studied dispassion,
go about
the roundabout
of practiced ordinary living,
fully aware,
there are no open exits
currently available,
leading back to when,
all exits
led only bright forward

consensual distance
spaces tween
registered vehicles
but no longer
registering bodies,
legally maintained,
by all
outward appearances,
minor kisses
in a habitual habitat,
perfunctory
of the functionary,
"I love you's"
traded before
shutting off the
permanence of the
finale of the
now dimmed bedroom light

diminution
by the minute,
covertly clarifying
the ex-mission critical,
cutthroat ended
by consensual distances,
silent no speaking
empty spaces that
cannot be closed,
or
dispossessed disposed,
the sensual, desensitized

been down this
slow mo lazy path,
to slow ruin
before
the quick road to
The End

the questions
air hung but
unasked,
the words
unspoken,
they,
the ultimate
****** weapons
inevitably found,
getting at long last
a final hearing,
judgement reached
at the
reenacted scene
the finale resting place,
the grave of spaces,
consensual spaces,
the gulf of no love,
the pre-partum dénouement

Winter is not death.
There are footprints,
Cardinals and chicadees,
Neighbours cursing,
Tires spinning
Like Catherine wheels.
Whiteness is not a shroud
Waiting to be unwrapped
At Easter.
Winter is not death.

I've been in the room
Where no one thought
To close his mouth;
Tongue rolled back
Exposing a cavern
With white stones
At the mouth.
Still eyes, cracks of eternity;
Stiff body like Pompeii,
Frozen like winter,
But not winter.
No slippers on blue feet,
No swallows flying
Out of the mouth.
No,
Winter is not death.

There's a forest
inside her
as thick as
the night
and no-one
to guide her
and no
guiding light
no-one
to remind her
that just
out of sight
is a path
she could make
of her own
so she waits
and she ages
like stone...

Don't cut out my paper heart
I'm not dead just yet

Take a look at my eye's full of fire
Never trust a filthy liar

Slipping into the *****
Singing the blues

All dressed for that special day
Yet I keep tripping on the news

I say that I'm not myself
But I'm not dead and I'm not for sale

So keep your bankroll lottery
Eat your salad days deathbed motorcade

You fake the heat and scratch the itch
With your skinned up knees and salty lips

I won't breathe your vick's vapor life
I cringe when you all purge alike

It's only getting harder to hold onto
Yet one more trip and I'll be gone

So I'll keep my head up
While you try to keep my life down

Take a breath and make it big
It's the last you'll ever get

Break your neck with that diamond noose
It's your last chance will you ever choose

Nobody will be my master
Soul searching is quite the notion

So just let me be

Architecturally a fraud
A patchwork of resilience
And stern indefatigability.

The serpentine
Hissed wit
Whip keen,
Quick as mean,
Flicked tongue
At open sores.
He fancied himself clever;
Surveyed with
Cold red eyes,
Called no one
His better:
This Master of deception.
Others never
Felt the lash,
The cat-tailed snap
Of lips that cracked
A child's
Self-perception.

I love my duty
As much as
I love my beauty
I love poetry
As much as
I love pantry
I love my country
As much as
I love currency
I love you
As much as
You love me

What if you slept
And what if
In your sleep
You dreamed
And what if
In your dream
You went to Heaven
And there you plucked a strange and beautiful flower
And what if
When you awoke
You had that flower in your hand
What then?