Horizons traced with trembling hands
breathe darkest depths aglow
bring pinkest rose to scarlet hues
all innocence be thrown
dew forming now on swollen bud
sweet nectar old as time
as shaking limbs cry out in bliss
to you, sweet love of mine.

Or....


Rut me, **** me, kiss me, **** me
take me on all fours
throw my back against the wall
then roll me on the floor
Abuse me, use me, wear me out
and make me scream your name
then have a swig of bedside beer
and do it all again.

Fly away little bird
flee from the blackness that swarms ever closer
it's bible-weight threatening the air in your fragile lungs.
Quicker now little bird, I beg you!
Soar above the hurt that dares
capture your soul
it has no comfort to offer
no warmth to grant
it will break your fragile wings
and steal you away to darkness
where your poet heart will sing no more.
Fly little bird. Please won't you fly...

I didn't cry when I heard of your passing, didn't fall to my knees or scream at the sky, you would have hated that anyway.The world went on around me, daily routines soaking up time like a desert soaks up precious drops of rain. Your funeral had gone before I heard the news, no black-draped graveside gestures for me. 

All I could think was "that's another one of us gone" both of you too soon but the tears didn't come.

 Days turned into weeks, as they will...

Then came the music, funny how music can do that. My speakers spoke of Jesus riding a motorbike and there you were, dancing, or something like it. Your face radiating happiness as it always did when we misfits were all together, that grin, oh how I miss that grin, wide as the grand canyon and equally beautiful. I laughed, mascara black tears staining my cheeks, as a torrent of despair set forth, bleeding old wounds and cleansing my heart. I still miss you, even now, you with your ever- worn parka and your party tricks deemed unacceptable in polite society, I always will. I wrote you a poem. You wouldn't like it, because it's sad, the one thing you never were...

Please don't take those pills
the ones you told me about.
Lined up, neat rows, single file
in all colours, organised harm.
You said you'd had enough
bone tired, broken you
crying down the line
to bone tired, broken me
as if I could save you from yourself.
No-one ever could.
Sacrifice yourself to life, not death
death is darkness and you, sweetest girl
are light beyond vibrancy
my lullaby at night, my morning song
my fragile, fearsome, wondrous friend.

Dog lies baskin'
music blastin'
barbecue cookin'
beer chillin'
friends laughin'
kids playin'
Sitting on my sweet ***
procrastinatin'
no scarf, no coat
no socks, no shoes
These are the cures for the summertime blues.

I will never be enough of a man
To dowse my saffron robes
In cold gasoline and set it aflame
In buddhistic conviction--
My dreams would scamper
From my burning head to find another,
My flesh would crack and burn
Like old parchment
In rough palms.

I will never be enough of man
To eat buckshot out of
A hollow cold steely gun
My mouth wrapped around the
Reaffirming thickness--
My eyes would dart and then close
My ears would ring and then collapse
Like an old building
Consumed in flames.

I will never be enough of a man
To wrap a rope round my neck
And stare blankly ahead
To seize the day
From God's hands--
My face would bulge
My limbs would twitch
Like a dying rodent
In the throes of cancer.

I will always be enough of a man
To kiss your lips
With my own and feel
Your curves in my hands
And look at the sun--
My trembling hands falter
My eyes can't see to feel for you
Like a blind pianist
Playing the blues.

God's gray thumb
Was as heavy as a fistful
Of black steel
On the day he pressed it
Into the earth
And created a crater
And filled it with water.

He looked down at His creation
Then looked back up
At the Firmament and saw
A resemblance in the way
They both reflected that kind
Matronly face, bearded, wrinkled
Full of hope.

Then His hands were gray
On the day He blurred
The lines; the trees in
The garden stood solemn
And man and his wife
Looked on them
And got curious.