Your lovely eyes,
two dark bamboo beetles
bristle with fervor
ready to battle
with mine, seeking truce;
your belligerence,
has a stirring effect.
I am aroused
beyond limits.
    Now is the time to act,
make wild love,
    ending the lovers' tiff.
    I sign the treaty of withdrawal
    with a passion filled kiss,
   summoning all the force
   in your command, you seal it,
   with an incomparable another.

Spins around my head
Nature’s LED
A firefly,
Hits the fan
Now it can
Make the sky.

There is no dusk in this city
penetrated by the raging Potomac,
Night just crams itself in and
rapes the day dry -
lays her flat against the horizon.
Mothers and children run for covers
and put each other to sleep;
in a few hours
harlots and nighthawks will do the same.

Sweet Siren
You are this city
Petticoated and pretty,
Cunning and stunning
Winking and blinking
Red
Yellow
Green
eyes popping open like sunken headlights,
Ready for the night.

I hear your wailing
red-flashed and flaming
like an open heart,
piercing the black with it's plea.
I feel your pulse-pumping red corpuscles
thrusting me deep into
lusting for things forbidden and hidden
Somewhere inside this neon wonderland.

Sweet Siren,
Sing your teasing tunes for me
Deliver me from your shelters and streets,
Where infidels and angels
Fall at your feet.
Sweet Siren,
Deliver me to the
Trembling shelter of your sheets.

Liars and their lies
roam this concrete jungle
begging for love and razors
and other disposable items.
You go screaming passed them though,
determined to save at least one numb drunk ***
in some rain cleansed back alley of vices;
only to fool your own conscience
with the lithium laced smile of charity.

Sweet Siren
Quiet your angry shrill to a hush
The tarmac and taxis are tired of us
And your princes and saviors have fled this town.
Sweet Siren,
It's time for us to burn this city down
And leave the ashes
For the thieves and the clowns.

Dusted off a yellow scrap
From the depth of time,
A line scribbled,
Each letter dipped in raw blood,
That's when I was mad.
Infatuation, they call it,
Feelings that pass of
When maturity beheads emotions,
Foolishness of youth
Flies away on wings of calculations!
After caressing the parchment,
I put it back to its own time,
Because it doesn't belong to now,
The first flutter of heart,
A flimsy fragile impractical thing,
A wound I still carry,
Falling and failing in first love!

Somehow he pulls along
He breathes
In his little width of life,
He gasps
In making that width
When moves flesh
That far outweighs
What he gets at the ride’s end,
Sweats it out in the sun
Splashes in the rain
A pedaling run
Joyless but gritty
That if can be made
Would fetch him his bread
From the rider in comfort
To the puller who transports
Mountains of loads
Knowing not to pause
Till drawn by fate
For a rest in sunset!

Strutting popinjay,
wears many hats,
to be precise:
                     she displays
                     a new hat
                      each day,
                      as her trophy before the world.
                      Each with a new color,
                      and a scent different.
                      Her crude wide smirk
                      conceals
                            ­         a secret
                     each one is pinched
                                                     from her lover of the day.