the rain won't lift.

it moans a low,
lonesome sound,
gives no mercy.

a window opens.

"i'm a little lost lamb," she tells me.

and I look up and she smiles at me,
she always smiles,. "Maggie," I sigh.

"what are you doing out on a night like this?" she asks.

"i long to dream in black and white
of deserted city streets
to waltz down at night in a cold rain."

it's summer and Maggie's
hanging out the window,
streetlight in her eyes,
her long ***** blonde hair
getting wet from the rain
hangs down around her face.

the dreamer of all the good dreams.
i have to tell her, "Maggie, you're
so beautiful."

"come up. I'll tell your future."

I shrug my shoulders, "I know the future. you die."

"not with me." she laughs softly
like a summer breeze
and her smoky voice whispers,
"your getting soaked, come up
the fire escape."

"so you're the lost lamb," i laugh,
"then what am i? the beckoning scarlet knight,
the golden moth drawn to your fire?"

"there's no music, Jack, but you know
the song too well."

"who chooses who we are,
what we become?

"no pity for us lost lambs."


whether lost or found,
the way a bird knows the sky.
i always know that where ever
I drift
or whoever I might become

I'd can always
find my way back to Maggie's window.

cracked asphalt of the modern realm

and court jester Gus pushes a shopping cart
he borrowed from the A&P to collect

bottles and cans
for a pence, perhaps a schilling.

the alley cat he cared for was named Maggie
and Gus slept with Maggie
in a kind person's village cellar.

it was rumored that Sir Tommy R.
shot a flaming arrow
into Gus's wooden leg.

young knaves
called Gus a *** knowing he'd chase them,
wooden leg and all,
and he was swift.

some threw insults, some threw eggs.
the village was a ballroom
fit for lords
in search of a court jester.

Gus the ***. I saw him

i saw him limping through the rain.
my heart was thin.
I threw him apathy, feigned sadness.


his heart still glows in my sorrows garden.

nobile misfit. all Gus sought was a smile, bread,
and a kind word.

3 of us.
one at one end of the bar,
the other at the opposite corner,
me in the middle.
we are the ones that
didn't learn from past mistakes.

store clerk, janitor, fortune teller,
Insomniac, lost soul,
who knows.
truth is found in the silence
of minding your own business.

we didn't come here to talk to one another.

the bottle or glass
held with fingers too tightly.
the bottle or glass has a kind heart
understands
this is sanctuary
from memories stitched to bone
like shadows scattering....

(a flash of lightning, a splintering boom)

and then she walks in.
a rift in the barrier of worlds.

she bends the light, deepens the silence.

she spoke with a voice like the morning dove
with a melody that forgets your name.

she glides. each step deliberate, unhurried.

we turn, and bone shadows in a hush
whisper,
" beautiful"

and she knows it
too well.

the dream walker
lifts the veils of moonlit memory
and time unthreads
into the first shiver of love
that lures men to madness.             

and now done, suddenly
she turns around,

and walks out the door
(a flash of lightning, a roll of thunder).

the blinding white light
our hollow sky in disarray....

..."bartender, get me another double, and one,
for my 2 friends.

Charlie was in the hospital dying,
unconscious, and he says,
I'll have a margarita."

"hey, I knew Charlie."

"me, too." and then he says,
"my stock broker..."

i don't know how old i was, 8 or 10.

I climbed out the window
onto the roof of the garage.

it was summer.

I lied down
and gazed at the stars for hours.

i reached to touch moonbeams,
and with my finger
drew a circle around the north star.

i dissolved into the hush of stars
free of want or need.

a single heart beat.
I, the wind, moon, stars.

I long to lie on the roof, again,
gaze at the stars
and filled with wonder.

"what's the longest you stayed up?" jack asks.

"oooh, 5 days, a week. who knows?"

they take the shots, touch glasses,
throw down the bourbon.

"I wonder if animals have dreams?" jack says,
I wonder if dogs dream?"

