On his table is a cup,
filled with a need,
to satisfy her receptacle,
of weights and measures,
without such whose proportions,
he could not know.
His own hands mix sugar and flour,
chocolate and longing.
His mind must be precise,
Or her words may grey out,
to a flavorless poem,
a definite defeat of taste.
The chocolate cake he knows she likes,
smooth dark frosting,  
rich with butter.
His mind needs more than tablespoons,
Of sugar and flour, cups of it,
Mixed with a pinch,
Of a sweet sultry gaze,
Sifting through his lover’s day.
Till with his hand he cups her chin,
And turns again,
to mix her mouth with his.
This woman is his table,
And he the cup.

Just as I locked my door, and pocketed the key,
I glanced over my shoulder only to see,
My tortured soul staring back at me.
'Look, I said,
"this name is your name, this door is your door,"
And though I accept that now; why did I put the key,
in the back of my mind to hide it from me?

So my soul let me go,
but my name has been lost,
Along with the key.

Her whispers gone
With the evening wind
Like silk lips on
My electric skin
Her thoughts unspoken,
leaking through her eyes
With her whispers drifting
even now I wonder
Whether she loved me
I shall never know

Antiquity lives now as a pale-yellow dust,
Confusing to the remnants of its ruins,
While old bones bleach whiter with age

Delirium trembled the lemons
Green envy soured the limes
The apples cut with peals of laughter
As the onions started to cry

The berries grew more juicy
When the kiwi told the tale
Of the bananas secrete wishes
To run off with the kale.

That cold narrow slab,
hardly any larger than a child's bed,
is where Alejandro died.
I bore away with him the tears of his gods,
the weight of his death, the frailty of his love.
I who separated them, his words and things,
Who did blend them with the cries and torments,
of that most foul and dark place
Knew he had come to an end.
With no smile amongst my flooding tears,
I longed for home for a few wretched hours,
While I waited him to breathe again

Could there be no sorrow too distant, too remote,
No lash to hard, no fear too impalpable,
To quell our captors delight?
Alejandro from birth through ****** pain
His faith an undefinable surge gaining perch,
Within my stirring and unearthly sleep
Dampens my dreams to tears
rest well my friend,
for I have remained with you,
throughout these many years.

How long would you have loved me?
A lifetime?
Ah wait, but that was too long?
Let us say just a moment.
Life is best but a moment,
If life is scarcely a day.
Might you have loved me then?
Perhaps while you drank,
From my life’s delicate cup,
with your sweet face turned up,
To love's exquisite taste.
Just one rapturous moment,
While my love inhaled you,
Like the soul of a flower,
For the space of a breath,
Within the breath of my space,
Where my words had no power,
But did their best to express,
Something so divine, so enchanting,
As your souls lingering scent,
Thrilling through all of my mind,
But at last in a sigh,
to be breathed out and spent.
Just one moment no longer,
and then all of my strength and desire,
all my passion exhausted,
With nothing left of my fire,
Gray ash scattered in the wind.
But then would you have clung to me?
Would you have then loved me?
Or would you have loathed me,
and scorned me,
And ruthlessly flung me away?
Yet again?
This maddening moment, I beg let the next,
Show what it chooses to reveal.
Is it enough that you loved me but a moment?
It was I after all,
who let fate spin her wheel.
What though from my dream when I awake?
My love a mere frolic it does seem.
What is life at best but a dreaming sleep,
And what is love, but just a dream,
A brief fleeting thought,
Only for fools to keep?

Evening enters early now, under miles of cloudy skies,
Blue eyes a silent vigil, to rain falling to the ground.

Water falling steady, within its millennial sound,
In these darkened times I bear witness to it's cry.

Far away on a cold mountain, a darkened road slants steep,
In rainy clouds is a village, where people rest their feet.

I stop to smell deep of the dampened maple wood
Whose frosted leaves are redder than a month of summer flowers.

By my first strange and fatal view
By my desires which then did ensue
By my long starving hopes, that remorse
Coerced my words with a persuasive force
Whose beauty of fall now surge and then feed
Now trapped within the silence of leaves.

My mouth I do think,
is munching my words.
How weirdly my tongue,
Still seeks out the norm.
A slobbering salivation,
of unwritten sayings,
My teeth a brazen thief,
nibbling thoughts in the night.
Lips obscenely shaped,
in the poets’ hungry quest,
For the strange articulate taste,
Of a pilfered sour waste,
from bland and bleary words,
I am forever forced to swallow.

