Come unto me once more,
read poetry in our laps until we have both fallen asleep.
The hum of flowery language on the tongue
the feeling of fear in our chests
the blatant avoidance in breathing that slows
to a rest.
The terror in wonder of
what are we doing?
What will we do?
In the end.
The end being a few short days away,
after comfort has seeped into our bones
the feeling of your skin pressed against mine almost becomes normalcy.
I wish
I wish the end didn't come
the way a child clings to the safety of young
but the inevitability of time
that brings trains and coffee in the rain and trying not to cry on the way home
is a cruel reminder that time is not a concept,
but a reality.
Writing letters in the mist of bus windows,
once more
I let the condensation leak into my heart,
the droplets frozen in january air.
They'll remain, solidified
serving to leave me blind
until I see you again.
And then, they'll fall.
Once more,
water down the windows.
Once more,
kiss your cheeks
the disappearance of past weeks
and condensation
and contrived nonchalance,
souvenirs of distance washed away
once more.
Once more we'll lie in each others laps with the honesty of poetry in the air
in your stare,
in the non-existent space
between us.

. . . go out into the evening,
    leaving your room, of which you know each bit,
    your house is the last before the infinite, . . .
    (from Rainer Maria Rilke's "Eingang", MacIntyre translation)
  
The light which strikes my retina
as I look at the Great Galaxy in Andromeda
left there two million years ago.
(Hominids made tools from stone then, but had not yet    
    learned the use of fire.
Genetic material from certain of these hominids has been passed
from one being to another and now is in my own body.)
  
Millennia from now, humans who have
colonized the farthest reaches of our galaxy,
laboriously creating and maintaining Earth-like atmospheres,
will marvel that there once was a place so perfectly suited to
    human life
that such labor was unnecessary. (Just as we marvel that orchids,
whose precise temperature and humidity requirements would seem to necessitate a greenhouse, grow wild in the Amazon.)
  
I cannot believe in a personal God,
intervening in human affairs, but stand in awe
of the terrible force which set the stars and galaxies in motion
--strewing them like so much confetti--;
the life-force running through each living creature,                                              
as straight and true as a ray of light from that galaxy in Andromeda,
willing us to live, grow and be fruitful.

It seems forever and a time ago.
Since I felt, this sinister darkness
Haunt my bones, insidiously ethereal.
Outgrown, and overshadowed but,
Only temporary was the night.

In a search for self, after voiceless screams
Bled their emptiness into any word muttered.
Perhaps, I was fooled into the harmony
That this evil muse had whispered.
Her hast soul shattering tune.

Forewarned in foreshadows, nightmare's gleam.
The stability of my present, was the demise
Of my former. And I fade into the black.
A pale silhouette in the story of character
Marionette to this mutineer.

-on a contemporary religion: https://youtu.be/FDZmTXkwcNA

Kneel in the sun, count your money
Clutch 'm for the summer breeze
Hotter than hell is counting your money
While greenback devils grin from the trees

Let a hailstorm touch the roof's gutter
Like piano keys hit by a fool
Now you hear what you want to hear
Casino's cash machines finally deliver

Let the days disappear forever
Let the night get as dark as can be
There is a shiny silver dollar there
Beaming mercilessly at you and me

Right about when you'd think it'll fade,
Underestimating the darkness you face,
Black will always be the new black!
Blacker and deeper than what is before!
Insolent boy, do you not know of yourself?
Stop telling yourself ****!
Hope won't make you stronger!

Ride your way to oblivion!
Ubiquity would be your word!
Blasting word after word,
Blasting statement after statement.
Is this what you say is truth?
Speak up now, then!
Hesitating now would only lead you to suffocation!

Realize the visions in your real eyes!
Undress the lies you wear!
Blot out what you want to scream!
Belittle the fears you possess!
Instigate the light to your plea!
Stand up and be your own guardian!
Hold on to your sword!

Read between my lines, for once.
Under these horrific words,
Blight truly manifests.
Blooming be what you see,
I beg to differ what is real.
Stars may glitter the skies,
Havoc can they cause when they fall.

Rotting is the thought that reeks,
Ugly scars protrude from the beauty,
Break the walls and you'll see,
Bring curiosity into reality.
Ill is my mind with  everything,
Still, yes, but with nothing,
Hellbent are my gestures.

Reap me,
Untangle me,
Blow away the bad gusts,
Build me up again.
Iterate your soothe,
Stay by my side.
*Heightened false hope, again.

have you ever been wondering
how death tastes
right now?

I've been dancing
with the ghost
of you
I've been dreaming
of the past,
it's true
Now I'm thinking
of the present,
today
But you wished it
to hell and all
away

he sits on the curb
all twelve years of him,
waiting to be a teen

when he'll have to pay
adult price for a movie ticket
or bus pass

he usually has no cash
for either; but wishing and waiting
are art forms to him

he's learned to move
the brush of time slowly on life's palette
while he watches others whizzing by

on their store-bought skateboards
and Huffy ten speed bikes, while he has
only one gear for two feet

which now are clad in Keds
from the thrift store, and planted
firmly on the cement

by the drain gutter,  where he
last saw his favorite possession, a Super Ball,
get ****** into the sewer

when the storm ended, he yanked
off the manhole cover and crawled into
the dark, but the ball was gone forever

when he came back into the street,
yet lamenting his round loss, more boys
on bikes buzzed by

their circles safely spinning
on asphalt, far from the gutter and curb where
he once again sat--wishing, waiting

Baltimore, 1965