"sure they do, dogs, cats, squirrels, birds," bob is nodding
his head up and down." it's all biochemical.

"not insects."

"why not? fleas, June bugs, moths. it's all biochemical, mix in electrical impulses, you got love and dreams. jack,

tell your dreams to me."

wind through the willows.

bird song trilling
from where time is the silence
falling into the valley.

sunlight beneath the leaves.
the grass bends from where you lay.
foxglove gentle and blooming in your eyes.

each step
slow and certain.
i fall into your open arms.

love rests here, among the moss and mist.
the trees, the sky, the flowers
know our first kiss.

and the wind through the trees  
whistles every mystery gone.

we sigh the words we were always meant to say.

clouds may wander blue sky
but love stays
sure and stubborn
pressing white petals always in our hearts.

i woke up in the blues,
sat on the only chair in the dark room.

put on my torn shirt, worn shoes,

I wished upon a tumbling star

and down the steps, out the
front door
I went.

the puddles electric shimmer neon.

a robin dances fragile and free.
(I tip my hat, ah, what the hell.
I wish the robbin well.)

old man Bennett sitting on a park bench
in the rain
feeding pigeons.

how are you? I ask.

he sighs, ah, things don't get any better
don't get any worse.

he gives me a smile. (ah,
what the hell, quiet mercy,
I gift him a smile.)

I woke up with blues,
wished upon a falling star.

fell into a full moon.

(feel the pull!)

it rolls me over
the ocean of misty streets,
tall alley walls,
the dark corners hiding my heart.
(so give a smile to tomorrow.
???will there be cold beer in hell.)

I ve lost my way,
creature of silent sorrow .
(so throw me a smile.)

I fell upon a fallen star,
how far from the grave?

a crow caws at my window.
the night is so long.

wishing on a tumbling star,
no matter how you look at it
you lose.

I woke up in the blues,
sat in the only chair in a dark room.

surrounded by the vastness of stars.
the mare silhouetted on a hilltop wishing,
waiting, she prays,

"O, nightingale
sweetly sing your solemn song.
send white butterflies adrift on moonbeams,
so he feels my longing in the night.

his wings carved from distant dreams
Pegasus drifts through silver mists
into the moonlit meadow,
but dawns golden fingers
drift across the field
and the winged horse must flee...


...Pegasus weeps from distant stars
to his love waiting on the hill

and her whisper drifts to the heavens

a hush held still in the lullaby of all distant hearts.

the door to his room moans open.

a shadow familiar and sad
like the cold, raining night, whispers,

"Jack, are you awake?"her voice startles him.
"can't sleep again?"

Jack shifts in the chair,
"yeah, I'm awake. i can sleep alright."

he stands, and as he walks to the shadow,
"I want to climb a high mountain
through snow and ice
and never be found."

"a heart that's empty hurts. I miss you, Jack."

"i'm glad someone does. i miss you too."

"you forgot something our last night.
I didn't know it was goodbye."

"what did i forget?"

the shadow moves towards him.
jack slips his arms around her waist.

"you didn't kiss me goodbye."

she puts her arms around his neck.
her lips are soft and warm
and like a summer night, the warmth of her body
comes to him through the coldness of the room.

the shadow raises her head
looks into his eyes as distant
as a sailor tossed on a violent shore,

"why jack, you're crying."

"yeah, i'm crying."

her lips are soft against his ear.
"don't cry, my darlin.
i can't bear to see unhappy.

if you love me. tell me you love me."

he is looking down into her dark eyes,
and softly whispers. "I love you. I do."

"Hold me jack, hold me."

"i'll never let you go..."

...jack probes the snow bridge
with his ice axe. the bridge collapses,
day becomes night
and he is falling, falling,
falling...

startled jack opens his eyes,
jumps out of the chair.

