Green as the pirate seas Caribbean,
her eyes pulsate with the thundering surf.
Majestic squall, power most stygian,
lurks just beneath the surface of her mirth.

The salt-filled breeze, a warm westward phantom,
imparts its lazy life to flaming locks;
brushes the kisses that from angels come,
caresses lips, a smile that faintly mocks.

Tropical dress clings to a body lithe,
swaying gently on the sand-covered dune
gazing at the sea, a creature of myth
spoken of in countless stories and rune.

Enchanted, I am drawn to my Siren.
She sings for me alone - the least of men.

My arms held high, I glorify the night
which masks the horror of the world from me;
all the death, the sorrow and the spite.
I cannot fear that which I cannot see.

The night cries only to those who listen.
Deafened, I reach out and embrace the dark,
offering my soul in full submission.
And yet, the night cries dimly reach their mark.

The sweet comfort of night peels away
leaving ugly darkness and empty skies.
The keening leaves me in a disarray.
Frightened, I listen as the night cries.

The night cries torment me as there I stay;
I long only for the coming of day.

dog-paddling
in zero gee
   my beagle

plastic dinosaur
made from fossil oil -
  recursion

in the men’s room
peeking under my stall
  - tentacles

fighting ourselves
we never see
  -- that alien ship

it’s not the video;
she really looks
like that