There are people who
Love to participate in meeting
And make storm and dream
in their deliberation;
But vacillate
For coming down to ground
And execute;
They are called as meeting brawny!

Peering through a wasp's wing
at shadows on the wall
Hear the whispered whimper
echo down the hall
Glass thump of bone and feathers
against the bedroom window
Motes of darkness floating
to air a moldy winnow
Creak of standing knees
rise in opioid haze
To wander past the shadows
and sniff of death's bouquets.

r ~ 6/11/14

Ours was less an Arab Spring
and more a half-hearted coup d'état.
There was no immolation,
no burning desire on your part;
no passion in the streets of you.

You stole in at night
through a window I'd left open,
a crack in my need
for something more than mere
existence.  From me there was
no resistance.

I let you lead, and followed blindly;
my voice I raised on your behalf
against all that I had known before.
Your words, your whispers
alone could incite me to storm
against the strongest walls.

Now, as summer comes
and this sectarian affair,
this spring uprising
that we called us has ended,
I sweep the streets of our debris
and wander down
the empty avenues
of you, half-hearted.

r ~ 6/5/14

Yep,
that's me,
all right.

Carving
my heart:
Do remember.
Do not trust.
Do not hand it.
Erase it.
Let it go.
Never mind.

Then -
whenever it gets to be -
it's like
after a bad night sleep:
everything just got
under a darkner
shade of grey.

Yep.
Pain killer.
Like in
life choker.

iced finger tips
wrapped in hands'
warmness

stired, not shaked, leaning

salty neck line
light aroma of hey
freshness of ruby cherry silk

gaspillage
of entwined drive

flambé