In the midst of a
misty gray afternoon
stood a tall man
black hat
long coat
He was alone.

Hands cupped a spark of fire,
parted in a cloud
of smoke
a slow drag
exhalation

He looked familiar

I think I loved you most the winter your heating was broken
And we’d stay inside all morning
Pretending to complain that we couldn’t get out of bed
Our clothes becoming little islands on the floor,
Ones that we could not quite find the courage to visit

Your hand stayed glued to my hip,
Your breath warming my shoulder
Like a long drag of whiskey
That kind that had a home so far away,
In a glass bottle on top of your refrigerator.
The one that would not be opened
Until that fateful day in February,
When everything went wrong

And on that unbearable night
When you joked that you’d freeze to death if I left you
There was a long silence
Like it might be true.

Now it’s warm enough
That I show too much skin when sitting in bars
And you avoid me like the plague,
Whispering in any girl’s ear that’s near to you
Every time you see me watching out of the corner of your eye

We should have stayed inside when the ice began to melt
Because I think
When those doors opened and we finally ventured outside
The world had changed,
And so had you and I.

a clear creek trickles
a dead limb reaches towards heaven
questions sparkle
like mirrors
upon a barren limb
as the process of life continues
cold
         and thoroughly numb
                             as                   breath               returns
as the breeze
      picks up cadence
                                     again
   and comes my way one more leaf.
and one more
                                        Sun.

Love silent, falls
it touches soft, invisibly floats
unseen by the scope of eyes
comes brushing by, or comes in a down pouring,
wet washing the soul, unwavering, wordless it unfolds
travels most rugged terrain, smooths the way
there is no season for its efflorescence
it sits, a silent bud, any moment to flower
always we know it's fragrance
it is the way, the path
a flitting, ethereal flower
one, that we can never grasp

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

if a ****** can hallucinate
a creation that is seemingly
real down to all five senses
and the others around him
cannot see, is he insane?

i am no ******
but the things that are seemingly
real down to all five senses
that are not my creation
and others around me can see
don't always feel real


i  don't think
our reality is
any more real
if the guy next to me
was capable of
creating something so
real seeming
with only his head
i think
it's all
in our
heads