In the fog of mornings
and twice closed eyes
my dreams spelled you.
All the pain of reality
had been lifted from your face
your smile shone like diamonds
in that quick to disappear dream.
At least here you're happy
those narrow moments
where the world can't touch you
of course
neither can I.

The rain like rubber bullets on brittle glass.
Everything is broken up in the light
and hissing
slithers serpent like
to the city's sunken sewer.
All the ticks of this season fade together.
One drop at a time
the air is cleaned
and the memories we find in it
have all washed away.
The rainbows of oil slick streets
run pitted up rolling hills
and I found my *** of gold:
all those moments of memory
under the pines dripping gin stink serenade.
I swam in the streams that trickled down your lips
the hum of heaving skies
blocked out the world
leaving only our warmth
as salvation.

The slow serenade of time.
The subtle spin of the clock’s tireless hands.
In endless cycles
she dances out the destitute rhythm of days.
I'll weave you a web of words
the seconds bouncing on its brittle strands.
This life is tiresome
with rusty claws I'll change my fiction face.
Hung up by rope in the shed
I'll use my bare bone canvas to make something new
someone better.
Those starving tree moored beasts
I'll hide in the rustling leaves, haunches raised for the pounce.
I want to have no perception of time
a man of madness, melancholy, impulse and innocence.
Raise your cups high
toast to everything you ever had.
Toast to life
*I'll drink to never knowing it.

Baby, aren't I pretty, in that tortured kind of way?
Don't these dark circles under my eyes add something?
A little sense of mystery? A taste of poetic desperation?
Baby, don’t you love to play with this mane of dirt blonde hair?
It’s a marvel of half-wit curls, don’t you think?
And don’t I have the bluest ocean eyes?
Not quite Liz Taylor, more the polluted Toronto lakeshore
But doesn't this wide face have so much character?
Like a 1950's housewife, you sometimes said

Tell me baby, aren’t I pretty, a real sight for sore eyes?
A little bit pretty, a little bit ugly
Don’t I match with my insides?

To Death and You, the terrible two:

Can you feel your grip loosening around my neck?
Can you feel me getting lighter, smarter, farther all the time?
Can you feel my heartbeat finding its own pace,
Not matching yours, as it did before?

Can you feel me slipping into
Happiness    for a change?

We were once a Sisyphean process
Low ups and lower downs
We once were endless
Or so we thought

Can you feel my lightness overcoming your dark?
No longer in the shadows of the consuming unlit?
Do you think it’s true, what they say?
Do we not know what we have    until it’s gone?
I think so, not so much for you as for me
I didn’t know how much you held me down
Until I sailed the skies of the blissful unknown

This is one last hoorah for the lowest of lows
One last note to those I leave behind in the dark
One last toast to Death and You, my all-consuming terrible two

Late night
My brain is the most fluid
Sorry darling,
I don't hate the bed
I am in love with poetry
and poetry is loving me
my fingers keep pressing the alphabets
on the computer keyboard
to form magical words, phrases, sentences
till magic is created
another poetry is done....

The world may say you are not here
But you are here and here only
You never really left my side
Even now you are holding my hand
In every paths , no matter where
You are always watching me
smiling at me, talking to me
You are there, here,
in fact everywhere
Where I go I will find you
You are here
You are here and here only

She met a stranger
Took the offer for a ride
Stopped for a couple of drinks
at a really cheap bar
over a plate of a free meal
her modesty was stripped,
didn't  seem to care
too much alcohol
drugs overdosed
stranger upon stranger
cut her open
her dignity on her feet
life is too cheap
for a lady like her
who just wanted to be called
nothing but  a "CHICK".