3 a.m.

the dying town, dark moon,
the wolf lurks in a concrete tomb.

fallen friends and picnics at the graveyard,
empty stores and sidewalk ******.

streets of sorrow--
one-way roads to no tomorrow.

shadowed eyes, whispers in bars,
fallen angels, shooting stars.

sirens wail the ****** night,
and in every traffic light burned red
time never stops for the dead.

the ****** on the corner.
none to morn her fate,
a wink and a whisper,
"do you want to go on a date?"

the black butterfly,
soul of sorrow,
no echo, no refrain,
lost in silence, bound by pain.

to lie on the warm sand at twilight
ripples of fleeting light
across a calm sea.

he lives in an oblong trailer
at a trailer park.

every night he'd make a pitcher of margaritas.
salt around the rim of the glass.
crushed ice to the top of the glass.
the glass cold to his hand.

he turns the t.v. on
and the lamp on the night stand off
and sits in the easy chair
in the darkened room.

he'd drinks the margaritas
and watches t.v. until the station
goes off the air

and then watches the random dot pixels
and listens to the static coming
out of the t.v. speaker.

the flashes of light flickering.
and the blue light settles on his face.
eyes open, staring.

the darkness reached for him
and in the ghostly flickering,
he let it.

she took my picture,
that's how it started
that's how i knew,
she took my picture
off the refrigerator door

when your picture is taken off
the refrigerator
like dust off a knick knack shelf

you do the dishes,
you have to wash your own socks.

the refrigerator is cursed
like a lost winning lottery ticket.
cursed with pictures of dead pets,
dead aunt's, cousins, grandma...

(my picture rip off the fridge like $#@#$#@...)


the fridge hums its song,
warm on the outside
and cold on the inside.

you *******, i shout,
and i punched the fridge,
packed my suitcase,

grabbed my fishing pole
and out the front door
I went.

half way down the sidewalk,
I turned

and there was little Jack
looking out the window at me.

(tears ran down my cheeks.)

MAN! I'm gonna miss that dog!!!

walk the high wire without a net.

the poem is life all else is waiting.

She was a nun...




(...to be continued...)

the bar was dark cave.

Dixie sang a song
and I pretended
she was singing to me.

two amateur fights,
2 black eyes
and a broken nose.

(and i couldn't get the silly grin off my face.)

"there is something beautiful
about the fall

to the canvass," I tell her,
"the sweet dreams only of you."

Dixie shook her head,
"why do you fight
when all you do is lose?"

"if you don't fight
you've already lost."

Dixie said I was crazy
and i scared her.

"but Dixie
you are my only friend.
we'll pull the stars down from the sky,
set the wicked night on fire."

Dixie tried hard not to,
but she smiles.

and there is something graceful
about the fall, golden leaves. the brevity
and the cooling air

and the nights we had by the lake.

a silent embrace...her warmth lingers against me,
a quiet tenderness beyond touch
and all we knew was a timeless "now."

the sun spills warmth
across the countryside
and the flowers smile

waving their tiny leaf hands
to greet the new day

so I smile with whispers of love
as if the wildflowers are my children.

the elusive thrushes
hidden among the bowing willows

whisper sweet songs.

the tiny bird angels
not so far off.

those tiny angels

far from the silences that **** you inside.

I love,

the desperation
as if wandering lost on a mountain.

I love the solitude
and the loneliness of being
compelled to love.

i love the desperation.

the wolf hidden in my wild heart
howling at a streetlight

and the sorrow of distant echoes in my head
and the laughter coming from an empty bed.
the mountain ledge whistling in the mist.
the pierce of thorn from the rose
clutched tightly in my fist.


some never feel more alive
as love fades into the silence
of sweet lies and blue skies.

just never show the fear that's in your eyes.
never shed a tear for the rose refused.

you are the prettiest women
I ve ever seen.
I ll give you my heart
if i m allowed to dream

white lace dress and red sweater,
you are the tender love,
and if you let me hold your hand,
and walk you home,
and to perhaps kiss you.

you are the prettiest woman
I ve ever seen
and i ll give you my heart
if i m allowed to dream.

i'm sitting in a corner,
blue as a flower,
saying a prayer.

that room

I ve written
about that room, above the bar, often.
that there were shadows,
no windows,
but I really don't remember?
window, no window?

but whenever i tried to look up
there was the angry sky
chasing hope around narrow streets          

and those bits and ripples
of rain long asleep

casting shadows across
windows distant,
down my window pane.

do you ever think of me?

