Jigsaw puzzle of greenery, the trees
Nestle next to each in the
slicing sideways light of sunset.
The yard in the back is filled with it,
Filled with the late late summer side slant
of sun,
The plastic Adirondack chairs, left, as we left them,
Me, looking at you, maybe my feet
in your lap...
No, it wasn’t us that set them ajar.
The one time we sat there, your discomfort
Grated on my tranquil storybook
Vision, of us sitting
in the sun,
Drinking,
The Wine,
so we went inside.

Now I see them, those pretend plastic,
Pale blue, light blue to match
The house,
chairs of ease,
One chair looking at the other, while
the other stares off into
Space.
We meant to build a fire that
Summer, a fire pit
evening of
Romance.
But, I saw your dis-ease.
Was it the heat? The drone
of the bugs?
The chance of a gnat,
Landing in your
drink?
 
Or was it,…something
Different.
Something not found
in the sideways slant of
cooling air.
Was it, something
else, off
in that horizon,
Blocked
by the pale blue, the light
Blue house.
Something,
cutting your sight
Off
from the road.

It must have been, because, you said
Goodbye, several times
That summer.  A nod, a
kiss, and you were
Off,
in your mind,
because you never
left, but sat in your uncomfortable
Sadness of not
Belonging here, or
Where you thought;
Wistful plans set,  a
Blaze, not by
Midnight cords of wood
in a pile among the
Rocks,
Set ablaze by whimsy,
A promise,  not
Promise.
 
So, we sat that summer,
and watched the flowers in the
pots bloom,
and the rains carry one
away,
And the gnats gnatting
as gnats do,
Cannon balling into pinot,
taking  up
Residence, in that
Pale blue, light blue
house
With plastic mountain
Chairs
On the lawn.

Those chairs,
Those, Adirondack chairs
Still sit, still sit askew, still
sit, in the slanting light,
Still sit, waiting,
as I do,
For a time
Things, will be right
with the
World.
We must get, to
the other side, of
That Summer.
Let the snow pile high,
on those Chairs,
Get to, the whimsy, and
the Promise.
Watch down the
road, for a time to
travel, and not sit,
in uncomfortable
Sadness,
Askew in plastic
Chairs.

Sun dots the oak canals of
His skin.
The branches wander,
Speaking to their neighbor,
They are all up in the Elm’s height,
Who is busy reaching for the sky.
Hello the sun, pokes through,
Coloring the trunk in grey highlights,
The brown gone ashen with age,
With time,
A long time stood, with small
Flowering beings at its base
Sheltered from the
Hello sun.
Picking up light from the
Sideway rays of late
Afternoon in June,
His skin feels the
Newness fading to summer
As July stills the breezes to heat,
But now, new sun and the coolness of Spring,
Highlight the canals of his skin.

That’s another story timing the pace to match the waste of time
She makes a box of remembered sounds catapulting across the room
And stores them in measured rows of lines of time with tentacles reaching the floor
Its not the seemingly nonsense that drives her to beserk-dom but the seemingly sense it all makes
Take that and that she says and jousts her thoughts into the paper lid that forms the tray of her mind
Pulling it out like drawers in the mortuary the morgue the home of the funeral director and associates
Examining it like the rock collection of her youth the butterfly cases of the PhD the recipes snipped clipped
But that’s another story
This story speaks of wasted time lounging on chairs and couches in front of firelight and TV ions
The dryer rocks the clothes dry the washer beats it clean knocking the detergent to the floor
It needs to be balanced that’s all but how how to balanced she’s not the tools
The fridge ice frozen in the line and the disposal as well stopped in time no action from either all quiet
She’ll do it later get the guy who fixes things to come by and not fix it but says next time
And fixes something not broke and charges her anyway and cleans the gutters but sweeps the yard instead
Its this nonsense that makes the most sense padding around in hospital socks non slip to slip into his arms
What do you think a movie and dinner or just the *** you know the blood won't flow to both
And she hops on and hears her stomach growl it’s a trade he’ll do it next time the movie she means
The dinner ingredients dry up in the frozen fridge and she muscles the dryer to clean the vent
She’ll get the guy to come fix it but he doesn’t do appliances so he’ll fix something else that’s not broken
And says I wont charge you as much this time I’ll bring the brush to clean out the dryer so it can rock the clothes
But that’s the story the other story of her tender soft spots making memories in boxes pulled out like drawers
Her drawers on the floor as he rocks her like clothes in the dryer around and around up and down tumbled and dried
Moist to the fingertips her memories linger scent upon scent crouching to see why the fridge is frozen
Under the peas and the tiny ice tray frozen in dinosaur shapes are piles of ice in bags awaiting the storm
Take it all out take it all to the counter and you tube the answer to the quest but end up couched crouching
Not seeing what the camera shows so she’ll call the guy and he’ll help her put the peas back and not charge at all
This time

Why think you worthy, why think you of any,
any worth.
You think because you hold her heart, you have
Worth.
You do not hold her heart, you squeeze the she
Heart
Blood red upon the shelf, as safe keeping,
Bidding,
Bidding the time when you wish to pet it.

