I absorbed,
Blotted misery,
Lapped with eyes,
Soaked-up transgressions,
Mopped-up history,
Was steeped in trials,
Ingested triumphs,
And truly assimilated.
But the ground is saturated,
My prints fill
With the brine
Squeezed out.
I am the salt on the earth,
Parched and cracked.
You preferred candyfloss;
I dripped the last drop.

Dylan is dead.
no, not Bob, you Philistine,
Dylan Thomas who implored us
to rage against the night;
so are a passel of poets
and penners, but not I

Emily heard her fly buzz,
well before her eyes shut; she
was a wee bit obsessed
with the reaper

Hemingway's also a goner;
guts enough to shove a shotgun
in his mouth--mostly I wonder if
he tasted blue gunmetal like I did,
and who cleaned his brains
off the wall?

nobody had to clean a red dollop
of mine, for the firing pin was askew
and all I got was a click, and a sense of shame,
and impotence more flaccid than
the one which put the barrel
in my mouth

hell, how hard is it
to **** yourself--I guess harder
than I thought, since I never bought
another rifle

so Dylan is dead
Em and Hem too, but you
are reading these lines without
contemplating your own demise
I suspect

after all, it's early spring
and a time of new things
clawing their way into the light
thinking nothing of the terminal
night -- but it's just a sun dip away:
ask Dylan or Hemingway, or even JFK
but I wouldn't bother the Belle
of Amherst

she would make parting
sweeter than sorrow, and she
never tasted the cold lead, or spoke
with fear or dread of the dumb
and the dead

she never murdered
men in black pajamas  
in a forest primeval...

I didn't see their spirits
ascending, in ribbons of light,
only rivers of their red blood
soaking the green ground,
yet today ravenous
for more it seems

why would she rage
against the good night, when
her carriage waited patiently for her,
and immortality, her vessel bound
for a light Dylan and I
will never see

Piece by guarded piece,
My heart that had been tethered
And tossed into the depths of the tides,
Ascended to the surface
And joined yours to watch the moonlight.

The warmth of your touch,
And the soothing sound of your beating heart
Claimed me.

Every smile that graced your lips
And each time you tenderly took my hand,
You unlocked something buried.

Then suddenly,
You became a stranger.

With eyes,
the very hue of water,
I'll never drown in
Skin,
the tint of earth
Hair, as soft
as a mermaids voice
That my kind,
will never
in a million millennia
lay pale flesh upon
Heaven,
embodied within a China doll,
behind carnival glass
Pure as heavens own tears
Sinful,
as the way the sea,
lusts for sandy shores
Lacking,
as eternity's knowledge is
to newly borne mortality

I weep red
for that
Never known.

He,
the boy China doll
with lake coloured eyes.

Her body perfectly blends in
with the night,
merely a silhouette,
her beauty accentuated
by the lack of light.
And though I have tried,
the earth has crawled
into her tiny bones,
the dirt has gotten
inside her fingernails,
and they have pinned
all their compliments onto her,
but I know when I'm gone,
she won't bleed with me.
Oh how can no one see
she'll no longer be a part of me,
how can anyone expect me
to be nostalgic
when I can't even feel
the sting of her golden days
where I bathed in the sun's rays.
I have suffocated her
and peaceful nights are now
but a blur,
and that is how you want me;
*on fire, stoic, dangerous.