Walk me dutiful into love
Open my doorways, deliberate
Clear off the boughs
And the stars above
Walk me, dutiful, into love.

Pallor hearts of cosmic flame
Rush wax quickly, safe to say,
But, this, the tepid can warn no hand
Where Eros pierce and finger cove’
Rush me, dutiful, into love.

Yet, what ether of open mist
Can hide desire, away, steal a kiss
My, my how sane and cold in time
Do boundaries, up, the passion bind
What drives the lines, my heart it drove
Oh, walk me, reckless, into love!

Thatchen ardor incense the air
And leave me homeless, with luck threadbare
If my stars and hearts be flying doves
Away the fly or give a shove
At least I know I walked in love.
And know where I may fit.

Esoteria, this marble body wrought of burden
Of the Halcyon days, breathéd in these coarser ways
I peer rapture ‘pon the retina at what you sought
And won to capture.

I see my kind and its soul in artful craft and oil
Marvel at an author’s hand the suffuse horror
Beauty demands. How fickle the smoke of
Inspiration. My torture scratched half on leaf

Come as these came, fleeing we for it Eden
Burned and pacified this trembling hand needn’t pacify
The true desire of my own a prize for heart
‘gainst, I know the pillar lone.

So ebb and flow melancholia go, ‘twas that despair
Walked hand-in-hand down the ****** gates, no worse
For wear, that belle danseuse undone and bare
Morose lines drawn away in the scope of stare.

My future was so painted thus, these seconds were
A stronger pulse, no stranger to my wicked book
But I know difference; set I to find the charm and
Awe her radiance inspired.

Lo, it was not painting nor poetics, but the hand
Sleepy eyes, such confound this tongue and scene
Pathetic—this waylayer of my woe escaped
With the point of her toe, blind to things as I and drapes.

More joyous I couldn’t be, before aesthetics
As such let be and seeking to seek her out
As fiction demands content, I stay devout
Between pillar lone and the crashing wave of dreams

Come pouring forth. Shall I mar this angel,
Crestfallen, who, nay, suffers for awe?
Yes, I must for fear of my echo’s mate so cherished
Is fate for beauty so raw in moment’s time I’ll speak of love.

Her gaze is passed from room to wall as a spectre,
I, unseen and all, reach out, frozen as David to
Frustrate a period in done, unfinished verse
Still climbing, but to now a leveled curse.

‘T’is fitting a hand as mine would rightly ruin
No eye, nor brain, nor mouth a cage, my hex
An artist seeks Elysium so truth to coincide—
I’m vexed—as love and word step from my life
In tow, they from the page.

Perhaps even these can’t sustain the ecstacies
Ecstacies of the unlovely as I at portrait’s gaze
Stand and profane a sacred she or there,
Genius in the gallery still prey for Esoteria.

Dream a dream in leather-bound
Sheets as white as wedding gowns
Trace endless streets as riverrun
On alleys, veins back and down

Cigarette mornings, sun’s crown is passed
Onward! To destinations!
Calmly, into nothing goes on the last
And ever on so fast.

Steam does lift off the shadows cast
Off the blinding sky, perfect, pale-skin white
From my empty room Troy-maiden appeared
Verse tattooed on belly white, limbs so lithe.

Ere long, the throbbing thing, the pen
Passed and rent the soul to send
My crafted love in the sallow morn
The devils therefrom that are born

Knows not best torture  me
With outright attacks and battery
But that time and brooding are
Whips and chains—evoke his dignity
All it took to collapse his frame.

1
A dark September of the rising sun, lay it
Think on Nature’s belly, gaze to wide, and wide forget
All about the open, a shutter and a swelling,
As frost upon a filament, snapped and waving round
This cord could pluck amorous sound
Now it’s fat and dead vibration
Swallowed by Nature, her acoustics.
#2
He said I dreamt we made love on moss
Quickly his nature for it longs
Before and thence thereafter
Battered his own skull, the truncheon of those blast desires
All of their dreams, disillusioned by a rotting cream
Before he ate so gluttonously
And loath to think so freely.
#3
In the throes of such blanket miseries
He was a mountain climbing itself
Taillights seeking headlights
Middle of the line, seeking the end
Though this absolution of Dark September
Wretched and cold, has months as he miles
Towards the snow of Darkest November.

She sang starling in the dying noonish air
Whether the benches knew or no
Our finger slipped for better wear
And down we went onto the grass
We cupped the leaves so scattered there.

We both saw what was to come
Took our solace from a wint’ring sky
Tombstones flat against our backs,
And the wine in the folds of plams,
While I stopped singing
“Ya’arbernee.”

I sang nightingale and knew she would not hear
Turn up the music, baby, all sad songs
Sing the same, sing the same,
But I was looking for a love song, drowned
In the bitter verses of by-gone haunts.

I found I could only speak in epitaphs,
A cat drank water from a parchment leaf,
Of which we wrote our histories, Troys apart
But we only brought ourselves to think
On the weeds.
Turn up the music, baby, I want to sing
I want to sing starling.
Something sweet on the Reaper’s Bow
These breezes chill me, spurn us both
Twist your hair as was my oath.

She sang nightingale but to the distance
In which I buried it deep and blamed myself
I could be the good boy and kept the cards I’d dealt.
Talking loosely between tight lips
We felt the moment go in between sips.

Crept in the surgeon from the ashen winds
Peaceful, baleful autumn fire
A descent climbing ever higher.

A special case to him it seemed, starched white
His breathy steam corroborated.
The nurses rush ‘tween bed and ****, checking
Vitals of lacking that but the enigma
Curiouser and, oh, the blank screen displayed it.

There, as sight, the network of bones, all disposed
To their center, by blood and vein, all there through.

What caught the eye, a screaming white blot
In the thick of his bare cavity
A cold urn, well wrought
Had in its mouth a thousand streaming shards
Burning, pumping all the same by some miracle
That rigid effaced youth and flesh
Taking its gestalt’s place.

A nurse approach in ample fit to begin,
Crack his stern starch baritone, there he burst
Take him away; nothing is wrong
Amateur at best, irreclaimable at worst.

Humidity was his only companion
The puddle reflected the lamps, and on
A star full of skies, one after the other
A kind of sacrifice and bottled kiss blown
Some weeks before, and just as alone.

We were impossible halves, heart-beats
Stronger than the last, something pinkish
In the blood, of oxygen and hopeful chronicle
But set the things to regress, revert
I knew he was there just to get hurt.
As a kid, to him, it was a crest to overcome
A rainstorm to stand in
While the sun flooded down.

One heel was on the sidewalk
Cigarette burning out slowly
Clouds of oil, hanging above
Burned against it a charred move of love
But, it was to an open atmosphere
The thought of mind fleeing up
And body staying here
Neither, neither he divined
Of he to she to suit her
And so he sought to n’er to take it—
So staying as he is willing, willing
To move in time, possessing
A lore, a myth without labor
Or theft.

Looking up, the **** crushed and scattered out
Strangeness enwrapped him, she opened the door
Wanting to go, both feet, on without leaving the dark
Never certain, but always sure
What waited for him in the light.