I don't know your name,
I have see your face;
And hers when she is with you.

That delicate smile,
The same as when we first met,
Somehow, I don't know, ironic.

Does she see in your eyes tranquility,
Like an open sun on a lake,
The lake where we were married?

She drinks in your light,
And when I saw the two of you,
Something inside of me began to die,

Like these words,
Jealous phrases from the other man,
Are you a jealous man, do you know of me?

When you look to the distance,
Because I am sure you will always
Be there, do you see yourself
At the hospital battling pneumonia?

Your hands on hers
Like curled rose petals,
Where at the hospital no one asks
You to leave because they know somehow
The term visiting hours don't apply.

You hold the woman I love,
With your powerful hands,

You who **** me inside,
Is she yours now,
Body and soul?

But you see I am her husband,
And for her I have a divine thirst,
So I won't make a public scene.

Tell me, tell me sir,
What words have you spoken,
Words in a myriad of seduction
To steal a man's love, the love of my life?

Be gentle with her,
Love her as gentle air over tree tops,
Nothing is as sweet as her delicate
Touch, savor it.....

And perhaps when you are done,
Because I know you are just passing through,
(This I pray to God)
She returns to me with the same
Gleam in her eyes.

She holds me like she used to,
And we haven't been this happy
In years, I can trace my life
Over each crevice of her body,

I follow them to you sir,
And it reminded me that I have lost,
Not my wife,
But myself in taking for granted
This dove bit so innocent.

You are no obstacle sir,
Because I am now flaming,
Alive even,
A bitter heaviness dwells within,
I must keep the jealous soul at bay,

And this grief like you,
Will pass,
I will love her again as you reminded,

The paralysis is gone,
And now I leap to life
When before you sir,
Nothing was possible.

Though I feel that
    I am at the crest of the world,
I know I am only defined by words
    With a passion now human.

Though I have limits and limitations,
     I know that my hope exceeds them.

    And even as life tears me apart,
I still choose to write the sorrow and exploit
       The hollows of its weakness.

    Time is a dismembered calendar,
And though days fall like seasonal gestures,
    I neither end nor begin.

For though I am finite,
     The poetic dreams turn themselves
Around and preserve me.

I am a syllable from a broken phrase.

Oh my Lord,
I pray unto the sweetest sin,
That my eyes have gathered a harvest
And in the image of your perfection,
I saw what angels see;
As I walked in the morning shadow
A door half opened,
My eyes curious as a fragrance
Of blessed perfume gathered
And a dove perched at the window.

Lord,
I saw perfection,
Though in the flesh nothing
Is perfect,
I cannot here in words duplicate what
Beauty lay naked,
But the poet in me longs for
The words to embrace such beauty:
Flame of the sun
    Burns amidst sensations,
The shadow of my desire
     Cast from the flames.
There in a garden of flames
       She lie naked.....    the senses open
Magnetic eyes,
     The passion of lovely embers
        She entered through my eyes,
The windows of my soul,
     And I longed to be with God,
The thoughts though unholy
Flow into a desirous nature ,
     What I see is my creation,
Perception of my conception,
      Oh she is crystalline clarity,
And I am revealed to be only a man,
     Truth of desire,
Transparency is all that remains,
     And she is the truth of the moment.

Lord,
Forgive this sin,
I walked away with no soul,
For it stayed behind
To be born through the sight
Of She, of Her,
And in the glory of her nature,
A Poet Saint is born.

In the tower of fantastic journeys
Where a half full harmony
Trembles with hope,
There is a poet and dreams:

Come stars of night
Whose light is flame and scorch
But reaches as a twinkle of wishes,
Come dreams of sleepless angels
Whose golden smiles annoy,
Being that perfection into my
Little world where dead eyes
Have seen too much,
Whose hands have callous
Not from pen but mindless toil,
Let me put you to rest in reality
And a poem of my awaiting deliverance.

Liquid evening when the rains
Whisper to the lovers and soften
Their lips to comfort one another.

Drenched mornings when not even
Noah's dove can be spotted,
The solitudes as one makes the journey;
The thunder crackles tirelessly
On the windshield.

Liquid days when the earth is a fog,
When I admit I get lost at times,
Because the mist forms tears on
My face, and somewhere just above
The light shows how that it is half
There, such wet pessimism.

Rain like a sudden death
That invites grey days known as
Tears from Heaven,
A fitting farewell for the missing
Or gone.

Rain, liquid like old blood
That sits by a fire,
Cup in hand and reminiscing
On old storms as supplication
For the tired bones that once ran
To the lover, that once made love
In a slow drizzle,
Awaiting a final lightning.