(written while sitting in a dark room
starring into a rain splashed window).

I'm just a sparrow
longing for sky
and if I had wings
I could fly.

the cops are at the door,
open the window,
toss me my running shoes.

out the window I went, left heaven,
down to the narrow street
into the welcomed night.

(my fair weather fade away.)

you have the prettiest eyes
the sky ever knew

so please don't be surprised
to find me one day at your window

some cold december night
holding plastic flowers for you

so love the thief who tried steal your heart,
and plastic flowers never fade.

"come in, come in, part the curtains.
I'll tell your future.

i tip toed in...heavy night
beyond the door.
the curtains parted rippling
like water circling a deepening hole

and the face of shadow moans,
"you seem to be looking for answers???"

"well, yeah, does the size of the tombstone
tell how much you are loved,
or how much love you gave?'

"sit down," the shadow tells me,
i'll dust off the prayer wheel,
tell your future."

"when i was a kid
i dreamed in shadows
and whispered to the night.

i know the future.

the dead go to places
they will only know."

the face of shadow offers
roses cupped in wistful hands.

the shadow dissipating,
petals from black roses falling to the ground.

the window shut.
the clock had stopped at 9 a.m.
the door left open.

now, you've come to haunt me.

I hear you, an old song,
and when I turn around to see
who was behind me
your eyes flicker like a distant star.

shining gray, brittle and blue eyes
as blue as the cobalt night,
and your smile sets the night
on fire.

I had held you in my arms for too long,
too long ago.
you, a denim ribbon tied into a bow.
me, the dreamer of what might be.

the elusive love,
I had put a rose on that certain box,
the day you walked out. so

every ending is a beginning
and when I m down by the river,
when on the green grass
the dew gleams,
I ll say I love you,

but for now,

you look great.
I'm glad to see you are happy.

(and so I'll see you in distant stars.
I'll hear in an old song)

and so,
I'll just say goodbye.

you are the moonflower,
and the sweet fragrance
of night blooming jasmine.

the mysterious, magical beauty
of a single night.

It is the passionate night that holds you.

nothing lives forever,
not the stars scattered in the skies
nor the sadness reflected in your eyes.

hold my hand, blue flower.
hold my wistful heart
tangled and intimate
in our distant romance.

the oak trees rustling in the wind.
there is something cold in the air...
the fleeting bloom of the night's flower.

oh, flower of the night,
the night will never release you.

a solitary tear falls. I draw the shades.

the sea gulls chanting,
the sun rising

shooting fields of fire
dancing across
the rise and fall of the sea.

she is standing by the shore.

the beautiful loser
floating lonely
like a storm cloud
ripped from the night sky.

she smiles the sorrow away
with a beauty so hidden and delicate,
distant eyes as grey as the sea at dawn.

she robs my head
sending my heart

floating
like a feather lifted
by a wayward wind.

she does her sky dance
on the sea shore
jumping
here and there
like sand fleas
across the beach
and wants for nothing more.

beautiful loser,

I see she is crazy.

and I want some of her madness.

her blessed madness.

heart of sadness
follows the eyes
of madness
into the scream of night.

who dares to dream
in a starless night?

war and peace then war and love

and all nightmares are real
staring into

a starless night,

and all we have
are the flames
stolen from a screaming night,
and all we have are each other.

the bird takes flight
into a starless night

into the long, lonely why
of endless sky.

trapped bird must fly
or surely she will die

I'm skipping stones across the lake
with my eyes closed
and now I can only see you
in a drunken dream.

