(there are your practice poems)
which we’ve all written
(there are your professional poems)
where we assume the accent of "the poet"
and then (there are your Real poems)
those where a woman can no longer speak to her mother
(and her mother isn’t dead yet)
and her husband stays by her side
(because their bond is that strong)
and that's how things end up
(how memories fail)
and we all get distracted
(from what really matters)
and then some child tries to make it right
(but fails, again)
like some inept diplomat
(and then gets distracted...

The cannibal is thirsty
for a flesh martini
Dabs of salt here and there
On tongue and ocean groin
The ******* is hungry
To be the tender olive
Eaten very slowly
Lick the ****** pleasures
Of each other's
knife
kiss
Maternal affections
pouring open by God's rage
They are
shelter
Ignition
To each other's
demons
wonderfully delicious
as frosting or
whipped
cream
They are rare fruit, indeed
What are the odds of them finding each other?
Just goes to show, my lonely lovers
There's someone for everyone
You too
Will find
Your soul mate
Someday
just as the blood
Will eventually
Drip
from
the cannibal's
smiling
mouth
Oh my love,
you are my
yummy chicken bone
dipped in
your
sauce
"Ahhhhh...." he says
"This must be love."

Why is it
I do something right
And you don't notice
But when I mess up
You never let me forget....

Aphrodite high and mighty
sitting on her throne
thinking that she holds the right
to any love I own

Everything that you invest
goes into vanity
unknowing that all beauty
is a fading commodity.

Thou art th' love, that danceth through my veins
Thou art th' charm, that befriendeth my dreams
Thou art th' heart, that consoleth my pains-
'midst those torrents of greedy stains
and those wakeful, shattering rains.

Thou art th' walls, that bear my soul
The wondrous cells-within my arms, legs, and lungs.
Thou art th' bushes of my nature;
thy redness dark, but plain and pure!

Thou art th' gusts to my river;
that layeth awake in its daydreaming.
Thou releaseth it from its wan longing!
By thy fast speed, like a bird's wing!
Thou blusheth my cheeks and giveth me warmth;
but thou turneth mad at every harm!
Yet as I healeth thy bruise is gone;
thou greeteth my clouds, and praiseth my sun.

Thou art th' gold sands, to my pearls-
which free 'em from any hassles!
Thou bringst me strength in my rambles-
in my green lake, thou'rt brown ripples!
Thou remindeth me in solemn peace-
that lips areth for a sincere kiss!
Thou blest my life and happiness-
thou feedeth friendship and forgiveness!

Thou burst violent at my temper-
and sink my foul into disgrace!
In thy mind love is sweet laughter-
with no floods of cry or blighting haze.

Thou cheereth my joy and lifteth it up,
thou keepeth flowing and never stopeth!
Thou relieveth me on thy blessed shore-and aye!
Thou endeth my drought like no-'ne before.