I am a limb attached to you.
I was a part of you-
The part that was your slave.
I did your bidding,
But nothing was ever enough.
So you slashed your own arm,
But you did not feel my pain.
No longer could I bear the burdens
That you weighed upon me.
So with my own hand,
I severed myself from you.
I am now a limb alone in the world.
Blood still spills from my side,
As I am incomplete without you.
I try to grow into my own body,
But I was only ever an extension of you.
Never was I whole,
So within me will always be a hole.
Severed,
I am free,
But yet I am helpless, just how you taught me.
Enslaved to you I shall always be,
Though now my body is free.
Oh How I long,
To find what is me.

I sit alone,
Content with myself,
Until I see you.
I look across the room and glare at your wrinkled skin.
You sit there, almost lifeless.
Then you see me staring at you.
You stare,
Or might I even say glare back.
I can see the envy in your eyes,
Envy of the beauty that you once knew.
Youth has escaped you.
Once more you look me up and down, but this time with a smile.
For I am what you once were,
And you are what I shall one day become.
We fear one another, not because of our difference, but because we are confronted with the inevitability.
As long
As I am here,
So shall you be.
And soon, my skin will wither away.
So I step away from the mirror
And step into the light.

the crunchiness of energy
wrinkled, stiff stored up
in nooks and crannies
of nooks and crannies

the bands these bands
and lines of force and
opinions of bored matter
about just where you

might be right now
are all wavering red
as this past second
panics and runs off

carrying one end only
of my thoughts strung
through bending time
stuttering about acting

I have this cause so consuming . . .
like an overdose that's overwhelming

When salt water was as sweet as the memories that washed over my feet by the edge of high tide's completion


"Go find the door to your ambition
before it closes to the winds of desiccation"

The binding has cracked
the paper turned yellow  
Touching ,  now brittled backed
So it has been written "finis" upon the last page of life

The words I collected like seashells
as the wrinkles of face grew to foretell

The foam and waves swept over my toes
as the sand was ****** away from beneath

They say the pain will go away .
then they wish you well ,
. . . turn . . . and walk away

I look back upon life as if it were a dream :
a scheme . . .
a scream . . .
and so naive

"I will check out the skies in Rome ,
I promise now when winter is gone"

I long for the hot sands of purification
Where the bleached bones
have reached end's destination

Somewhere next to a Coptic sea
where time falls short on eternity I will kneel to my desperation


In another year
it will be another day's difference in time ,
as another grain of sand falls it loosens its bind

"Won't you come and bring thirst's renewal of relief ?"

Don't leave me gazing . . .
searching for that distant smile . . . buried in my  beliefs

If not . . . then
let me wish you well . . .
turn . . . and walk away

sometimes
the hangman isn't
hanging
and the night
jumps from the wall
and whispers,
"cut the deck."

"chance," I asked,
"danger and risk?"

"COLD DESIRE..."

she had it tattooed
on her ***

"COLD DESIRE"

we shared a quart of beer.
the dust of time in her greying hair.
she had a wooden leg
and a glass eye
a blue bottomless eye

and she had that, smile
like razor blades and dice
and
sometimes
the hangman
isn't hanging

thundering clouds
and no rain
she looked me in the eye
her good eye
(maybe not
it was a dark tomb
and the night
was blue
or maybe her good eye was blue???)
anyway
she kick me with her wooden leg
I hit her with a right
hand and her
glass eye flew
rolled along
the floor
towards a mouse
hole

a hole in one!

and i
yelled,
ROLL OVER

COLD DESIRE

ill figure out my existence
swing my arms in every direction
swaying my body with their
flinging.
i must know my limits,
i cant turn my waist wholey round !
nor turn head like an owl !

Life wears me out with its
twists and turns, and
hairpin curves.
I keep waiting for a
long, peaceful stretch
of highway, bathed in
the rising sun.
A golden wheatfield to
to the left, a moss covered
pond with dragonflies to
the right.
The road turns to gravel,
and climbs rapidly uphill.
There are signs along the
way that promise the world.
The road gradually turns
to dirt, and ultimately
disappears.