the skulk was mostly *****

hens were haunted by either gender

the farmer's wife also feared them

though small and they ran from most two-legged beasts

the farmer shot the foxes for sport--guarding chickens not his concern with a thousand acres in corn

the farmer's son had trapped a red Reynard

it perished in captivity, starving itself

the night of the caged fox's demise, the rooster crowed tirelessly

for good reason, since the leash gobbled a dozen hens under a waning gibbous moon

the creatures prosecuted a moral symmetry it seemed

while the farmer was febrile with the grippe, the son fast asleep, and the wife dared not make a peep

witnessing a crimson carnage she likened to war

in its aftermath, a naked sun rose on waves of white feathers and scarlet trails of blood

perhaps 'tis not good to trap a wild thing, the farmer's wife mused

then she made her way to the coops, fetching enough eggs for breakfast

all the while the skulk watched from the thick brush

watched and waited, without will as we know it

but with a red reckoning ready, should they again be victims

of man's folly and sin

Poison
Poison, dripping on the tongue
soaking in the flesh
crawling through the veins
possessing the body
reaping the soul
waiting inside...
waiting to be caught red-handed.

Hate,
a poison I know too well,
gripping my heart
sacking my defenses
and throwing them into the river.

Hate ignites my passion
turns lover to monster
turns monster to lover
and all the while
I drink in the crude oil.
This raw token of evil.
Its malice is like
the claws of a lion
hidden
waiting
like poison
suddenly they thrash!
Peace is cut to pieces.

I once had an appetite for lovers.
Now, I only appetize the monsters.

The hour was late, and
soon to be later.
The minutes devoured the seconds.
Leisure was my antidote to a long day's madness.
Then I found her, or she found me.
She cast a spell on me in the witching hour.
Her gaze was possessive of me.
Premonition was her touch.

I know not how she crossed the room.
What mattered is she was in my lap. Summoned.
Yet, was it I who lingered, nose at heel?
You can't question the magic.
We are the agents of fate;
we are deciding and directed.

I could never be a marksman.
I wanted her to kiss me: I talked about our parents.
I wanted to dance with her: I romanced the weather.
I wanted a way to reach her: I reach for her thighs.
Oh, how we all wish the target would welcome the bullet,
and to my surprise, she welcomes.
My defences evaporate into the smoke-filled air.
I take her hand. The edge of her lip curves.
That's all she wrote.

Sometimes, complexity is a burden, and simplicity is freedom.

A lifetime of unrequited passion was distilled in that night for us both.
We danced in controlled chaos: not knowing our bodies, yet fully aware.
Time ticked backwards and forgot to tock.
I lost my tie, she lost her sock.
Giggles, the sign of a fermented joy.
The joy of not knowing joy, true joy, and then having it.

It was love... wasn't it?
Yes, it was. It was not mature, sure, but it was. We knew it.
We sheltered ourselves from the world.
Time ticked forward and tocked with abandon.
I remember moments holding her, sharing in her warmth as she shared in mine. A communion for two.

I remember rings exchanged.
I remember the first fruit of her labor. Our labor.
A hand so small it felt like a stick shift.
Time ticked forward and, then

Silence.
I don't know when we stopped talking,
but she was gone.

My tears, some semblance of oceans forgotten, dotted the clothes of my baby rocking in my trembling arms.
It seemed pain was my daily meal.
I faced questions I never considered possible:
Will she ever come back?
Will I ever love again?
What if I can't love again?
What if I feel this pain forever?
...
What if she's dead?

Our life replayed like waves lapping the shore in my distant mind:
How the upbeat jazz descended to slow rock tunes.
"Oh babeh, your lipstick kiss is foreva, it's the red rose ova my grave!"
Our cyclical steps matching, lighting fires in our hearts.
Our arms coiled around one another, as if we were falling from some hallowed place... falling in love is scary.

We try to smile and remember the madness when we're sober.

We forget the things that are important sometimes... all the time.
We forget so much that we become these chewed up, gnarled bits of humanity, searching for our souls when they are right inside us. Incomplete, sure, but there all along.
We have that hollow wanting.
That grinding hunger, that hot thirst.
I don't know the cure for certain, but, the memories seem to know.

Let's stop searching for happiness. That's like searching for flight. What we need is the wings. It's not youth, it's not money. It's opportunity. It's innocence: the belief that things are simple, because they are.

Innocence led me to Rosie that night.
Compromise in the face of difficulty stole me away.

It was years later that I remembered the pain.
Laura got off the school bus angry.
"Boys."
When I got to the bottom of it, she was in the wrong.
She dumped him... for nothing. Because she could.

Waves of despair bubbled up from beneath my present: the calling of the past.
I almost strayed from my resolutions.

I was left with the thought, "She's just like her mother,"
but I left that thought forlorn,
because the truth is, I raised Laura,
and so,
maybe I'm the demon calling the angels sick.

Maybe we're all demons.
It makes sense. We all feel we've fallen from grace.
The devil you know smiles from the mirror,
it wears your face and crowns you king or crud...

Starve it to death, hang it on your sterling bow and
sail for the waking dawn.

The music wasn't reaching him.
He was starting to wonder,
was he really him?
The picture fades in the portrait
rim,
but it's okay, if who you are is dim,
because the world is brighter than your
sin
but to him,
the world fades in its global
rim
and his life loses its flavor
love loses its neighbor
It's kind of hard to think
when your job is slave labor
It's kind of hard to wink when happiness
is hard to savor,
but that doesn't mean you've got to hate your
creator.
How does life go on when you're empty?
You hunger for more,
but in front of you is plenty
Why?
As time ticks down
from eleven,
the suffering is worse
when all you want is
heaven.

