Judith took me
to the derelict cottage
just off the wood
in the Easter recess

from school
she opened up
the back door
and into the kitchen

with its smell
of damp and decay
it's been empty for years
she said

my sister and I
used to come here
and pretend
it was our own cottage

smells horrible
I said
ignore the smell
she said

pretend it's our
own cottage
and we have
just moved in

after marrying
when did we marry?
I asked
after we left school

she said
smiling
she walked into
a larger room

with wide windows
looking out
onto a large
overgrown garden

we could grow
some of our own food
she said
looking out

the window
I looked at
the hanging wallpaper
and a damp patch

on the ceiling
and our children
could play out there
she said

what children?  I asked
when did they come along?
after we married
she said

I don't remember
I said smiling
you will
if you pretend better

she said
moving through
to another room
at the front

I noticed a space
where a picture
must have hung
because it was cleaner

than the rest
of the wall
I like this room
she said

this is where we will sit
and have our TV
and radio
and the children

can sit with us
and we can cuddle them
I nodded playing along
let me show you upstairs

to the bedrooms
she said
so I followed her
up the creaky stairs

her green skirt
swaying as she walked
three bedrooms
she said

one for us
one for our boys
and one for our girls
she stood

in the front bedroom
looking out
over an untidy hedge
onto the road

this is our bedroom
she said
turning around
looking at it all

our bed can go there
she said
pointing to a wall
on the left

and we can have
a dressing table
and dresser
the room was empty

and smelt
over by the right wall
was a pile of ****
some one's been here

and dumped
I said
probably some *****
or hobo

she looked
at the ****
and said
who's dumped

in our bedroom?
I laughed
it isn't our room yet
pretend

she said
I pretended
the **** wasn't there
and we went

into the other bedrooms
and she said
this was where
such and such

will be
and out of the window
the overgrown garden
seemed vast

with an apple orchard
to the left
she touched my hand
and squeezed it

we will be happy here
she said
I looked about
the room years after  

the cottage smelt ranker
and she was dead.

like a fish out of water
walking backwards upstream
grand illusion of compliance
buying nothing sight unseen

respecting their essence
detached from their path
connected in spirit
repelled by all wrath

norms without ethics
morality sans love
passion ever searching
a need to rise above

heart sinking hatred
mind numbing neglect
mountain moving greed
rarely circumspect

not infrequently i ponder
how my being was unfurled
wondering deeply in my soul
if i belong to another world

i have a feast full of love for you, darling
that is waiting for you on the table of my heart.
every time i see you,
you say that you are starving. you sit there
with wide eyes and shaky hands, devouring
nothing.
i have a feast full of love for you, darling
that is waiting for you on the table of my heart
but I am afraid it is slowly turning
into poison for the parakeets.
because that’s what happens when you love someone you
can’t have, you want to give them everything
but since you cannot, it just sits there,
slowly rotting, gently decomposing with heartbreak
covered in flies. this hurts
more than i was expecting, i was not planning for this
to happen again.
i am beyond furious at myself for cultivating a love
that is going everywhere but inside of you,
down the drain
in the trash, in the bellies of a flock of geese flying in
the opposite direction of where they belong.
even though you said you will,
deep down i know that you might never make up your mind.
which means i have to make up mine regardless of
if or when you actually decide to.
there is a fine line between hope and heartbreak
there is a fine line between love and longing.
this is the part where i choose not to be stuck.
this is the part where i clean up the table, do the dishes
open up the cage of parakeets singing love songs inside
the gazebo of my heart,
and set them free.
whenever you think of loss,
i hope you always think of me.

He sat tapping his finger on the bottom of his shoe, Italian leather, legs crossed.

“I really think the whole things *******.”

He was Anthony Ratier. Sitting outside a coffee shop along a crowded path.

“Its been carried on for so ******* long, nobody even considers it.”

He wore a Black Italian suit jacket. Black slacks. White Shirt.

“The one thing I can’t quite understand is how nobody else seems to question it.”

He was smoking a hand rolled stoge. Loosely rolling it between his fingers carelessly and occasionally pressing it to his lips.

“They just scuttle on day after day with such putrid confidence. I can’t stand it.”

He had a dark and sharp complexion. Long bangs of straight jet black hair hanging in front of the blue windows of his soul. The blue so bright, so sharp, so penetrating…

“I just want to stand on this chair and scream at them! Tear them from their ******* shells and throw them into oblivion!”

At this he took a long drag on his hand roll and extinguished it directly on the table.

“But no one would allow that. They’d shut me out with ease. Not a soul would hear me.”

At this he stood up and straightened his tie.

His tie.

About the only thing original on the guy.

Bright intricate patterns of red gold and silver.

With a large flower of life in the center.

“To know thyself. Ha! We can’t know the sky isn’t about to come crashing into the ocean to tear apart the hills.”

“Ourselves is about the last thing we’ll ever know.”

kisses your forehead

A promise is something you keep between one another.

kisses your nose

The result isn't anything the two have ever seen before.
Broken, or kept.

kisses the bridge of your lips

It's something that bonds two together.
And if there's a third, well.

*kisses your lips


I don't see why we can't make room for one more.

It is an ancient act,
the disappearing
of one
inside the
petals of a sacred flower,
the succulence
is indescribable,
confounds the mystics
throughout the ages
& the poets, too.