Rain,
When my soul hits bottom
I take a walk,
I feel the wet earth at my feet,
The drops on my face,
The thunder that makes me
Know I am small,
The lightning that shines the way,
And in the distance,
A ray of sun that escapes,
And I know this too shall pass.

That wall man hits as a child
Would still on the floor,
Anger,
Which breaks men into pieces
And scatters him among those he loves,
The anger which held down
Can turn into an explosion.

That same anger which calls
Men to become something else,
And that something else becomes
Regret, that regret becomes a plea
Of forgiveness, which to himself
He cannot give.

Anger, which triggers paranoia,
And that paranoia into rage
And men are sent to early tombstones;
This anger is that of a poor man
Who has the world to suffer.

Anger which tears the man apart
And makes the soul cry for help,
And the soul breaks down into
A corridor of sorrow,
This anger that stains the man
And consumes like fire,
An internal burning.

I face the neighborhood that took
My mother's life,
The same one that I watched turn
Many cousins into ****** addicts,
I burn but I am not consumed:

I write the pain on a slab of Jade
Watching a fleet of dead roll by,
The names will stand among the tombstones
While in mute heavily grieving the nocturnal,
I am filled with the eternal present.
      The memory is a flame
      On open wounds,
      I am thirsty,
      But there is no water......

Time has done its hardest on me,
My blood courses more deliberate,
My teeth at a grind,
I want to fling all the bullets back,
Take the knife from Victor,
Out of his animal belly,
Out of his organism belly,
His human belly;
Life is an ancient gesture
And the hood is the very survival
Of those unfit for society's expectations.

I am Westside,
And I am still here writing
Away all that was taken,
The words plunge itself like
The needle I took from my arm,
A perfect drug that never quits you
And courses inward only to grow.

I am Westside and I am still here,
I am Westside and I still cry,
All the pain I drink with beer,
I push a fight and try,

I am Westside,
Glory in the hood,
It wasn't the best side,
But I always knew where I stood,

And still I carry on.

I pace myself in search of a moment:

I seek the day as a man,
The sun at 5p.m. with ripened
Sweat,
A cold beer with hard hat at my side,
A few words with a co worker
As though brothers in arms,
The sweet smell of dinner
In a place called home,
The run of my children toward
Me as though a hero, daily.
The kiss of my wife as she fought her
Own battle,
And the evening when I realise
The moments are not moments,
But a momentum;

I savor the journey.

I begin these words as confirmation
That I have poetry at my side,
To out words into stone, these vast gestures
Of words covering worlds;

And suddenly in this verse a great
Sorrow overtakes me, everything abandons.
I have words but nothing else,
Not even the paranoia of someone watching,
The pen takes over like some cursed one
Taking control of my poem,
The words of the pain inside well up
Like some volcano about to spurt Suns,
What I am about to say is the very
Most personal sadness I carry,
The abyss takes control, I am a blind poet....

Wait, I must breathe,
Close my eyes until hope returns,
The words juggle between the
Light and the darkness,
Waves of emotions sputtering about
Like a boat fighting the whirlpool,
The weight of the words
Like a world on my shoulders.....

        Wait,
There is nothing to write,
Only my pain, just pain in the nothingness,
My dear friend was "Alone With Everybody",
I see now the writing is the same,
Pain and nothingness vs. light and everything else,
These broken words fighting with
Angels and demons, what do they say
But nothing, but everything,

And I write it all anyway,
I am chained to the pen,
All night I want to write something wonderful,
But the Abyss speaks itself when
No one wants to admit it is there,
So now that it is written,
The sun has come up
Hope has returned,
I want to drift into this life full,
Nothing lights the abyss,
Too deep it is to fill,
But the words bridge the pain
To better days.

I was multiplied in a dream
By hollow envious creatures,
The earth became an epiphany
And my eyes set for the sky:

       The sanctuary of grey
Under white for neither greed nor
Want,
         Instant dream washed by rain
With light sneaking to the treetops,
      The feminine touch of a cloud
set in the sky survived by
          Birds set in still flights -

I am a coincidence with angels,
     As I become many
Like raindrops on a head,
      But two heads,
Rather all the heads that walk
     In the mist,
I touch a thought in each
And in each a dream one different
But the same,
     The hummingbird drinks itself
From the pomegranate in the foliage,
        Awhile away
To the sky blue,
      Born again to grey bottoms,
The lone thunderstorm
      Raining in a vast desert,
I am multiplied among the earth.....

       To know the exile of the sky,
Being the sky,
    To know the highest heights:
Angels dance here,
    Sing here,
Cry here,
    Watchers of the secret world,
Souls leaving, returning,
But never ceasing.  
    Water over fire,
Air over trees,
     The smallness that I am
In the vastness of the world,
I write the sky for a moment,
      Walking under the sun,
I am multiplied like dew drops
In the cycle,

      And peace fills every step.