to dream of a sea beyond white cliffs
where water bends around a pale sun
only to awake and stumble onto the living land
and feel the dirt between my toes

again and again and again

face ripples in watery reflection
straining to see the bottom
i crouch for further inspection
and vanish into the colors of autumn

as i trudged home
one wintry day
i saw a deck of
playing cards
wilting
in the snow

i took them home
and played them
back to life

that was years ago

now they sit
in a dusty corner
and whisper
never forget

but i do sometimes

Floating gold
Blank skin

Electric wound
Air ablaze

Ashes in your eyes
Tears in your hands

The ship disappears
Beyond

Black dress drags
Through the mist

My hair sticks
My cheeks sag

My hands quiver
My legs groan

Soft eyes
Inside

Dew drops
Stained skin

I miss you forever

your breath
over my shoulder

your voice
behind my back

these potions
bubble

these colors
run

your touch
whispers

your steps
murmur

these old eyes
can't see you

anymore

The old giant sat on a green grass bed
between two mountains
and pulled a cloud right over his head.

But just before his eyes closed for a long, long night,
he knew he wasn't going on alone.
For he gazed upon a final graceful sight,
angels swimming in the colors of the

distant
  
  waning light.

rain bolts beat the hood.
your look.  sodium yellow.
this street runs downstream.

deep inside the mountain tunnel

a needle of light

a dream cast all in blue
choked on trapped steam as
the rising roar of the train's whistle
blows stillborn from a weathered pen
deprived of ink for the final pages
of an invisible masterpiece

ghosts born from the ash
of our burning silences
haunt us forever

behind her tear-soaked eyes,
a fresh memory as she slipped off to sleep:

with pink hues in the clouds,
she stood before the mouth of the night
there wasn't much time
before the swallowing of the light

so she ran to the waves
dragging her buddy, tracks in the sand
a chill and a splash as
the ocean leapt up and emptied her hand

he was ratty and ragged, but
stitched to her heart and stolen beyond reach
a lesson in letting go
on her first day at the beach

winter dreams of spring
dreams of summer dreams of fall
dreams of winter sleep

snow globes on a shelf
one for every emotion
which one do i shake?

night snow
silent snow

hills like white waves
of rough paper
sprinkled with diamond dust

moonlight ribbons
flutter with the pines
as a gentle rush of winter
tickles our window

warming your hands
with mine

i daydream of watching
the night snow
the silent snow
with you

the wind ravaged her
hair out on the moor as she
clutched her ripped green dress

one sunday in the park
i sat across from a woman in white
her head was hidden
beneath a big pale hat

and a dachshund
with a sunshine yellow collar
sat at her feet
brown eyes
droopy and searching
   staring

as i ate
a hot dog with mustard

sunshine yellow

the valley of gold
closer and closer, always
just over the ridge

a pile of old tvs at the edge of a road
below a "dead end" sign

some upright
some sideways
some upside down

still tuned

through their cracked screens
and broken dials
and crooked antennas

to a red, white and blue test pattern

your hot dust kisses stick to my sweat and
sink beneath my skin and melt into my
blood and rush through my heart and pour from the
cuts that you made with your tongue and dry in
the wind that carries them back to your lips
as

dust

bats in the kitchen
flaming records spin sweet noise
house party chaos

i've cut myself on
your keen tongue too many times

*but the blood dries quick

twinkling whirl of light
spaghetti straps, satin dress
diamond glitter sweat

Clifford was having a tough year
money was tight, couldn't get in the clear

by the time it was autumn
he'd reached rock bottom

nowhere else to turn
and nothing left to learn

he decided to consult
a man of the occult

who sent him on a quest
to help him manifest

the riches he desired
but it all backfired

now there's demons in control
asking for his soul

all because he messed up the spell
and opened up a back door to Hell

honest expressions
that come from our one, true self
make us our own art

a walk in the colorless city
shadowed by charcoal clouds

a dahlia hangs over the sidewalk
loose petals tumble with the rain
littering scarlet spots
into the black-and-white air

as the feel of your fingertips
cascades softly through
   my memory

midnights in the hidden smoking rooms
and reading lounges
tucked deep in the crevices of Manhattan

the distant honking of tuxedo cars
and shiny-clack footsteps
through scattered manhole steam
that swirls like silver pinwheels

all the soundtrack noise in my head
as i move across the silent room
everyone's eyes in their books

except ours

Streamers
Gold and pink

Puddles and shadows
Lips and necks

Smiles and hips
Angels and fountains

Night slips

The abandoned square
Sleeps

Sand and salt
Cold foam

Wind across the pier
I hear the sea

old phone receiver
cord curling from the damp ground
a scratchy voice:  "help"

aging lessons
written with chalk, sweat and years
for ageless pupils

Little Billy's best friend was a tree.
One day his parents had it chopped,
and the pieces were shopped.
So little Billy put rat poison in their tea.

swan's wake
ripples
rusty leaves bob

she wore red for him because it was his
favorite color and she wondered if
he ever really noticed.  like, really
noticed.  the tight dresses, silk slips, even
stockings and bras.  that special shade of red.
not candy, crimson or cardinal.  it
was that unique hue.  or tint.  of blood.

a brand new ceiling fan was installed in
my bedroom with an apartment upgrade
and as its hum whispers me to sleep, i
wonder if my dreams drift up and get pushed
around the room and out the slightly cracked
window and carried by the summer night
breeze into another open window,
only to melt inside the sleeping brain
of someone else, filling it with faces
and places otherwise unknown to them.
and then i wondered if my fan pulls dreams
in the cracked window, so i pushed it closed.

Two women.  A dove.
Barren trees.  A winter kiss.
Iced wings thaw in spring.

when we ask, do we
believe, or do we ask so
that we can believe

night's pale eye stares down
the shadows are long tonight
i. am. transforming.

scattered snow sticking,
a shape forming to my eye,
swan wings on the lawn.

grizzled sentries pierce
curved blue ceilings, watching a
blooming floor of souls

The floating discs from on high
brought a tear to the old man's eye.

He remembered a rhyme
from a long-forgotten time.

"The angels will come,
marching to heaven's drum.

Be ready and look to the skies.
Arise, my son, arise."

sun peeks through the stones
first light upon the altar
a dagger rises

looking at the trees through a hole in the
ceiling as i feel a breath of air from
a dream i had where your skin was warm and
was it really a memory i don't
know because it felt real in dusk's half-light
before sleep pulled me away from time and
into a bed of leaves where there is a hole
in the floor that i'm afraid to look through

a desert wind blows over waves of sand,
carving new shapes and shadows.  and you don't
look at me with the same eyes anymore.

a moment.  wordless.
lake ripples.  pastel sunrise.
ashes drift.  goodbye.

he left the floor first
and she danced on, until her
final note was played

poems are lyrics
to the songs inside my head
you will never hear

i wanted to write something about your
energy and how i like being in
its halo.  something about how i want
to dive beneath your sun-kissed surface and
feel what makes your heart beat.  the metaphors
aren't quite right and the flow is off but then
again, emotions often live between
the words so i guess this is what i want
to say after all.  please pardon the mess.

gratitude montage
crisis jesters love to death
passage of legend

can't say it's something i totally admire
but his propulsive desire
i can't really blame
for so many of us are drawn to the flame

tiniest fractions
of lost time, framed and frozen,
warped by perception

music fills a room
like a heart fills up a chest

listen.  breathe.  listen.