all that's alive
are my hands and lips

the rest is vinery


there's nothing to touch
the brain to tips

just a bested line in me


we're empty enough
swollen rosen-hips

lust's a slow findery

she rocks herself to sleep at night
for who else can ease her sorrow?
brought upon by her own cursed self
she hopes not to see tomorrow

why can’t i just leave as i lay here now
drifting amongst desires and fears?
more pleasurable than reality it surely will be
than fighting through another day of tears

thinking through what’s been done so far
cringing for what’s yet to come
i realize there’s nothing left to do
and thus my heart goes numb

Sometimes she is a steam train,
All fire and noise, sizzling, powerful
Too hot to touch …
Almost.

And sometimes she is tree
Growing, blossoming, strengthening and seeding,
Increasing to a golden leafed complexity,
Before disrobing once more

And yet she is too a river, deep with secrets,
Wide with acceptances, bubbling and meandering and
flowing gentle round obstacles

Then is love the water that makes all her ways possible?
For then rain cannot disappoint
Tis drought I fear most.

She said she collects pieces of sky,
cuts holes out of it with silver scissors,
bits of heaven she calls them.
Every day a bevy of birds flies rings
around her fingers, my chorus of wives,
she calls them. Every day she reads poetry
from dusty books she borrows from the library,
sitting in the park, she smiles at passing strangers,
yet can not seem to shake her own sad feelings.
She said that night reminds her of a cool hand
placed gently across her fevered brow, said
she likes to fall asleep beneath the stars,
that their streaks of light make her believe
that she too is going somewhere. Infinity,
she whispers as she closes her eyes,
descending into thin air, where no arms
outstretch to catch her.

The transvestite
in the corner
sauntered over to me dripping ******
while I tightly gripped j&b; on the rocks in a heavy glass

ignoring myself

and he whispers heavily in my ear
after colliding with the bar, sitting down hard
"I want to be treated like a woman, and ****** like one."

The ****** next to us at the bar,
Thin legs crossed, drinkless and bruised
                      hearing this, turned,
Saying around a thin menthol on a long filter

"Oh' honee'y"

Making a small 'tch 'tch 'tch noise with her tongue seductively.

"You don't **** us, we *******."

Ideas and Feelings inevitably start
From deep inside a pregnant heart
Ideas ! But surely the brain is the thing?
Yet brains fall dumb when heart doth sing.

So many a notion is drowned at birth
As for emotion; they often fare worse
For dreams never fly until they’re set free
So “When ?”to release them , you ask of me

Well if  ever’s the time to make them true
Then do it today
Whilst that moon’s shining blue.


*Well not literally, but astronomically speaking, it is tonight !

And again
it is time for lies
small, careful constructs
delivered in the interest
of self-preservation
in hopes of mollification
of the claustrophobic inquiries
of dear, devoted friends

so it is once more
down the rabbit hole
escaping into a world
of misbelief
buffered in gentle,
worthless cloaks
of half-truths that provide
a deceptively soft
and comfortable place
to be silent and still
until honesty loses
some of its brutality