Who has placed a shadow,
between the sun and I
to sense the aura
of a dark atmosphere
just under my mortal skin?

Who then chases my myth,
soaked in the blood
of the primordial hunt?

Who will concentrate,
My unknown language
into a singular cry
that falls heavy
into the eternal night?

Who then will search for me
Within the endless depths
of my suspended life?

Who will find meaning
in this poem hidden
from the hands of knowledge
waiting in shadows
with a hesitant touch?

Who indeed,
Would even care so much?

Little by little
I feel languid with life.
Who pities the vigor that withers?
Only the image in my mirror
Joins me in tears.

Strange how I’ve accustomed
the word ‘Placidity’ to me.
After many years of casting aside
I now draw it on like a glove.
I arrange it like a ballcap.
I make my bed with it
And plump up its wishes
To lay my head upon
I used it to tame the creature in my closet
Encircling my bed with a moat of shame
I then tethered a wolf of fear
Quite near its darkened entrance.
There for life’s tutoring to creep past.
And now I sleep calmer
With a wide-open mind.
Strange how I’ve accustomed
the word ‘placidity’ to me.

I view you move, a luxurious dance
on paper the pen, has merged with my hand
I see your vivid, yet blurred velocity
The desk where I sit, now creaky and cramped

I see your languid, nubile sensuality
My eyes two windows, of a lover’s glance
I see your delicate, curves of simplicity
Feet once mobile, now rooted they stand

I see you gathering, spring in your arms
My vision awash, thoughts colliding but soft
I see your effortless, beauty take flight
Now quieted mind,

What now should I long for,
In life?

His bathrobe fell open in dust-colored folds,
the texture of his shadow now wrinkled and old,
And he was worn and tired and weak and cold.

Staring hard at that foggy face in the mirror,
His reflection a future prediction of death,
Eyes open uncertain at his intruding breath.

I dreamt that for you
I had swept a path,
through a bright summer wood
placing soft scented rose blossoms there.

or perhaps,
having no way of knowing,
I had only swept the path
between those many scented roses?

no matter,
tonight the rain will again fall upon itself
to wash away the roses
so strange how the rain tastes like tears.

Cold and dim
the year draws to its end
Sipping my wine,
I search for the warmth
of sunlight on my chilly porch.
In the garden of my house
all leaves have fallen
In the garden of my heart,
many memories lay rotten
I tip my glass
and drink deep of the dregs
I look to the kitchen
but no light there glows.
Half written poems, unread books
Still stacked beside my creaky chair
But my autumn light is gone now
and I’ll not have time
to read again this year

High heat, in a Bogota alley,
A man lies still, a bullet in his chest,
The blood wound glows red-hot,
Life seeps, drop by drop,
As he lay lonely in the ally’s damp sweat.
Fire stairs tower all around,
sun scorched at their rusted red heights,
And I,
I slept like the dead.
I dreamed of a midnight dance,
in my home, gleaming light,
young girls decked in flowers and lace,
sharing their dreams with breathless delight.
But one alone sat there deep in thought,
not part of this joyful scene,
Why her young soul, who knows,
was plunged into the saddest of dreams.
Her dream, an alley in Bogota,
an alley where a friend lay un-seen,
a black wound in his chest,
seeping blood, a cooling stream,
As I,
I slept like the dead.

What is it you would like to do she said?
Please listen close I returned…

I would like to ravish your body and mind,
submerging myself in their depths,
It would titillate me,
With fresh thoughts of you,
while I bask in your sharp intellect.
I would tickle your toes with my tongue,
And gaze on your face in the sun,
I would feel your soft lips upon mine,
And laugh as my breath breaths you in,
Your sweet mouth would be
So exquisite to me
As if flavored with berries and wine.

Is there more she said with a flush?
Oh much more I gasped in a rush!

I would give you a candlelight bath,
In water soft scented with spice,
I would sit next you,
Inhaling your dew,
All warm in your wonderful light.
I would taste the backs of your knees,
And all other spots that you please,
I would peacefully sleep,
wrapped up within you,
And wake with you wrapped up in me.

Well she exclaimed, please do continue.
My pleasure, my love, I replied.