But worthy, you are not worthy.
But you think not of the worth of a woman,
But of the worth of a woman speared upon your,
*****.
How she would lay in the light of your bed, and your
Eyes
Upon her
Would make her worth,
Would make her worthy
Of you.
But you are not worthy, you are not worthy of her
Shimmer,
Her joyous shine and the glow of her hair in her
Recline.
She allows your eyes upon her to take the glory
That you rest upon her in your unguarded truce.
You have, not idea the power in her radiance ,but the world,
The world knows her worth,
As you in your un-keen eye light upon a beauty you think is
Yours,
Not yours.
You are not worthy,
You are not worthy.

I’ve got to get so far past you the birds run out of breath.
I need to push you to the utmost of unimportants that the dust turns into dirt.
I toss filed forgotten newspaper clippings from stories told that are not here or there or where,
My heart resides today.
I toss them,
Yet, find them,
Hobbling in my chest when the trash goes to the curb.
Why can’t you go away?
What makes the memories stay
Stuck on the wings of breathless pigeons masquerading as doves,
Free in their flight through dusty olives groves of romantic storytellers?
Why can’t he go away?
What makes his memories stay
When he has to go?
Go with him, memory bird.
Go with him, dust mites on papered tales.
Take your ***** newspaper to build a musty nest and go so far past me
You run out of breath.

Every time you go away,
I get older.
Please, won’t you stay?
Time marches on, day
after day,
each time you go away.
Please,
Won’t you stay?
My wrinkles get deeper,
my eyes, not as bright,
Each time
you hit the highway. Please,
Won’t you stay?
Ankles get swelled,
Eyes droop,
And, I won’t mention
What else,
Goes astray
When you are away.
If you stay,
I won’t notice
The march of time,
That’s all.
I won’t get old,
If you don’t
Go.

I am curled in your dreams, waiting,
Awaiting your return to this realm,
Spending the hours you sleep
Dreaming of our tomorrows, when,
Awake at the same time, we touch,
Caress and I hold the phantom of your body missing from my life.
I pray, and I plead, barter with the universe and gods
To put us in the common air, common landscape of each other's skin.
I want to touch that skin,
To match it to words from my lips
That glide over your softest response,
The distance vanished and the firm rise of your amore.
Taste and scent memories to fill the empty times that you sleep
While I, in my daylight life, live without you.

Bruised
I am afraid to tell the truth
Of what I feel
It always comes back
As missiles
Hurled at me in anger
Targeted as examples
Illustrations of misbehavior
Indications of future actions.

Hurt
I swore I'd never reveal to a man
That which went on before
But you coaxed it from me.
So I tell you my fantasies
And you see them as realities
I tell you my dreams
And you scold me for not making them goals
You accuse me of settling
When I mention minor obstacles
I tell you my misadventures
And you demand that I own 'em

Shame
You wanted to hear
Of those that lingered
On the path before
****** stories I
Played out for you
That you used
As Judgement
When it suited you to hurt.

Accussation
of misbehavior
Examples
of unworthiness
You hurl at me
Missiles
of personal discontent

Truth
Its mine to keep

Life is a strange swirl
Dark red roses
Buried in your soul
I look out and hide
Sunlight the cold intruder
The mix of fantasy and future
Caught up in the whim
Of a man.

You convinced yourself
No this is not what I want
No I do not want to care
No I do not like this feeling
Of want.

Blood red roses you see in my eyes
Darkness without depth
You seem to feel in my core
Am I capable of Love
Am I malcontent with Love
These are the things you say
These are the things you ask
As a man

How do I convince you
Yes this is what you want
Yes this is what you care for
I am the feeling
Of want

The swirl of the rhythm of life
Mixes its purity in the dirt
Where the deep colored roses
Strike out their hue of red
There's not much intrigue in hope
No hidden secrets agendas
Just the opening and closing of my heart
Trusting the man.

Life is a strange swirl
Caught up in splendors
And the whim of a man.

