It’s one of those nights
where I miss the way you breathe out the stars when you laugh,
freckling the sky’s velvet skin with drops of
gold.
Your lips were the sun
which I orbited myself around and
your eyes the moons which pulled my tides.
The Milky Way that was
your skin
felt just like Heaven beneath my touch
and your lips on mine ignited an incandescent
supernova.
And as I lay here now
I think back to the
black hole
that collapsed our celestial world.
All that we knew died.
Not with a whimper,
but with a
bang

darling
let us fill our lungs
with corruptive smoke
and descend into delirium
so we may appreciate the moments
when our breaths consist
of purely air

let us drown our stomachs with poison
so we may savor the potent mix
of acid and alcohol
searing our throats
and numbing our skin

let us sink our teeth
into the ripe flesh
of the forbidden fruit
and swallow the pit
while we´re at it

let us drink to forget
and kiss like careless strangers
as we bury ourselves under bodies
so we may feel something other
than the weight of the world

let us dance beneath a storm
not of rain
but of blood spilling out
of open wrists
with mouths gaping
and hearts shattered

let us relish these blurred eyes
and hazy memories
as our hands touch
but do not meet
let us hold each other too tight
skin bleeding into skin
nail marks freckling your back

i can no longer hear the music
so let us sing our beautiful lies
take my hand
and let us run through grayed streets
with reckless abandon
and as we go
we can pick the roses
allowing their thorns
to imprint new scars
between our fingertips

let us tear the feathers
from a white dove
so we may weave ourselves
wings to fly
to touch the sun
and steal icarus´ name

let us ignore our ambitions
and explore extremes together
let us shatter our expectations
and as two beings collide
let us breathe each other in
and indulge as if it were
our last moment on earth

darling
let us taste death together


x.

are you collecting the old counts of how
they slaughtered your son and his power-hungry heart,
twenty three knives to the torso,
the killing blow delivered by a beloved friend?
or are those the scrolls that you wish
dust would settle over forever, relics and reliefs of
everything you see behind your closed eyelids.
a politician’s mother
must be all the more clever; her son will not
be going into battle to die with honor
but rather with deceit. give her-- you-- a laurel wreath,
the irony of the goddess nike standing
golden over the tomb of your son: emperor,
caesar. mother of summer, of boiling july,
are you not the sun? are you not the constellations
freckling burnt pale skin? are you not
the fiercest and brightest of warriors, quietly,
without warning?

I stepped outside long ago
if only to step some more.

This cool wind
so unlike Florida.
A welcoming to
embrace.

It'll be gone far too soon.

My neck finally tires
hanging like a bowling ball
tied and held
to one most old
and weary rubber band.

My eyes come up
on a night everyone knows.
We all have a color
coating our pupils.  Mine are blue
and guilty of ogling
even if this common sight grows
sadder and sadder
until it becomes
truly sad.

Many bright dots
freckling the sky--
and what body isn't
without imperfections?
--so much ours
so many.
Too many.

Those builders
of our own time
those without grasp
of selflessness
have such themselves.

Stinging night's veil
both by presence
and prominence.
with naught subtlety.

They shine beyond all
that have ever shone.  
Illuminating
glaring and blinding.

We are not so receptive
down in the dark earth
where neon signs pollute our eyes
until the sun dusts it away
only so we cringe
and close them again.

What then can a satellite show?

I get dolled up
For no good reason.
Hair and makeup
It's that season.

To get dolled up
With no where to go.
No one wants to party or hang out.
So I'm stuck, dolled up, alone.

What a doll face I have
So pale with light freckling.
Pursed lips, pink tint
Bright eyes, sparkling.

A cute curvy doll.
With dark chestnut above
Graced with a pretty face
That no one will love

Freckling the sidewalks: puddles.
All a-bloom with oil, dirt and the reflections of flocks of birds --
Swarms of starlings winging around spires like maypoles.

At the ***** of the skyscraper’s spire: clouds.
Cradled into blueness by springtime, whispering away their last agonies of rain.
From their final cadence comes a tear

That tear dripping into those puddles making these ripples
Unwrinkle through needle-point skyscrapers, ribbons of starlings
And reflections of clouds.

I want to taste your constellations
Freckling your galaxy
I want to feel
Your sunburst kiss.
Guide my hands
Around your orbit
Where I can drift
For eternity.
I am your satellite.
Your daybreak smile
Constantly in my head
Running revolutions
During my day.
I could get lost
In your cosmic gaze.

Spring is an awkward age –
she is transition, change,
the taste of heat but the smell of rain.

She is braces, bunches, tiny daisies
freckling a face.
She is the puzzle-pieced laugh
through a gap-toothed smile,
the hands that touch
through a broken space.

