I watch in a daze as he wets his lips
whets his lips on stones.
ones that pin me down
and cause sinking feelings in my gut.
--those acrid acrylic licks
painting stains on skin
immune to detergent

‘cause I’m threadbare
and he works his way through
the lesions in my sweaters
and he knows I like to wear things out
shabby little happenings
inside a purple room
that he burst into like a lightning bolt
“Heartthrob” on a Honda 75 CB

and I’m not naive enough for love, no
sir, check that coat at the door
but there’s some supreme
cinematic fascination
inherent in his walk and talk

and I want to encapsulate what he is
and forget what he is not.

Phases of faces, captured moments and instances
I pass by, so swiftly, so fleetingly
Caught in the crossroads of paradigms and decisions
I stood paralyzed, terrified.

I meet intense eyes that bore through me, knowing me, knowing us
A smile as warm as the sun that has the power to melt me
Your presence is strong, comforting…strong, unsettling…strong, terrifying
You have me without even trying, you mesmerize me.

You bring me to my knees with a sigh,
you can crush me with a word.
You can bring me to bliss with a touch,
you can bring me to ecstasy with a kiss.

You command me with a whisper, I am drawn to you
You break down my china walls, one by one
You undress my layers of failed expectations
Of shattered dreams, and broken hearts

I stand before you, naked, vulnerable
I look away, not bearing for you to see
My helplessness, my hopelessness
All my imperfections, my fears, my desires.

You wipe my tears away, and kiss my bitterness away
And yet the fear descends on me…I’ve been here before
Fear of hurt, of betrayal, of disappointment
Fear that this is all an illusion…or perhaps just my delusion

And so I put on a smile, cool and composed
Hide behind my fast-paced life, run far away from you
Going so fast, so fast…so I won’t think, I won’t feel
Until I fall, exhausted, to sleep a dreamless sleep

I need the noise, the meaningless clanging
For in silence, the longing creeps in…
To be in your arms, just us and nothing else…
Nothing but warmth and the sound of our hearts beating.

So I welcome the numbness, welcome the pain
Punish myself for the choice I’ve made in my weakness
Someday I will find my happiness, someday I will find my strength
Somehow…I will find you again.

You probably understand. Or maybe you don't, after all. Either way, it is jumping around inside me and if I don't let it out soon all my carbonation will fizz up and run over the side of my glass and I don't want to waste all that sweetness.

I want to kiss you underwater.

I want that kiss to be the only thing keeping us alive. Down there we are foreigners, aliens. Grasping, I want to feel your flesh in stark contrast to the smooth wetness all around me, like a secret.

All that life where we cannot live. Exotic, forbidden, so lovely. I am sick with love.

I: Hypocritical Accusations of a Jealous Knave
I could have sworn the Queen winked at me as
I laid my Royal Flush on the table
Clubs
She was always the prettiest
Hers is my suit:
I imagine myself as the Jack
Who turns her from Monarchess to
Adulteress in the Royal Garden
Maybe slip her a stolen **** or two
To spite the King for he always
Outranked me
The chances of being dealt it are
Sixty four thousand, nine hundred and seventy (ish) to
One,
If my luck is running out,
Why must it be wasted
In the gaining of ethereal money?
Why not conserved for the selling of my soul to
A queen who is not ink on laminate
Card?
Or at least not here in an
Imagined Vegas or Montecarlo where
Neon, though colourless in nature,
Forms a blinding parody of a hell, hooded
In green and pink and orange and yellow or more
To pass as a heaven for
The wannabe vagrants of brat nations
Who may weep pennies for a disaster,
Remove the split onion, retake the shining knife
And bleed brass, nickel, copper and
Slaughtered tree (more ink) into
An impossible lottery
Hoping for a transfusion with
Monetary hepatitis and all from
The blind benefactors
Apply a plaster and
Reabsorb oneself into the mirror
I too am guilty of all this

II: Inside the Dreams of a Madman to Be
Checkmate.
Oh how the intellectuals do duel
Yet spill not one drop of blood;
Like the bishops of old before they were
Confined to diagonals
Who would carry clubs instead
Of blades to preserve their
Sanctity:
Keep it white, not stain it red
Or brown, dotted with congealed black;
It is a wonder to paint
But not to see or to feel
This was before the days when
Bleach could hide one’s
Breaking of the LORD’s commandments
And before the harnessed
Lightning strike
Killed the LORD himself in his creation’s (Midnight)
Eyes
And so the bleach was not needed
Yet still it sold because
Grass stained trousers:
The fruits of a hard summer afternoon’s
Labour in the sun
An atom of wasted
Childhood well spent
Could not be called a sin

III: Nonsensical Ramblings of the Recently Awakened**
The eyes of an ivory cubic
Snake in two parts leer up at me
Does this mean defeat at the hands of fate?
Nonsense! I am the hand of fate
The left, disused one to be exact;
It is not chivalrous to use me
Yet I am the hand of many things
I know nothing of hands or of dice
I tell lies instead

I kneel on tarmac under blackened sky
No creature, breath or breeze here spoils the peace
And on my knuckle rests a butterfly
I shudder from the cold, his heartbeats cease
No frail and fragile flight did he achieve:
His wings were sealed together from his birth
And for that molten moment I believe
How much to him his simple flight is worth
I leave him in a hawthorn bush to fight
Against the hungry shadows, sneaking forth
I didn’t have the heart to end his plight
I feel as cruel as winter in the north
When life, then death are held with open hands
The wielder, faced with God, now understands

I like a man with fire in his bones
And where his head should be,
There is a home.

And I wax and wane like the moon
If you turn away you might miss me,
I'll be gone soon.

this perpetual pattern. a thousand spreadsheets of the thing, draped unceremoniously about the furnishings of my mind. digits and symbols tapped into a machine to keep every schtick continually whirring. rare concessions of dumbfounded dazzle, no time or place for wonder. untidy notes, impure thoughts, callings from the mud--the whole deal, and yet i still hold my fancies. with careful introductions i can shut the monster down. it has dreams of its own, collected in dust, and when the time comes to sit out defeat they unfold in my lap like grotesque paper flowers

Before my eyes could even register
Before my mind could comprehend
Before the car could even stop
You were out of that door,
running
Running to the car blocking the road
World upside down concave in
Not caring if you stepped on the showered glass
My heart stopped as you peered in,
but it was empty
The night was empty
The mountain was empty
The reception on our cell phones was empty
In between the flashlighted calls for her
in the woods, in the river
a body, a soul?
You turned to me
Your instincts continuing perfectly
Somehow you knew the effect of your hand up and down on my back
And took the time to comfort me.