I'm searching for the lost song
and the melody I knew
before your eyes had died.

the words I didn't say.
the strings of the lost cords
seated in sorrow, sometimes joy,
lost in tomorrow's rain,
found in a photo alblum.

the thinly stretched cords in 1/4 tones.
the rhythms from your heart beating.

the tender touch of vibrating strings.

I was always turning around to see
who was behind  me
and there in lies the danger
and so the past holds me in its arms...

...the tip of your cigarette glows in the dark.
(the light without a flame)

you are sitting in a chair.
I m sitting in a chair.
we don't speak.

that is my everlasting memory of you.

the fire had taken flight.

you bought books and never read them.
you always used too much perfume.

I had no time for you, lonesome dove.
my heart of sand,
but thunder now follows my heart,
with the perfume of things lost.

in the meadows above treeline
the wildflowers are in bloom
turning time into sunshine:
the indian paintbrush, green orchid,
yellow columbine, heart-leafed arnica

and climbing through the rain into sunshine
our shadows stretched across a cloud

and my love's surprise
echoes across the mountain side
to the bow river
and snow-covered mountain tops.

it is an angel's song, gentle and sweet
where the wildflowers bloom
and our hearts are always free.

Alberta.

beautiful flower

carried away in the storm
laid down in a thicket of thorns.

who will morn
the dancer and sinking sky?
the raven with a broken wing?
who will cry for you? O, flower
folded in the forgotten book of sorrow.
now, a shadow and a name and a tombstone.

my flower, my rose without thorns.

I'm gonna get my shotgun
climb the water tower,
shoot the stars full of lost tomorrows.

Nietzsche knew of the waiting abyss,
those inside and those outside.

...Bobby's wife is *****, murdered.
he gets a gun, tortures
and slaughters the 3 men.

the entire movie theater cheers. some clap.
we've had our fill.
(transitory though it is)

we've realized in the husband,
the animal lurking in all,
not hidden, but not acknowledged,
our dark light rising from the mist
of primordial quicksand,
the mirror facing the mirror.
the monster fighting the monster.

and we are pleased.

sunset settles behind the trees
and the mayflies rise from the creek
to touch the water to deposit eggs.

the mayfly lives a day, a single night

and in twilight's glow
they rise and fall
in a delicate ballet
to caress the water,

this romance with flowing water,
so brief, so beautiful.

why do I always ask myself
is this
the most ..cked up
I ve ever been
when I m too ..ucked up to know?

(hey, maybe I m not fcked up??
maybe this is the way humans feel
all the time
maybe this normal and everyone else
is fcked up!)

(lost the thought, what was I thinking, anyway? aaAAH,)

why do I always ask myself
is this...???

she had a wicked kind of motion,
a cold beauty
with the radiance of a sunset dying.

Jack had seen her,
had seen her walking
the sidewalks and streets
that are too dark for dreaming,

the acne scars on her cheeks
had left faded marks,
with her wolf spirit longing
to be unchained.

the sudden rain drumming on the roof of the car.

and Jack was no stranger to sad streets,
the sidewalks and tenement caves,
strangers in a crowd laughing.

his sad eyes, two black eyes,
another fight,
he looked like a raccoon.

he came around the car
as she knew he would,
took her in his arms,
kissed her and when he withdrew
from the kiss
she felt his warm breath.

Melissa was from Montana,
had left her husband.

just one more nightmare to try
and understand
and so Jack didn't want to know, why,
He didn't ask

and she is the one women
that never took the smile
from his face
and some loves forever to ring true.

2 souls in the fire.
one heart.

I rollover on the bed
face the wall
stare at the lines and cracks.