Winter has taught her
not to fear the dark,
but she still remembers
what it is
to be lost;
hence, she is little flowers
peeking shyly
at the frost.

I can taste the huckleberries ripe on the branches
stolen from the fairy garden in the early summer
when the ravens weren't looking.

I stole a lot of things as a child.
I stole the UV rays from the sun,
tanning my alabaster arms
and freckling my shoulders.

I stole winks from boys in my third grade classroom
while the teacher had her back turned.
And I might have sold those winks
to other boys
for an extra juice at lunch.

Maybe I committed petty theft as a young lady,
taking the air from someones lungs,
******* in their light-bulbs and
blowing a fuse.

I'm a thief,
taking the light from their eyes
and the bullets from their guns,
I stole smiles
and never gave them back.

Fold and fold - endocrine leaf lets the wind
Unwrap and re-blend; the butterfly begins
Cram, dance; a league of sin
Reckon the world rolls away - The End
Death swept into the recycle bin
Smiles are sorcerers freckling the skin
God is the mandible and chin
And She is the rhythm that turns me in

Two people walk into a bar:

A woman, early twenties, permed-up, puffed-out hair

Horn-rimmed glasses thicker than coke bottle bottoms

Fresh out the ivory tower eager to learn eager to become who she needs to be

Parlez-vous français? She does,

Her tongue speeding over conjugated verbs

Flying effortlessly through another language, she is ready

To move to Paris, la ville de l’amour,

The City of Lights, the City of Untold Possibilities

She is ready, she thinks,

To fall in love.



A man, earlier twenties, close-cropped, clean-shaven hair

Sea-green eyes and 20/20 vision-placid ocean

Fresh out Basic Training eager to act eager to become who he needs to be

Do you read me, Sir? He does,

His spine rigid from standing straight and tall,

Hand crooked at his forehead in an involuntary salute, he is ready

To build fighter jets with his oil-stained hands

To build a life for himself with his carpenter’s fingers

To build a house on the stability he thrives in

He is ready, he thinks,

To let someone in.



Two people walk into a bar:



A man, an Army graduate, an old soul



A woman, a College graduate, a kind soul



Guitar riffs floating from the jukebox drift through the air,

Playing the background music for newfoundlove story.



Two people walk into a bar:



Friends introduce them to each other,

She thinks, Those green eyes sparkle with the sun freckling his cheeks

Reddening his hair.
She thinks, Maybe he’s the one.

He thinks, That perm really works for her frames her face what a pretty smile.

He thinks, Maybe she’s the one.



Two people walk into a bar:

Sit down, have a drink,

Share some laughs, funny stories,

Break the ice with awkward questions,

Eat some food, too shy to share it

Get some drinks, guzzle liquid courage,

Dance to the jukebox buzz

Look a little silly but pretend they don’t care.

They don’t care.



Two people walk into a bar:


Maybe they leave hand-in-hand,

Maybe they hug goodbye at the door.

Maybe they think about each other and call right away.

Maybe they set up more dates, more bar trips, more laughs.

Maybe they already know that they are in love.

Two people walk into a bar:

Their history writes its own punchline.

your eyes shine
bright like the stars
freckling the night sky
illuminating the blackness

your soul radiates
golden like the sun
awakening life everywhere
its rays emanate
caressing the rugged terrain of the earth
bringing the warmth
and the light that you are
to those around you

if your soul is the sun
then mine must be the moon
glowing solely through
the splendor of the
scintillating sun that you are
a beacon of light
guiding a lost soul home

dark hair

light eyes

tone fit body

he’s a perfect guy

smart with wit

this is it

I can say

please take me away

to this man

with a freckling tan

he’s beautiful

and says what’s right

he’s wonderful

take me away for the night

*…sometimes I’m taken over in butterflies

for a perfect guy with light green eyes

If I ever have children
I’ll teach them about god
On
Family road trips
In a mini-van
With a candy wrapper carpet
And warm melted crayons
In the seats grand canyons
As the Arizona sun sets
Over the Copper State
Where you could almost swear
It was the red dusted desert
Painting the sky
Rain-less-bows of color
With broken butte brush stroke
Across the restless desert
As you twist around in your seat-belted
Body of eight years old
To the rearview window
Of an AC blasted
Softly singing stereo
Escaping out gaping windows
Leaving nothing behind
But a heatwave
Trying to settle down
Tire teased dust
For the evening stretch ahead
That you think might never end
As if god was using the road as a string
He had tied tightly to the family car
Carving the way though
Salty cactuses drinking licks of sand left by
Dirt devils dancing across the graves of
Lizards
Who pretended they didn't exist
But couldn’t fool the hawks
Who watched and waited
For more than just a lost tail
Or a forgotten story
But something clay
Concretely carved in to caves and caverns
With rock and bone
Something solid to hold on to

