I do not write about the joys of life
Or the calm and gentle quiet of nature.
There is too much faked joy in the world.

I do not write about love and loss.
I dare not tug at the fragile threads
That bind old wounds in rememberance.

I do not write about worldly truths
And the fallacies that we are often told.
I have forgotten them ― outgrown.

I do not write about my thoughts
For fear that I cannot find the words to fit
And that my mind will soon consume me.

I do not write ― I bleed.

Here early looking through the news:
the mountain plane crash,
the arabic voodoo,
the red and blue men saluting arguments.

What is missing that is new?
New spring leaves on flowering scented pear tree,
new age spot on sagging skin.

What is truly old?
Things grievous falling from sky;
alarming cries about civilization's ruin;
plunging sharp items into people
to squirt blood in boyish delight;
roots of spry pear tree
summoning life into sky.

i've got a humming bird heart
that flutters back and forth
whenever it's startled by
loves slightest noise

fancy's itself
as being free
but is always drawn back
to it's basic needs

this humming bird heart
flutters back and forth
always in search of
what it does not know

if it does not know
what it does not have
then how long can this
humming bird heart last

i've got a humming bird heart
that fly's on the wind
most times settles on nothing
then fly's off again

this humming bird heart
all it want's is to feed
from one point to another
and all points in between

taking for granted
the sweetness it craves
this humming bird heart
gives so much away

Dark-eyed poet
in the long night
come and burn
your time with me
let's set our whole lives
on fire tonight
and breathe each other's
smoking dreams..

I believed a life of solitude would suit me
and mostly it has suited me a treat
but when my tongue is bitten raw
in the company of others
I feel so ******* lonely
I could weep
.

the roles people play
cosmetic tunic, armor and robe
in cerebral dungeons delay
and physical dragons slay

pursuing love's elusive Yahtzee
flowers, candy and ethereal prince
show the smile, hide the ****
intensely adore, joie de vivre

blessed are those whose heart and eyes
see us for who we are
the stage, the act be circumsized
undressed relationships the prize

the wind is reading
Aldous Huxley's ISLAND
dropped among the hollyhocks

the wind speed reads
skips entire sections
a fat fly walks over the title

an obese raindrop falls
upon the author's name then
another & another &. . .

ISLAND
turns to mulch
raindrops batter the book

it comes apart
at his touch
islands of words remain

"...two thirds of all sorrow
is homemade and so far
as the universe is concerned..."

the rest is lost
but he can fulfil the words
". . . unnecessary. . ."

now here at your grave
my fingertips trace
the curves of your name

as a lover might
trace the taut
muscles of a back

a ladybird pauses on
the H of Huxley
as if learning its letters

their metal inlay
glinting in the sun
"...it isn't a matter of forgetting..."

your words scattered
across the years
"...what one has to remember is..."

"...how to remember and yet
be free of

the past..."

I still grieve my lost book
eaten by the weather but
glowing in my mind

I laugh and tell your grave
"Give us this day our
Daily Faith but...

...deliver us
Dear God
from Belief."

“I have loved you so much that I believe I understand you a little.”
Marcel Proust

we are wearing our glowing skins
full of unwoven whispers
or au contraire
we’ll have worn them
-who knows
in poetry, not in theory,
anything is possible-

one of us could say
“take this animal
out of my eyes, teeth, bones
for wild flowers
to grow in my sockets”
and I’ll say:
“for my eyelids to rest
in the shadow of your breath
and my vertigo, indigo
in the nest of your palm"

-words are just riverbeds-

see you - the sea in me
at the echo point
of blood

I’ll wear rivers
lipstick
bluebirds

in this poem of touching
every cell is spinning
its nucleus of *numinosum
while the day breaks open
into the heart of trees

-words are stones of silence,
unintelligible altars-

I was in love
with a vertigo man
last time I checked

blood has its madness