I am worried about my heart
I worry about my heart.
Not the ticking,
The ticking,
The tick, tick, ticking
But the breaking,
The breaking,
The break, break, breaking
Like glass
Cracking
It stays out there,
I hold it in my hand...
You? Do you? Do you want it?
I ask?
How about you? Do you? Do you want it?
I ask again.
I worry about my heart.
I am worried about my heart.

Like the faded red carnation
Asleep in the dusty bottle
My mind begins to sink
In frantic slumber
Yet, I raise my unwashed head
To a morning with no hope

Sullen music fibers
My unsung feelings of love.

4 March, 1978
Sunday

I need a lover, a mirror, a reflector
to see me truly.
I need you.

I need an army, a battalion, a fortress
to fight my battles.
I need you.

I need the world to lay quiet for a day,
For an hour,
Til I find you.

I need life to chose sides, and always
Pick me
First, above all.

I need you
Lover, friend to always be there,
Reside with me, bid with me, side with me
Always.
I need you.

Who would that be,
You must know by now.
The you of this world
Has got to be me.
                      -Nov, 1989

Your thread runs through my living.
Your breath fans over my life.
Your associations and devotions
Catch me unaware
when the world
is still.
When  most thoughts of you
have faded
And I can call my heart
my own,
You take a turn around my mind,
And squeeze it in remembrance.
Wringing out the tears within
Draining the resolve
to move on
Pass
All that was,
All that is,
All that will be,
Past.
But your thread runs through my living,
So, for that, you are forgiven.

Her life was run on the oil of synchronicity
planted in the seduction of abstract hypotheses.
The moons and ebbs of tides
Swoop in like thunderclaps
on wing'ed lightning bolts,
Capturing synergy
Wiping out energy
Till she huddles in a pile of her own failure
Tucking up her toes to avoid the floods
Admiring and condemning
The rain soaked
Howling at her gate.

Time was getting away.
Time was traveling through space.
Time was balling into wax
Of ear dirt in the mind.
At the break
Neck,
It warped the world.
Interstellar.
Intergalactic.
Interloper.
Break neck into your arms.
Kisses, a candy of crushes,
Wrapped in coated yesterdays.
You can’t mean that,
That you are gone,
And I am here?
What means you to hit the high road,
Alone.
It cannot be.
It must not be.
It was the scene
Cut, and deleted like the control v
It was.
Defeated and deflated
On wings of storied lightning bolts,
Storied in minds of
Men.
Lock the door
To the heart.
Why try again.
The pain the pain
So saddled in gore.
Glory to all.
The goodnight, he said.
The Good night, he said.
The good Night, he said.
In finalized democracy,
He took in his own hand,
Decide what was right.
It’s a collaboration,
Not a solo project.
Correct the situation,
Correlate the situation.
She tires and wearies,
And bids, him
Fare
Thee
Well
Farewell, fare well.
A near month of sorrow,
Drawn out,
Of fear of confrontation
With an analytical
Destroyer of resolve,
Seducer of good intentions,
Hot lips of caresses.
Your work is done here,
These aren’t the droids
You seek,
And care on into the night,
In passion and in fright.
Fear of the leaving.
Fear of the staying.
Fear of the ground leaves
Buried deep in the soil.
The fresh smell of the rain,
Into dirt.
He’s still,

Gone.

Into pavement
Like glass smashing
Onto pavement
Like glass crashing
The pull to the chest
Of the heart breaking
Like a crystal tornado
Wrapped up in its veins
Tearing it out
With each swirl of the winds
That carried you off
At the begins.
Onto the ground
Curled to a ball
To contain the storm
That lashed out of bounds.
Heels to ***
Elbows to knees
The smaller the target
The less there will be
Of crystal tornado shards
Destroying the soul.

I wish I was you
So I could be with you
I wish you was me
So you'd be near me
I wish we was us
So there'd be no distance
No chasm of hurt
No scion of pain
No pang of longing
Just me in you
And you in me
I wish I was you.

Bellhaven a town of five
Grew in his love and potent flares
She shivered as she dove
Deep beneath his cumbersome faults
To the misty beaches in his eyes

They ran the grocers
Her love of loves
Carrying the parcels to waiting cars
Making bank trips on bicycle seats
******* all night under uncovered bulbs

Market lights on strings of electric
Pattern up the ceiling joists
She travels her journey
In whims of ecstasy
And sweeps the storeroom of tattered webs

Children join the dusty mop head
Ringing the sound of miniature him's
She and he's of minute proportions
Occupy the grocery carts, the
Two wheeled seats of financial ruin.

