you seek me out
with fervent will


Copyright Louis Brown

It's funny feeling lonesome here beside you
Side by side where we've loved so many times
It's hard to understand
Has love played out its hand.....
Goodbye is written softly in your eyes

Remember the night we shared our first warm kisses
I thought I heard forever in your sighs
All this time by your side
I didn't notice when it died....
Goodbye is written softly in your eyes

          While I told my friends that you were meant for me
          I was less than you thought obviously
          And it breaks my heart to see you start
          To search each stranger's smile.....
          Goodbye is written softly in your eyes

But that's just you--I know you hate to hurt me
You'd rather tell another gentle lie
You think it's still your secret
Oh baby, you can't keep it.....
Goodbye is written softly in your eyes


Copyright Louis Brown and Bob Killen

From a song by Louis Brown and Bob Killen

Folk with the real Scots,
guttural and glorious,
know me for the cushion-mouthed patsy I am

I can no more ape
that lyrical brilliance
than I can do a Grappeli on the fiddle
or tickle the keys Theloniously

And when I see
a lounge-room spaniel
howling feebly at the moon
frustrated wolf-blood
squirting through its scrawny veins

I know
exactly
how it feels.

blunt tips of bent cigarettes
were incisive as razors -
sliced wrists weeping
bright red sentences,
spattered unborn to blank paper
and turned into statues
so the dead would always remember
what they did,
never safe in the graves
in which they'd took refuge

but blue on blue
was ever her color;
blue on blues
seeping from old sins,
deep, hidden within spidery veins
that traced pale, soft *******,
finally filling mute lips as she slept,
subsumed in oceans of color,
blues that gave stories, as waves to shore
subsided, reclaiming their pain,
and cleansed sand once more

What end to life!
a collection of furies like stone turtles
arranged on the mantle -
just a few dozen last words
tucked among ads for
Old Spice and Polident tabs
unread, used to line
litter boxes in Cambridge
or wrap fresh fish at Hay Market;

then, someone pausing to wave at the sky
missed saving the drowning woman
by years, if he'd tried,
finding questions in every answer;
child curled in hard lap of his mother,
her cold affections of words
blew from dead lips like old wishes
without tender touch or wet kisses;
but that life continued,
if lived only blue on blue

The spinning of the Earth is never interrupted
for anyone.  
Although, faces of men whisper of experience
between ideas that come undone.

Deep questions slide into all we know to be,
step right in.
Yet, we do not hesitate to look away,
when their hours begin.

Looking back at the summer of our lives,
were we supposed to hold hands?
Perhaps we never tried, or merely gave up
in the end.

Just another minute or two tries not too smile
when reading what’s been said.
We wait for justice, and then roll over
playing dead.

Settling in, we do not mention lessons
learned from each moment.
Is this not a step towards
what lies underneath our torment?

Are we running out of time and a foot behind,
because we do not care?
Do we only commit to that which comforts
our own air?

Sometimes I doubt if we closed our eyes for a second
we would see the entire picture,
perhaps because, we refuse to see ourselves
as we are,
Imperfect Creatures.

Have you ever held your hand still
Just above a river’s passing water
Liquid rushing by reaching for your skin
Jumping up; eager to commune with you
Beckoning you to dip a finger in

I always go back to that thought,
Those pins are in my bag,
"Out of sight,out of mind"
What Lies,
I think about them,
Think about how it hurts to see them rigidly run across my skin,
Occasionally making me bleed,
But the release,
It's the only thing that makes me feel less alone,
Because right now,
I have no one to depend on,
I'm on my own,
Yet not at all,
Still trapped at home,
Still thinking about that past,
Thinking about all the good that leads me to the bad,
and just wanting those pins across my skin,
But just wanting with everything I am to hold on and stay strong,
But I'm scared I don't have it in me.