The heart. The errant symbol of restless devotion.
It can be a blind lover's hope, a buoy in death's dying desperation,
Or damnation to the wise, a martyr's foolish, festering, folly.
Be sure not to forget, that the heart is sure to die.

It will be diseased, before it is deceased.
It will be broken, before it is bereft of beauty.
It will be hopeless, before it is hesitant,
And in that pause before the final blow,
It shall weep its last tear, and love no longer.

If betrayal is dealt with a kiss, then pray tell,
What is the sign, that heralds love's abandon.
Any moment, any breath saved for eternity,
Is snuffed out in the most glorious fashion.

Calm before the unapproachable sigh, and
Still no whisper of frustration from me.
I would still be strong, if I were to say,
That I am no longer passion's, patient, prisoner,
Or cupid's, aimless, trusting, intrepid, target.

He wouldst claim me heretic before heir.
Hair like the winter white, sprouts 'pon my scalp.
Signs of my bitterness waning in the wash of wine.
For we are all grapes, longing to be sublime.

Were I to count the leaves from June to June,
Where in the world, would I find love soon?
Would I learn that life on a silver platter,
Is useless, enjoyed with plastic spoons?
Surely any fork would do, unless the meal forbids it.

Foraging amidst the gardens of Eden and Amazon,
The animals wonder at my perplexity, my regret.
How could they understand, these apes and snakes.
Up in a tree, there it shone. A familiar shape, for me to long
A ripe, red, resonant fruit shaped for open hands.
The apple shook in branches, fading like.
The heart.

My passions, like a flood of magma, pool at my feet; caking, cooling, cementing... and I wonder why I am rooted in my beliefs.

Like cadavers are so many lovers.
Drunk on a table for two,
laid out and cut open
examined, weighed and cataloged,
yes,
cupid has your number.

He sharpens his arrows.
"Oh, how cute! He's like a baby!"
Shut it!
He's a monster.

It was nothing serious.
Angela and I were noncommittal,
then,
it just...
Happened!
I kissed her and she lost her footing.
Her legs slackened like climber's loose rope.
Angela fell, hard.
I pulled out the arrow. (I only wish I had disinfectant.)
She was breathing funny. I wasn't sure what bit her,
but when her eyes flickered open,
I felt the shame she would never know.
I looked up in time to see a fluttering of white.
A dove? I was too naive.
Angela started to get clingy. That's when I got stingy.
Soon, I began to ignore messages selectively.
Eventually, she was a fading memory.

Monica. Jessica. Lisa. Monique.
The story kept repeating itself.
"Get a grip, love was chasing you! Some should be so lucky..."
If that grip is cupid's neck, give me two handfuls, please.
I nearly stopped ******* around altogether,
haunted by feather after feather,
but I really just learned to play it safe.
Cut them off after a couple of weeks.
I'll never forgive Cupid, that rotten ****.

Her name was Felicia.

It was day thirteen.
I had my copied and pasted, "Sorry," SMS ready to go.
We were engaged in pillow talk,
it was nothing serious.
Sarcasm turned into playfulness.
We rolled over,
she had me pinned,
she nibbled on my earlobe,
and with artful tongue stroked
years of pain
from my soul.
She reared back.
Our eyes locked in mutual reverence.
We smiled and embraced letting our slick bodies revel in the moist residue of our tender frolicking.
It was then that I felt the itch in my shoulder blade.
Color and warmth fled my chest.
It was with a numbness that I let her go,
and reach back,
and felt the long spine of the arrow,
like the stem of a scythe.

The weeks that followed were a heaven
that I had always hoped not to enjoy
and felt ever more guilty in knowing my unfettered happiness.
Simple pleasures I once knew were then mountains of joy.
My passions magnified were as the flames of the sun.
I even feared I could turn her away with mentions of my love,
but this was not an unrequited venture.
We shared in admissions of our deepest affections.
There was not a moment passed in yearning of our old lives.
Even shedding light on our past imperfections was a delight
incapable of breaking the spell.
Truly, this is the purpose of youth; this love; this roaring of souls entwined.

Is justice blind?

I certainly felt this token of nature cast its judgment upon me.
No sooner than I had finally accepted my new reality, did I watch this sheltering bubble burst.
We weren't as open as I had imagined, of course, I shouldn't be so naive to think so.
She disappeared. I was distraught for what seemed like weeks, but.
I got a phone call.
The phone call led to a hospital. Within the hospital, a room.
Within that room, she lay on a bed, head shaved, smiling weakly.
I sat hesitantly by her side.
She grinned as she pinned me with a pink ribbon.
"You'll fight with me, right?" She said, as her eyes searched my soul,
quivering, yet there was a fierce strength behind the weariness.
"If I don't fight, I'll lose more than losing you."
She lay her head in my chest. A chest that could lend its power.
Looking out of the window into the horizon, I wished for things I never considered to be signs of hope. Yes, I'll fight...

In that moment of my life, it was as if I weren't alive.
Perhaps my body was waiting for me to return: sitting there, breathless.

Are brave words the measure of fate?
Oh, I wish this were so, yet some battles only time can win.

I didn't go to the funeral. I simply asked that I may scatter the ashes.
It was a moment for two. I stood on a cliff by the sea, a place she and I loved. I spoke to her, in ways I knew she deserved. I scattered the ashes, and I knew she had returned to the promise of life, a place beyond time and pain.

And so, time passes for me.

In time, I am ready to love another.
A familiar itch in the shoulder blade.
I know the arrow is there.
I look up and there is cupid, smiling.
No need to hide from a gracious soul.
I gaze and I whisper:

"Please, Cupid. This time, don't leave me breathless."