I would whisper my longing desire,
while caressing your graceful neckline,
And with the softest of touch,
Enjoying it much,
I would kiss your most lovely behind.
I would wander the depths of your eyes,
While I gasp in continued surprise,
At the one thing I know
As I lounge in your glow
Is that I’ll love you for all of my life.

Well then she says,
What are we waiting for!
Let’s start the bath!
And me?
Well,
I’ll be a rubber ducky!

One by one they awaken
Those dark and callous
beasts of darkness
Do they ask questions
about life as I do?
I awoke and I walked
The long hard way
until I saw the questions
Of life were lies.
Today the sun streamed
Bright all day
until the beasts of darkness
scampered fast away
Now once more
I will strip the night
from the new moon’s flesh
and wear it like a crown
wrapped generous around
my callous and beastly head.

Willow trees wept
in a grassy glade
Gold a glowing cloud
sun fingers made
Below quiet waters
ran dark as death
No sound no wind
no summers breath.

All night long my restlessness
wandered longing
those wet city streets
dripping dropping, raindrops fall
Until my silent moan
woke me alone.
at daybreak a sole bird chirped,
singing sweetly in the dawn
If only to find such happiness,
in the morning’s quiet song.

All night long her restlessness,
Prevented her from sleep,
So she walked and peered
with eyes still closed
inside those deepest parts of me.
A sound then broke with the sunrise sigh
amidst the drifting winds.
Opening eyes lashes damp
With tears to the morning skies,
did she too hear the birdsong cry?

Where yesterday small men
felled a large tree,
in its height and beauty,
for no good reason.
Where it was now,
only emptiness remains,
It’s tree bloodied stump,
now level with the ground.

The wind finds its own place,
and waits there holding its breath,
for a sad lonely moment,
calling to no one,
sudden in its stillness,
surprising even the rain,
expectantly drifting in,
still looking for the tree.

Water plays
in the shade of trees
Clouds flit through
new moonlight
Alone in the darkness
stands my shadow,
completely unnoticed
in the damp twilight.

Oh stormy eyed woman,
Only dark and desolate places,
Can bear your clouds tonight.
Like a young and petulant child,
scribbling quick with curious hands,
The colors of your cloudy traces,
leave silver lightning on our faces.
Patient as water turned to ice,
motionless trees within the night,
Sigh in longing for a bright sunrise.
Only those who perish a bit,
Can bear your crackling light.
Impatient though,
you won’t stay long,
Blowing westward to the call,
Of distant fields in thirsty song.

You'll be a lousy, solitary, misunderstood poet
Someone told me as they buttered my fresh baked bread.
Time slowed
The winds stopped moving
And the afternoon sun shifted its path
To follow those words instead.
The knife made its way
Still slippery and warm
Back to the butter dish
You'll become a coarse and crummy poet, they said
you're tailor-made for it,
you're ugly and skinny,
quiet, dull and dreary.
You'll write in small rooms with low light, pensive and poor
you'll write, they said
as the butter now soft
soaked into the bread
in front of a screen on cold nights drinking wine
tainted with scorn
weeping with sorrow,
and rage, and dread
The knife had by then sunk into the butter
the butter my poem,
the knife the life I have led.

To all those silent.
Who remain willfully quiet,
Reflect on this,
When death creeps confident,
Under your door.

But she had always been there,
in one guise or another,
to trace the skies in strange delights.
With her brilliant wings of radiance,
She soared through paths of glittered air,
There were no stars,
no suns to seek,
no Mars, no Venus, no Saturn’s rings
But still she flew in harmony,
Above my jealous stare

It's you!
I've understood it ever since,  
she who hummed me,  
a most tasty recipe,
To make me gasp in sheer delight!
But Alas!
My gasp was so strong,
that I almost died from it.
Darkened dreams,
so rich and creamy!
If only our lives could always be,
Such a velvet libation,
As the ****** sensation,
of chocolate!

Let me go
You whispered
And I left you
Left my desire of you
And all our earthly things
Wind chimes and silver rings
On and off your flickering
Of an arbitrary love.
And I went wandering
Through rooms and halls
With soft echoed calls
Waiting for me
To be me again
When sudden
from behind the veil
Was air there fresh
To breathe anew
Cool, rational, clear
A clarity of me
from you.