Heart drips it’s
sweat stained dream
on the parchments of desire
entreating a delusional self
braggart of a heart
selfish to own
what is never owned

mired in the slit trench
of this war of attrition
peeling away each layer
of what love isn’t
and never could be

she looked up with the eyes of her soul
pools with the depth of every broken dust riddled desire
her will stretched out
between where love lives
and where love dies

she softly uttered
if lust be the nucleus of all passion
then is not love the desiccant of the soul
do we not all fail
by
believing love to be a possession…..

The crystal forms slowly building sequential
Pace the turning of the heart
Stagnant or swollen
What divinity lays entwined
In a sunlight
And the pulsing of your dream
Pounding away at your reality
The crystalline heart
Segmented refining it’s beauty
Lips caress the lip
Drowning in love the segments define
The table set for starving lovers
Pierce me and I will bleed
this….

It was never clear
how a poor farm boy
could pull his roots from the soil
and
fly away

Someone in Paris could not have known
that someone dreams
why
do poets cry
and life seems so sweet
somewhere

The turning of the soil
like the folding of a soul
within the cry of hungers scream
he could always hear
them
scream

And dream....dream
of some life somewhere
where beautify was so seldom
crucified
and fathers loved their sons

was it there in the streets of Paris
where they danced to beauty
and held on tight
to sons
was it somewhere beyond
where that sun went
every night

with the dust of the land covering his face
he would wonder
and dream.....

Cigarette Burns On An Old Bar

the bubbles rising to a horizon
of aspirations
the air rehearsed
as too the dialogue

each burn dragged across the bar
what instant the cigarette lit
what was it
they were pushing away

I visit my their graves after harvest is done
each year the orphan
stands in an August heated wind
braced against the knowledge
that we are all born alone
and so….

I speak to them
but all I can acknowledge
is that they are gone
Then I pretend that I had not
said anything at all

I board a plane
that carries me farther away each year
the orphan looks down at the receding landscape
as his tears fall from the wings
they rain down on the parched flora
of souls

beneath your blood coursing
silent words well up
from the moments
you were born
and the moments that you will die
what is this
which lays between

A child beggar sitting in the dirt of Guatemala
once asked me for a meal
and for salvation
and still the rain poured down
I split myself
widening the distance
between the warm and the cold

right before my eyes, I disassemble
passing from door to door
scene to scene
never a meter or a rest
nothing dwells on nothing

time becomes an illuminating enemy
the knowledge of how much…. of this…. you make idle
justified it can wreck......This
that tricky ****** up nasty sharp edge….
on which side shall you fall?