I give the wall a talking to,
tell me lies. I'll tell you my lies.

and i'm telling the wall,
the future looks bright. i'm planning
my own crazy, this time,

i use a black magic marker,
draw a wide rectangular
picture window across the white wall, then

sand, seashore, and sea stacks in the ocean.
can you smell the salt air?
i'm asking my wall.

don't look at me cracks,
like that.

the wall sighs,
and the bones of this old building
reply with a moan.

i'm inventing my own madness, so

look,
the sand pipers
are darting here and there
across the sand
avoiding the gentle lapping of the waves.

and the long wing shearwaters
flying low, gliding,
just barely above the tips of waves.

i'm planning my own foolishness.

some loves last for so long
like a song without a name
and you never know
when love will walk into a heart

and I'm going to run
far away
from sidewalk ledges
rooms with cracks in the wall,
far away from here.

and, Oh, wall, hang not the albatross around my neck.

a tribute to  Dave Roskos, poet.

at the Poet Wednesday
a long, long time back
in Woodbridge, I heard
the poet, Dave Roskos,
and the one line that rings so true,
a bittersweet, one word, symphonic waltz
the one line i 'll take to my grave.

"2 flies ******* on my coffee cup."


BEAUTIFUL, Dave Roskos, poet.

little leaf, reaches for the sky.

rides the wind, hugs the sun.

dreams with a voice of love,

only knows love.

delights in simple joys.

little leaf, dreams of an ice cream cone.

(a child at play in the park.)

the church bells,
the church bells,

the church bells are ringing.

the angels are singing
the sad refrain of the dreams
of us moths into the flame

that leave us grieving of the ringing
of bells.

the church bells,
the church bells,
heavens and hells,

a spirituous mist
has brought us to our leave

with the summoning ring of the bell
falling silent.

"strange creatures we are,
you and i," she gets up from the couch,
stands in front of me, looks into my eyes.

"shot in the heart
with cupid's crooked arrow,"
and then she sighs, "an ill fated love."

"hey, you left me moaning in pain,"
some sorrow in my voice, "for far too long so
feel for us creatures
seeking love,
afraid to lose the love
once given like sunshine
on a spring day." I take her
into my arms

and her cheek rests against my cheek
and she whispers in my ear, "you could
tap dance and juggle at the same time."

rain tapping against the windowpane.

"our distant stars
riding the cosmic train.

we are joined together
in some beautiful gift
that we will never be able to understand."

"*******." she tells me, and smiles.

(Tap dancing, love. and riding the cosmic train.
a lost art.)

these things.

these things you do
on the 4th of July
at an age
without thought...

things happen in front of
Madam Maria's...
(things happen
on the boardwalk
in Asbury Park...


...the police officer,
with a glee in his eye said

he was going to put
me in the cell with
Big Mortimor,

the happy tone in his voice
(and it worked.)
I was ******* myself,
serial killer
hit man for the mafia,
******... roommate...???

this isn't about me,
what brought me here
to the city yard ...

as it turns out,
it was Reverend Mortimer
from Our Lady of the Perpetual Motion.
the issue it seems was
the sisters.

the Sisters of Perpetual Motion,

for a $20 donation and up
a sister will love you.

more later, about the reverend, but back

to what brought me here
to a cell in the city yard
of Asbury Park.

as I reflect on what brought here
(vaguely)
to the city yard of Asbury Park

ah, fight.?

I had said to her,
your boyfriend,
"he's only over compensating
for his receeding hair line
and feelings of inadequacy,

ah, ah, a fight went down, I believe.
(I didn't know I had hit
the mayor.)

what more can I say
about my stay,

in the City of Asbury Park ?

the sisters???

that things happen
and you end up
in a cell
in the city yard
in Asbury Park
with a room without no view...

...oh, back to Reverend Mortimer. apparently

the. U.S Constitution,
NAACP, ACLU.

it was a religious issue. AND SO, FREE

the Reverend Mortimer threw a big party

with the Sisters of Our Lady

of Perpetual Motion!!!

ferocious beauty,
abandoned heart,
your blue green eyes
seemed like a window
to a fire

and so you thrilled me
like an old rusty bridge,
sweet things, and mountains.

we are what we are.
desperate, Darling,
fated like all living creatures.

if we didn't fear death,
how could we love

the wild flowers in the meadow,
coffee in the morning,
the joy in the smile of our children,
the warmth of our bodies touching.

you are the flower of the meadow

and I am the one to lie beside you
into endless tomorrows.

casts huge leaf shadows on dirt
and the mockingbird's mocking me.

