Along the coast
I watched your breathing,
your hair wet
with spray
and you entirely
beautiful.
I thought:
How can I not fall
in love with you?
The beach
was a place
where you knew vague death
and life vaguely
and I knew only
discovery.

The buzzing of the water fountin
the sound of a vacuum running
tik tok of the clock
and the sound of my foot tapping
I smell old fabric
Have I been here before
my nose tells me yes
This scent of this old tathered building
the footprint flat carpet
I've been here before
silence before the storm
as soon
as I open that door
chaos
waits
patiently

Incidentally,
you are supposed to go back
to those damp fog blue memories.
Sure, the special cologne hours
still somehow linger
in certain Spring lilac breezes.
You must refuse them.
Of course, often in snarling traffic tangles
the radio waves carry a song
to reclaim a date, a special day or moment.
You must avoid it. Please.
If a pair of gentle hands should hold you,
just so you know,
no matter what - don’t squeeze back.
Beware that crazy butterfly mercury magic.
It’s gone.
And if you ever return -
I’ll be waiting.

Sated,
sometimes full,
tempestuous and raw; we shone,
howling at the moon (and one another).

Prettier with
candlelight and my reflection in your eyes,
you held me tight,
I threw back my head and screamed your name--
but I never meant it
until you walked away;

I never loved you more
than when your back was turned.

Now breathing in
early morning air and ash,
sifting through yesterday
with lyrics and a fine-toothed comb--

trying to remember
if you were ever beautiful,
other than metaphorically.

With my father
I would watch dawn
over green fields.

Sun lips, I remember it clearly:
We found each other on the shore.
You told me something I could not hear
Then you retreated quietly,
Gently tiptoeing back over the water
Little splashes here and there
Falling little flickers and flashes
Drops of glowing red
Dipped in plasma
Burning my skin as I chase your shadow
Feet falling through, you Jesus lizard
Where did you go?
If to travel a straight line means to chase a ghost
And if to stare at the sun is to go blind
So be it.
And you said something about butterflies
But you knew only moths follow the light.

I dreamt someone spooned me while I slept
My body lay on its side
an entity I no longer understood
as it leapt inside me
Ticking in time with the pulse of my inner chaos
flecks of nothingness soaring in my mind
and then his arm curling around me
his fingers found mine in the crepuscular dark
legs bloomed behind my knees
warm breath misting the back of my neck
and a feeling of something
something something
something else entirely
descending down my spine
lovingly soothing each vertebra that
poked its head from my skin to catch a glimpse
of this new stranger ready to wake me
for the first time
The distance between us a frightening gesture
Did I dare turn to see
find in his my own eyes
Perhaps it was only
the mystery that sputtered my blood and
lent my spine a new edge
When I awoke I found that it
was only you.

the fat boy with the ruddy red cheeks
waddled to the front of the counter
eyes shining with the reflection of the
brightly lit menu board above him,
he handed the cashier his crumpled dollar bills
and ***** pennies and eagerly awaited
the arrival of his beloved

it came on a tray, wrapped in thin yellow paper
breathing in the saucy aroma
he felt the corners of his mouth
begin to water with lust

seating himself at a hard plastic booth
he began delicately ******* his greasy lover
slight wisps of steam danced before him
as he surveyed the beauty that lay
seductively on the tray

in between those light tan buns
was charbroiled meaty delight
blanketed by melted yellow cheese
with ketchup and mayo dribbling down the sides
tangy onions and pickles shyly hid themselves
teasingly peaking out here and there

his thick fingers wrapped themselves
around the warm soft buns
bringing that juicy creation to
his wide open mouth

with a grunt and two large bites it was gone
his square teeth tore it apart
the chomping and chewing an opera
he breathed loudly
his eyes were slits of pleasure
as juices escaped and stained his pants

licking his fingers and sighing with satisfaction
the fat boy crumpled up the yellow wrapper
and tossed it in the trash
exiting the scene of his fast love.

In lumbering night shadows,
between burns by branding irons
like cigarettes,
We blister talking toungues
and reveal the soft flesh
of ourselves.
So easily, our embers
make incense of our arms
and red, wet, wounds
pool beneath the wrist.
We sat for time,
trying not to scab over;
smouldering our speech
with singeing ire.
Despite the heat,
we couldn’t help
but heal
as dawn cracked, and
in fire of the light,
with hammering heads,
we forged scars
for each other,
for each ever.

Some days I am Ana's teacher, some days she is mine.
This morning, we look through her kitchen window,
the one she can't get clean, cobwebs massed
between sash and pane. The sky is blue-gold, almost
the color of home.
Ana, I say, each winter
I get more lonely. Both of us would like the sun
to linger as that round fruit in June, but Ana says
it's better to forget what you used to know...