Dead inside, like a soft shell sun
drinking Lethe and ghosts
and frozen crumbs.
A polished gone.... where I used to be.
The Lack and the Fall
and the Irony.

from a eulogy, by a poet, of a poet:

she rewinds the years for the dead

to a time he sat around a campfire with the ancient ones, singing,

"old songs written by broken men in love with their own vanishing nature..."

and it hits me, I am now among their ranks

proudly proclaiming, I am Natan Lupan, the grey wolf

yet seeing more a shivering coyote in morning's mirror

no noble howl to greet the day, but scripting what I will say,

to a world of faces, without whose feigned graces,
I would be put out to pasture

they see the white beard, the thinning mane, and wonder why I am still among them

then they decide where to go to lunch

without me, but I do not lament this loss

broken sons, long lost lovers, buried friends, and a Medicare card trump such trivial slights

they know nothing of my pitiable past

nor do they care--they weren't there
when my Elysian dreams and grandiose schemes
were born, and died

now a darkness approaches, and I fear I face it alone

though a borrowed line reminds me,
others have been there before...

sitting around a fire in the night,
mesmerized by flames that flap gold wings for short flight, then become red embers when men take sleep

when morning's cold ashes are lifted by the wind, I hope the songs we sang will be their celestial waltz

gone missing are
the many things
and all the world
endures.
whatever rabbits
have been misplaced
will find a hole
in a mirror.

the brass tacks have hit the mat
encased in melting candle wax
from a candle on the floor
in the darkest room
in the house.

there might be a way to look at that
and not go mad
when you know what it means... you're -
Never prepared for That.



struck blind in the eye inside,
you could almost die
and you want too.
when a light goes out,
and you're plagued with doubt
and you don't do things...
because Why?
and Icebergs are known
to roam these waters
for real.

this is so
real.
this is so
real.

love is how you feel it.
love is what you do.
love is the reason to live
when love has abandoned 
you... it's so cruel the way it strikes
and the way it departs 
the way i never knew you
and i never thought
my soul would ever suffer
for Her Art 
i never had a clue 
till it was gone 
till everything right
went so terribly wrong
till i found myself on a ledge
in the dark
i saw the truth. 
and that's how i got this scar
it softens the blow no less
it tramples every
flower bed
it crushes everything like a god
love is the loneliness 
of the lucky ones

and no one ever tells you from the start
they just let you fall 
and watch your parachute 
be nothing but a rock 
on a rope,
but that's not even -
the joke

then it hits you like a ton of bricks
and just for kicks
it kicks you when your down
and your lost. and now 
your hard

All Because
Love never had
a heart.
never had skin the game
that you loss.
never apologized
for the hole in your life
that was left behind
when the light left you
for another man 
and a lie 

and you keep asking  why ?
and way down deep inside
you wish you knew
that love has lost it's mind
and never had a heart

till your love went blind
and you had your heart -
removed.

i walked all around the grounds
and found some angry worms and such.
i poked in the weeds and slept on a frozen log -
i chose to abandon a part of me
that was all for you.
but your **** candle lit darker things
of which i had plenty
truth.

just in case you didn't get me nuthin'
with Mercury in retrograde, and your lover
gone from the map.
it says " Here, there be Dragons "
and wither you go -
the pain will follow
like a burr
in a snowflake
on fire.

let me tell you
humiliation is a spice
in a dish served cold.
let me show you to my Parlor
of Yesterday's
fresh hells.

and tell our friends.
they'll all be there
denying.

the radio waves purr over the terrain.
something like Nevada, but with fewer curses.
there are bones exposed in the desert
that speak to the fact that there will always
be bones.

so we have to gather our things
and tremble.
or dash when lightning strike
shatters the moon
we made our wishes
by.

i can feel the light burning out -
a mile from it... smell the petunia's " Goodbye, and Luck too Ya "
i swear my mind is coming apart
to find something.... but there lies the truth
and it's ruthless for certain !

i feel like one of those houses you come too
and tell all your friends that it's haunted
and i dare you to stay there overnight
just climb through the broken windows
and pray for your life.

it's those home spun agonies
that rip through your heart like the wind through the trees
if the wind had a heart that loved another
then it follows that the trees
are cut down
all the way down
all the way
down.

you were human again. i just sat there
and watched you.

i watched you forever and ever.

that moment was a coil in the undertow
made of light and perfect anguish... the mother of all loss
and the triumphant stride out of the dark !
you had mad curls in my eyes, bedazzled by your canny
arrival, all of a piece but not peaceful.... struggling with
the dark side of Beauty, as it pertains to your specific
emotional default.

you were splendid.

dead doe on the baked prairie grass,
buzzards circling overhead

we're in lawn chairs, downing Buds,
waiting for the feeding to begin

but Donny is impatient, expecting
the birds to dine on his schedule

NOW, this very second, while they
are riding the currents above

watching, waiting to see if we move
closer to our ****

Donny curses them: **** dumb
birds, I shot that deer for you

he shoots at the kettle, but they continue
long loops, unperturbed

Donny again cusses the buzzards
and shoots the doe again

as if killing her twice will hasten
the descent of the birds

Donny complains sweat is stinging
his eyes

he pours the last of our water over
his head and removes his shirt

near sundown we are out of beer
and Donny is asleep

one by one the birds land, until the wake
is feasting before me

talons, beaks at work, tugging, tearing;
the eyes the appetizers it seems

I don't wake Donny, though I know he will be mad
for missing this meal

hungry as he was for a blood mass, but,
I'll let my brother sleep

while the shadows of skillful sculptors  
grow longer on the plain

and the fawn becomes a crimson work
of art Donny would never appreciate

It's not from first or last,
or memories of pain from past.
It's when you can love again,
but you just chose not to.
When you think attraction slowly fades,
worst heartbreak is feelings left unsaid.

it was like a Saturday had come from Mars
and plopped smack dab in the middle of Monday...
a cool breeze was roasting in the canopy
and far off clouds, seethed with impending
but failed to cross the Rubicon of whatever vector of sunshine
had found us naked in the afternoon.
it was glorious.

and gone too soon.

Oh, how carefully you chrysanthemum
and parlay with whalesong and surgically remove.
you think of summer as a day, and swing from chandeliers
too brazen for prime-time, and too often brilliant.
you caterwaul at the gods like a pinch of rain
in voluminous hush.
i've seen you halt
while spinning
and thought you
remarkable.

and now.

i feel
the
same.