But my children need to know
That an existence is a slippery thing

Like the color from the buttes
As it slowly drips off the sky
And back into the sand
Leaving speckles of white
Freckling the blackness
Swirled with little
Tizzles of light
As homage to the desert moon
Whose crying stars for
Coyotes
Howling in time
To the crickets metronomic harmonies  
Singing the desert back from its camouflage
Life bursting breath though
The earth cast shadows
Breathing heart beats across the land
That's just been
Brought back to living

And if I ever have children
I'll teach them
That this road will never end
At least not where we expect it to
Because god
Isn’t who
We make him to be
He
Doesn’t string us along a road
But he holds the world on a string



                                                       ­   The End.

all of my hearts feel injured
out of each mouth a separate tedium

unaccounted, all unaccounted

the ticking of this tongue flat and gross
in the stupor of days and-

and you are dead in the East

pale horseless East

freckling

falernum soaked feathers
for fathers
fatherless East, now

and farther

over the terminating sea

you have left me, here

and how sick I have been
how unimaginably quiet my bald mind can be
I touch my own forehead, lest I forget myself

I do not even recall, who I am talking about

I find myself in the strew of night, ineloquent
and helpless

how easily, I flicker
not even a copy of myself

stars twinkled around me
until i had to notice them
until i had to open my eyes

they breathed across my skin
and planted themselves
deep inside my aching chest

i was filled with their light;
i took the leap upwards-
a journey in the celestial sea

i lost myself in the eyes
of jupiter, venus, and mars
freckling my skin like dice

the constellations drove
in donuts, around the sea
pouring themselves out

space was everything
space was always there
in waves of varying gravity

i rode asteroids into
six different shooting stars
until i held the world

the cosmic microwave
filled me to the brim
with it's premordial sound

long breath raked out, length of
day. thought pattern diffusing;
shadows cast on a broadening strip,
wallpaper hung close. stolen breath,
an orbit about you. consistent
glow. hinging on ripples, cut around
this field by clear breeze. branches
stretch, churning in the swept
air. held aloft, in their self-arrest.

i do not echo. this frictionless glimmer.
the vanishing extent to which i
can stop falling.

oh, but i do not want to. not
this time, sweet. each day reaches
out with tender hands, to pull
me up& out of this cavernous maze;
undoing meaningless shovelwork.

i find myself, under boughs, amidst
flowers. it's only slightly difficult to admit
this smile was smeared over
my freckling jaw, for nothing,
save for you.

even birdsong seems pale in comparison,
distant bells, ocean mist; undertow
beneath soft waves rolling
from your lungs to lips.

Sad reflections from
donated dreams.
Charity's
fallen embers.
Like a high UV index
they burn right into
your skin.
Freckling
your thoughts with a bit of compromise.

Close your eyes
to the possibility
inertia
has made itself at home.
You'll feel it, feel it
right to the bone.
But you crossed that bridge
long ago.
In the time of
tranquil misgivings.
You gave consent to
sin by offering up
your sons and daughters.
Drowning them
in the shallow end of dissipated water.

Sing hymns
all you like.
Piety
is not for sale.
And the angel light
that hits the wall
is not in the shape of Mary.
Evil always figures into
these things.
Don't you know? Heat rises. Blood falls.

So burn your prayers
on a stick. Roast them
in the campfire. You'll never turn
to God until you lie
dying. Broken and heaving.
Asking for forgiveness.
Which a man of cloth
will grant.
Such a charmed life to leave.

Only it's a cheat.
A spoonful
of circumvention.
Making you feel
warm and clever
as you bleed out. Regrettably,
your vacuous heart
sailed off on the Greta Garbo
and mortgaged
your future for such marquee.
Banking on the
here and now.
From this there can be no redemption.

Time makes grotesqueries of us all.
Tiny sacs of water,
flesh that holds itself together
withering with each year.
Skin bunching, and freckling,
time takes each smile
exchanging grins for winces.
Tumors bulge,
while the memory
of each loved one lost
recedes into an amorphous fog.
Hair bleaches itself,
slowly greying then whitening
as it thins.
Mobility becomes restricted
by pain, and exhaustion.
Labored breaths resist
Death’s inevitable kiss of black bliss.
Until, even loved ones cringe,
trying to touch,
but shivering too much
with a tinge of
fear and a slight vibration of disgust.
A single loved one down,
we know the score
and as we watch several more fall,
most of us
march on oblivious
to the fact
that these grotesqueries
will soon be us.