predisposed to seeing things more real
than ghostly
having been on trips afar
where mushrooms are a delicacy
and LSD stands for Lands So Dreamy
I came upon Priscilla
this slight ****** high **** just right
hips swerving *** two handfuls
dream
that asked if I were hungry
I drooled yesp
she laughed
we hit it off
a high time had till
I found she lived with three
young disciples of the darkness
devil's spawn and mortal dread
having our way at dawn her children called upon the
cake and ice cream demons  to deliver silence
as they crept
around the house twinkies flying and cake sans icing
ice cream suddenly disappearing
the next morn Priscilla showed her true colors
flew into a frenzy the broom spun as she flew the vroom of
the broom spinning twixt her legs
all hell breaking loose
the black cats
hid with me beneath the coffee table
I had to pay the neighbor ten dollars and pledge
I had not seen him
to call me a cab to get home.
From Faydette.

I gulped to inhale her soul
as she sighed while it spilled

as the blood of birth

and I cried at the absence of her future

I reached to catch it before it slipped away
but these sin-slick hands couldn't grip such purity

What would I have done with it anyway?
Kept it like a genie to uncork whenever regrets weighed most?
Whenever my shame crept out?

It escaped faster than I had imagined
though no feather fell
or flutter caught my eye

into a spinning growing void in which only one word is ever said
and always in a whisper

In deeply disturbing dreams,
Heavy metals thunder
strikes lightning quality
violence,
inciting tension,
inducing exhausting levels
of stress.
Till, fatigue and anxiety
snaps a fragile mind.

Thud, thud, thud,

“God, please no more.”

Thud, thud, thud,

“Make it stop, I just need
thirty minutes of sleep.”

Thud.

A single trigger sounds.
The breath of brothers in arms
stops.

A softer bounce, rattle, and thwop.
as one tired body finally drops
of its own accord.

Thud, thud, thud.

Other adult children move forward,
while the self-inflicted sorrow
stains the hollow fox hole.

Thud, thud, thud.

Perhaps, I said.
But first, there's something
I must ask of you.  

Wrap one arm across your chest and embrace
the shoulder with the scar you  hide.  
With the other, place your  hand,
ever so gently, on your belly,
too soft though you think it is

Whisper now, but not for me, or any other
Just for you.  Whisper what you've been
withholding from yourself these many years

'I love you'  and not the you that you pretend to be, or the you you think someone else will love.  

The you, that is so delicate and beautiful, a tiger and a lamb.  The you who only wants you to notice the way your laughter sounds like sunshine,  the you that doesn't understand why you give yourself away to everyone else.  The one who loves you most.

'I love you' to the only one that if you truly love, will set you free to chase the wind and drink the rain from the sky with abandon.

Love the you that has suffered by your side with every choice, compelled by fear, that lead you places you knew better than to go, following beautiful creatures into the dark

Please, embrace yourself now,  give the love that you deserve, that you've spilled like wine along your path but never sipped.  

And when you have, you'll find me out beneath the stars lying in the grass.

~
To: Gods  
From: Only Love Poetry
Subject: Manchester Commencement


~
dedicated to Nat Lipstadt, my better half,
who whispers when life whipsaws beyond belief,
there still will always be,
a new sun come,
a day newly needy for an only love poem


commencement, a lovely,
so human contra-dictional term,
to begin, to end, the meaning meant  
in the ear of beholder,
though this year,
the meaning perhaps, is
in the heart of the true believer

a perfect end of May day, fully unofficially summer
but for the brisk crisp spring sweater weather temp,
informing that the official calendar heated demarcation day,
yet a full month ahead,  
but the news reminding that neither man or nature  
don't necessarily respect
foolish man made conventions of any kind

once again, return to the isle of shelter,
lawns lush, the waves speaking in wave lapping, watery tongues,
which suddenly all humans comprehend,
the sky, a milky blue cappuccino and
I struggle desiring to disbelieve that the
almost summer holiness communing has begun with a  
****** pointless Manchester commencement

the external perfection clashes with the internal revilation,
knowing anger is unprofitable, understanding and resolving
not even close to possible, the waste of why and what for's

thrice, already sent you missive missiles,
that acknowdge did not hit the target,
you must be the the hard hearted pharaoh
who won't let my people, any people, go,
till all of us hold our eldest child in our arms, dead

the is no point in anger, the consoling of souls,
disregarding the vanity of revenge calls,
the Einsteinian repeating insanity of praying each of us,
to different gods to do what we stupidly call the right thing,
expecting different outcomes

so what's the why and the wherefore for just another poem?

to prepare the soul, keep yourself at the steady,
for the next one, never complacent, staying unready,
commencements are either endings or beginning
who can tell for sure, sometimes a bit of both

and in a poem, composed only of love,
written with solemn tears decorating the screen,
finger slipping on the warm sad wet,
a kind of scar tissue, a healing, but differentiated,
returning similar, but forever changed, different,
is still something human I can true believe in, no gods necessary

~
5/27/17 2:21pm