real
loneliness
is not
necessarily
limited
to when
you are
alone

Old Italian Ladies walk around in long black dresses
A handkerchief tucked up one sleeve for blowing little noses
They are soft and round, with flappy forearms
And give greasy lipstick kisses as they clutch you to their chests

Old Italian Ladies smell like olive oil and flour
And they give out oozy chocolates with red cherry sauce inside
Their enormous laps are like lumpy old recliners
They sing songs about amore' as they rock you off to sleep

Old Italian Ladies let you go down to the basement
Where the air is cool and shelves are lined with jars of pickled green beans
And wide mouthed bottles bursting with clumpy red tomatoes
They use creaky wooden step stools when they need to reach up high

Old Italian Ladies pierce your ears with just a needle
A bar of soap, a lump of ice
A loop of string to make the earring
And a tiny glass of anisette for the tears after the sting

Old Italian Ladies were the matrons of my childhood
Intoning rosaries, invoking saints
Making garlic studded meatballs
Dispensing love as freely as hard candy from their purses.

She lights another one, she'd rather
Smoke than run.
It used to be for fun,  
Now it's become more a
Reaction than behaviour.
We all turn to our saviour.

He'll pour himself one more
Unlike before when he was
Not a drunk for sure.
He drinks himself onto the floor, a
Toast to friends he lost to
War, to wishing he was
Just as dead and gone as
They were.  
We all turn to our saviour.

She doesn't even try, with all the lies
She tells the guys.
They grow in size until it's
No surprise she lies herself to
Self-despise.
There's truth behind her eyes, but
Deep inside and in disguise.
Now it's too late
To tell the truth,
She's only sickened by its flavour.
We all turn to our saviour.

I try to use my voice and speak
Out loud, but sound so weak I
Close my mouth. I sneak a line in
Inbetween; as thin as paper.
Being heard instead of read means
I'll be quiet when I'm dead.

I pick the pen instead, again when
Stating something sort of major.
We all turn to our saviour.

I cannot recall the moment
that sanity became a working goal.

Drugs are expensive,
sobriety; even more so.
Somewhere between all of this
I will have to learn to live.

The homeless are pushed out of town,
asleep beneath the railway bridge
that sends rain through rivets
like bullets.

I keep punching the clock
as it throttles Eros with slow hands.

“Sometimes just a smile is enough”
reads a cardboard placard.
But I have not cracked a smile
since I started popping these pills.

Does she wonder what I’ll think
when I find that freshly burned
evidence of a habit—I thought—
she dropped long ago? What upsets
me the most is that she couldn’t
confront her weakness enough
to buy a cheaper brand.

I'd paint you like a blank canvas
into a masterpiece created by my hands alone,
I'd write you, your very own fairy tale,
I'd smear my ink across your blank pages
into the best story ever told,
I'd find and fine tune your inner lyrics
into the most beautiful of songs,
I'd learn the dance to the rhythm
beating inside your chest,
I'd be the keeper of your inner most fears
I would hide them away
so they would lack the power to cause you anymore tears,
I'd safeguard always the keys that belong to all that is you,
I'd stand beside you never to fail or waiver
because my love for you would be constant and true,
I'd treasure your existence and beautiful soul,
I'd lay the world at your feet,
I'd bring you the moon,
I'd capture fallen stars
give all my wishes to you,
I'd walk across broken glass,
I'd swim the ocean floor,
I'd shelter you in any kind of storm
I'd protect you by taking the force of the blow,
But mostly I would love you
until time is no more....

I sigh, my soul bubbling up from between
Rose petal lips,
Silent arpeggios of emotion falling from
Eyes, mouth, ears
Shimmering like heat waves on an empty road
I am in a mood for words
Deep words, warm and silty as a
River bed in summer
Quiet thoughts sinking like stones
Through endless evenings, barely rippling
The still, glowing sunsets
Soft words, like my grandmother's creased hands holding out
Smooth bits of sea glass for her granddaughter to smile at,
Clapping her grubby fingers
Dreamy whispers glide across silver lakes,
Reflections of dark velvet and diamonds
Stretched over the bones of the universe
I am in a mood for words
Heavy words and light words
Separating heaven and hell, I float betwixt
Drifting aimlessly in front of drowsy fires,
Pages littering my lap, books spineless from re-reading
My slow breath, thudding heart becoming a dictionary
My mind sleeping under darkness, softly
Gentle whispers of labyrinthine poems
Infinite, eternal