Virgo in the ascendant,
Saturn in decline,
A retrograding antidote,
A calculated rhyme;

Overtones of melancholy,
Undertones of mirth,
A surfeit of misfortune,
Of musery a dearth

Faithless Fortune taps her foot,
While plotting my demise,
A rhythm most unruly,
A metaphor unwise;

In minutes and in seconds,
She wreaks havoc on my pen,
A glib faux pas, no coup de grâce...
And so I start again.

§

My zodiacal tendencies,
Triumphant in their prime,
Fade to skepticism
As life spins on a dime.

I can’t seem to get it together
Everything seems to slip through my fingertips
I can’t seem to catch my breath
Everything seems to be suffocating me
I can’t seem to get back up
Everything seems to be pushing me down
I can’t seem to catch a break
Everything seems to be breaking me
I can’t seem to get any relief
Everything seems to be stressing me out

I end each day on a sad note
My life right now is madness
I look at the clock it’s 00:00
And all I want is some peace


© Seductive Poetry

His whistling rises with the moon;
softened trills and murmurings
grow louder in the dusking sky,

drift across my ceiling, down
into my waiting ears.

A halo of satisfaction rings his face,
sweat drying on his chest
as he leans back upon my balcony.

I gather his things
and place them by the door.
I know this tune is not meant for me.

But I listen to it, still,
and dream of my hands
tangled in his soft feathers.

Who will sing me to sleep
when the nightingale is paired?

...you could have been the time between midnight and daylight
...the blue and white lights on the tv when all the shows wrapped up
...the silence between every song
...the space between every word
...the three dots between every message
...the missing that turns everything into something

We met on the corner of Saxon and 95 south
During one of those nights I was crawling out of my anaphoric daydream
I was a broken down bride in my sheets of white linen
When  I noticed the light in your eyes were as dull as mine
When the moon sculpted a mirage in the center of your ashtray
When you told me you needed me to stay a moment longer
I traded you a Chevy ride for a song of sweet surrender
As you blessed the burning willows that bled through my black and mild soul
Firing the sparks inside of me that had never seen a flame  
As I drowned in a carcass of rapids that never seemed to lay still
I reached into my lillies and pulled out a candle
To lighten your vision until you reached home
Until you were strong enough to love her again
And you thanked me with a smile and a tank of gas
I drove until midnight, staring at the moonlight
listening to the sighs of my breathe against the wind
And the sweet little woman who lives inside of my bones  
Reminds me of the way old Georgia worshipped my vines
I chose to abandon his comfort and wisdom
For the freedom of white lines on an open road
And while it soothes me to see him settle without me
I can’t help but wonder if I’ll always be a withdrawn vagabond
With my toes in the sand, with my head in clouds
Writing lines in a blank verse of commitment.

Have you ever tasted her between your teeth?
The midnight cowgirl with a suicide smile
She’ll love you until the sun rises
if you can play your cards right

Love you like linen, rose, and sugar
I stared at her through the broken glass
Of mirrors shattered white
In filthy rags

The colors of my daydreams
And I can’t help but wonder
Have they ever tasted her between their teeth?
The midnight cowgirl with a suicide smile

What does it feel like to drown the same way you do?
I tied anchors to my feet
for five days to understand
And roamed the earth
in rose gold petals

In pursuit of the mistress in my fantasies
Black, white, and gray stones flicker
Do they feel the same way I do?
This morning I can write like god

With the knowledge that in twelve hours
I won’t have enough breath to ask
Have they ever tasted her between their teeth?
The midnight cowgirl with a suicide smile

It's almost midnight-
the car is gaining speed
and we're passing
world after world.
There is no destination, baby,
it's all about the journey
as we fade
into the night.

your heart unmasks
to a dagger, already deep into my atriums,
until my muse is replaced
with the bleeding, and each stanza
is your shadow

in shackles. a poem is just a poem
until you perceive it
out of paper—in the silence,
scratching against your skull—until

it begins to burn, your body
bright-blue beneath, your secrets
streaming out like incense—until
it is a grave, with you
more alive in it.

a poem is just a poem until it bites,
until it howls, until it makes
our memory its metaphor
for midnight.

My hands hurt, my hands tremble
My hands itch, my hands scratch
My hands drag, my hands drag
My hands push, my hands shove
My hands bend, my hands break
My hands scream, my hands implore
My hands are cut off under the gleam of the midnight oil
My hands are cold, my hands are still

I will never see them again.