"mockingbird,"
I put my hands in my pocket
and pretend a smile,
"some things you can't out run,
church bells and a wedding dress,
funeral processions and baptisms,
the cop car radio,

she was so beautiful in her wedding dress,"

I'm pointing my finger up at the mockingbird,
"so I'm a few steps ahead of you in heartache,

it was a toss of the dice,"I tell the bird,

"I threw a handful of rice."

"so don't look sad at me, bird.
everyone gets hurt."

and on her branch in the sycamore tree
the mockingbird's crying to me...

"I'm a few years ahead you...
Sweet One, lonely bird.

I've walked through fire,
stared into the wall of shadow and sorrow
into the cold silence of tomorrow.

I hear what you're telling me, Dear One,
loves been a little ******* you, too,

and there in illusion lies the danger
so please be kind, my friend,

the sorrows that never seem to fade away
become the grey, dark sea,
and sunlight through the Sycamore tree.

the mystery of delicate petals unfurling
into forgiveness.

the forest of evergreens and silent flowers,

oh, tender heart, my love,
the gentle spirit when days are more gray.

walk with me through the riddle of
the silent and cold universe,

the sometimes warm and starry sky,
across clouds, the moonlit landscape
of mountains and snow.

run with me
naked under the flower moon.

she smiles, oh, that flower moon,
locks her arm in my arm,
hands me tiny purple flowers,

and says, it's only love.

there was a wishing well
on the boardwalk. a fountain

spewing yellow and blue water.
I reached into the pool

grabbing change.

crossed the street
and spread the wet
green change across the bar

and got a beer.

2 a.m.

just in time for the turtle races.

so I rushed across the street
to get money for beer
and to bet on the race.

she was kneeling
in front of the wishing well.

she told me her name was Destiny.

the green-dyed water
dripping from her clenched fingers.


DESPERATE LOVE was the turtle
we picked. a 40 to one shot.

Destiny and me
spread the wet change
across the bar,
placed our bet...


...right after the fight
the cops arrested Destiny. the green

dye. she never washed it off
her hands, her arms.

Desperate Love came in first.
I took the winnings and bailed
Destiny out of the county jail.

it was love at first sight.

...meanwhile,

we're back at the wishing well...

when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,

fall slow,

so I m falling slow

like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.

the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.

I roll to face the wall

and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.


the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.

how many dreams forgotten?

I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words

floating through clouds like roses,

I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.

a sword through the shoulder blades
into the heart.

we can only hope for such a death.

the bull's lament, fate, no destiny.

no one chooses their end.

(the bull'death understood.)

pocket full of pennies
rolling across the kitchen floor,
down the steps, out the door,

pennies running into the street
(and i'm right behind them.)

"where do you think you are going? and
I'm feeling a bit embarrassed, so i whispered.
"you belong to me,

to keep or to throw away." and

there s a light tap on my shoulder,
and the policeman tells me,

"better find them soon
before they turn to rust,

I couldn't find mine
and I'm sure they turned into dust."

and the echoe from the hole
in my pocket shouts,
" his dreams are
trying to find the waterline."

i did find a few of them, a handful,
(I had swiped my hand as they tried to roll away)

I did grasp a few

but some of the other
pennies i threw into the air
where they may have fallen,
I know not where.

she crosses the line
black hair shining
like the raven's wing
alive like a bird in flight

eyes, soft, so complex

like a church's stain glass window

the sky above,
the sea below,

are not as blue.

and her seductive, smiling face,
lips blowing shadows,
courting lovers

a little risk involved,
a little madness necessary.

she'll steal your heart with passion
to set the night on fire,
spread the smoldering ashes across a page

and dance ballet while strumming
your heartstrings.

some jump into the fire,
and some are never free.

that flash of fire, art,
a savage love
as there ever was
burning through the canvass,

but when

she smiles...