The market lights on strings of wire
Sputter with the fading current
He ***** the lips of his love of loves
And squirrels his toes behind her ankles
******* the night under unsheltered bulbs

They all are gone now in Bellhaven
The town of five is now beyond the five.
They all run around on seats of bicycles
Bank drafts and grocery carts
All gone to litter.

Her love of love gone down in a blizzard
Her children amassing out there by the highway
Her market light patterning the joists
As she dives deep beneath
The cumbersome faults.

Have you lost your favorite toy?
She failed you, disappoint you?
So now you stare.
So, now you don't care.
Hurt travels through tears like bombs,
Ruptures the landscape of loss.
Loss of trust,
Loss of dreams,
Loss like books in the Bible
You are tossed,
Across a Sea of Galilee,
A direction home.
Dry the well of deserved tears
Til they choke on brambles in the hills.
Murdered by descent.
Murdered by laments.
Ground to dust
They muddy
In the quick fire up there
As it slow burns your life
Down here.
****!
Like milkweed in the breeze
Gone.

Shower me with praise and adoration
So I may lick thy face in wanton lust.
Hold my legs high, with the utmost regard,
Return the compliment to nether lips.
Stand still and statuesque, my mouth to claim,
So's to bring thy soul to quivering quill
And write my name in climatic exclaim.

Yellow glows from the heart.
Wand like fingers trace it on his chest.
Dipped in honey, she sweetens the tips with her tongue
Outlining the rounds of the heart
swirling her hands
Up then down
down his body
down  his sides
down his vibrating skin
down, down, down
to the point
of the heart
down
down
down
to the place she wants to be,
sweetening the tip with her tongue.

"Can I see you yesterday?"
Kisses fall like painter's snow
On oil laced canvases of grey
On brillant blue.
"Can I see you a week ago?"
Lips on lips and breath on breath
Sunlight picks up the autumn glow
On satin skin.
"Can I see you a month before?"
Hands entwine in summer blaze
Tingling sweat trickles slow
On breast pressed
"A year, can I see you a year past?"
Springing florals dense damp earth
Neck stretched filled with scent
On nibbled kiss
Brown eyes to brown eyes
Time on time
Tell me you're mine
"I'm yours."

Phone cord
Across her stomach
Fingers twining
In singular desire.
Her lover hems
Her lover haws
The tighter she grip
The tighter her patience
Wanes
As he speaks
The weak excuses
Of unfaithfulness
Not tonight
Not now my dear
I can't get away
I can't see you today
She slowly
Slips the communicator
To its cradle
His voice a constant
Mockery of her indulgence
And she says
Not tonight
Not tonight
He barely hears
The disconnect
Hello
Hello
A look to the phone
and a shrug.
Not tonight will he get away
Not tongiht will she stay
The car she drives
Takes her right there
The door she knocks on
Opens to his face
Anger ensues
Fear replaces as she shows him
Her intentions
Gone
He's gone
Not tonight
Will her patience be tested.

Rainy Kiss

There was a kiss in the rain.
Two umbrellas overlapping
At different heights.
A canopy of color
In the grey and moist daylight.
Ankles wet, I slide into your kiss
I fit under your arm
In the sideways kiss of good bye,
Leave taking, see ya later.
One foot going the other wishing to stay.
Warm and flush from your presence
In the stillness of the moment.
A heart stopping
A heart filling
A heart opening
Moment.
Where the world disappeared,
Two umbrellas overlapped
There was a kiss.

What is love, a lustful rush of endorphin's?
As if I had the answer,
But what lesser being would I be,
If I respectfully chose not  to cipher.

What is love.

A modern sonnet, if olde words were staid,
Would stay in the minds of poets,
To marvel,  unravel, and cavalcade,
Laying in the beds of lovers

This is love.

Held forth on fingers damp
From kisses laid on lips.
The lover recites with flaccid mouth,
Lines to shiver and evoke.

Thoughts of love.

The rush of lust and endorphin twine,
And poets chase and mimics mime.
What is it, this is it, I think I know.
Ha! you thought, thought defined.

What is love.

Undefined.

You tore my heart in half
Folded it first
and ripped it
for symmetry
My equally divided heart
in each of your hands
slips slowly
to the floor
where you stomp on it
Jump up
and
down
on it
Do a little dance
get down tonight
Smashing it
like a spent cigarette
But you pick it up
Oh my
To flap jack it
into a
butter churn
Where you
pulverize it
painstakingly
to butter
Drawing it out
wiith a knife
you slather it on
a *******
and eat it.