i still *** every
time a thought of
you comes across
my mind but the
*** comes from my tear
ducts instead of my genitalia
and they’re just antibacterial
enzymes: water  ·
salts  ·
antibodies
and lysozomes;

the day you left
all spermatozoa left
my being it was like
the hole you left
in the air was a black
hole shaped exactly like
you,  a vacuum eternally
thirsty for my ****** fluids;

every pore on my body
became a weighty abyss

it’s just the tears
you never find
as pleasing
offerings

so you took your suitcase
and everything i am
in a bag out the door  ·

that moment

reminded me  
when you’d take
out the trash
and thereafter would
be spending the night
trying to put
up with how little
space i left on the
bed
                      
that moment  ·

you were gone
· you were done
but you were
also there still  ·
forever remaining  ·

all at once  ·

that was a really nice
trick you never had
the time to teach me
and so

· that moment

with your back turned  ·
every step
you took was like
lightning
in slow motion

and then there was just
the door so i let the electric
company put my lights
out and spent all our meant-to-be
life savings on candles,
lit them all up  ·
had some champagne  ·
stepped in the tub with my clothes
on after i filled
it with gasoline,
googled good lakes
and lit a cigarette.

From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its planetarium
lemons descended to the earth.

Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.

Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.

So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant ******
of the earth's breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

You always make coffee in the morning
It draws me from my serene slumber
You bring it to me in the mug you gave me
For Christmas last December

Simple joy
I cannot fathom
A world without your loving touch
A dream without your gracious gaze
And a life without your presence

No one ever asked me
if I wanted to be shackled, instead of being free
no one ever asked, but decided anyway
to turn and bolt the open doors
tie me to the dusty concrete floors and work me to the bone.

No one said,you'll never own a home and if you do
we'll steal it back
and mortgage you instead,
one day we'll all be dead
'so what's the rush?' is what I said.

Brokers in the token towers endowed with powers beyond our 'ken'
and if or when they do decide to let the status quo remain
the status quo will automatically, register it as another of the same old krap
it's something else that they'll steal back.

I've got to tell you, that I'm pig sick
of make it fast and spend it quick and sod the rule of law it never did apply , to the hotshot, potbellied, suited city guy who has his eye on articles one to five and in any case will most definitely survive against the odds by burying away us poor sods in backroom books,stirred slowly into microfilm by corporate crooks who cook away as if each day a different menu was on sale.

Beyond the pale where riders sit and watch the scenes unfold, and it is foretold that judgement day will wash the wicked clean away and save the righteous.
Yes,
well don't I just believe all that
another bunch of total krap.
The pious in their pious world could not foresee that greed alone would be the fall of man..and in the fall,where man has done it all and nothing of it done remains
the register clicks on two more games to play
one tonight
and one the day to come
a bonus ball for everyone except Mario because he's on ******,you know it,I know it
the moguls in the mighty towers blow coke into their nose and they know it too.

Not a thing I want to do
should I do, would I if I could do,do?

I wonder where it's written that
we have to go there to get back
and if we go why don't we stay
one day we'll all be dead.
A thought as going ,when to bed arrived in and another trial that I survived through
one more dish of microfiche that never swam in any sea
and small as anything you see
or smaller for all that
a status bit of ***
for tat
and let the gnats and hounds of titled lords and ladies give the peasants rampant rabies, who cares but the undertakers undertaker,the sombre funeral formulator?
and I don't give a ****.

On the waves of a dream,
I lay waiting on shore,
a cold beach this night
beneath a burdened moon
crying stardust


I sink slowly
into the wet sand…
pleading with the waters
for answers to shamed questions,
while counting the shades of violet
framing a weeping sky


Thoughts flow like the tides
on an endless journey,
weaving contours and
bends deep within
this sorrow that washes
over me


I watch as these waves slip away,
carrying hopes still lingering
and exposing the loss
I feel, fiercely
crashing before my eyes,
in opaque foam


I can not move,
my body is still,
my breath salted and tethered,
as I reach
for shadows of my memories,
only to find them…


whispering goodbye
on the breeze