trapped
one night before my birth
it's 1995
the circus is in town
and so
is the lioness
and the
clowns, the
very
frightening clowns.

the room is
filled with black magic
and the walls
are painted with dawn's poetry,
the dark age.

the fall of the day
the angel again,
dream after dream,
never reaches the ground.

will he ever rise
to rule again
in the kingdom?

will I ever return
to reality?

too many gods to look for
too many whispers and calls to attend
and only one heart to seek within
and only one road to follow thru.

happiness is already happening to you
and will never happen before
or after;

happines is an option,
not a pursue.

My spelling
has to be wrong.

I write love
and you don't see it.

Take her sidereal night,
its darkness
and the shimmer in it.

Draw a co-secant,
a beam,
in your full-light trace.

The script is embedded,
it runs on its own:
see?

A pulse,
myriads of whirling suns,
a blaze within her,

a firmament
for a cotillion,
a constellations' jigsaw.

Her night breathes,
in symbiotic pace
with its aural lover

and, within its velvet,
darkness is an indigo,
drunk on orgastic throb.

15.5.2015

Poetry like a raging river
Dividing and reuniting
Around rocks as if
Nothing.

Some sentences make me want
To touch each word, feeling  
The braille soul-matter
Beneath each pixel.

Norwegian sun on rooftopped
Reader; beads of sweat fall on
My touch screen
That I

Wipe off carefully in order
To read
Just one
More.

May the same sun warm the
Core of your poet's soul.
May none of the stars
On your night sky of

Creativity
Ever
Even
Fade.

What is it about early in the morning?
Why is there a romance
in the girl
sitting over there
with a cup of coffee?
Why is her existence the very romance that I crave?
Why does every bite SHE takes
Make me ponder marriage?
I don't even know this girl
But she sure is romantic.
Early morning romance is evil
With its slithering tail of deceit.
She's not perfect,
I could name every flaw.
But in that moment she is the most perfect girl I've ever seen.
Early morning romance
you unjust-seductress.
Forcing the sun to act as Cupid
Winding the wind so it whispers silent melodies
Arranging an extra table in between us so that it becomes THE boundary that I cannot cross.
Early Morning Romance
You are an evil maniacal *******, Using my heroine as your puppet...
You offer me hope,
For my impossible romance.
You dangle this
unreachable sublime dream
Right in front of me.
And then she leaves, and my life!
Becomes real again.

the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...

we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.

I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...

and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.

the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.