I know not what to say
Or see
As your tardy empathy
Breathes along my sutured neck.
Your lushness of waves hath borne
Golden glimmers of fragrance too sweet
That nerve endings fray.
Smirk so softly into my soul
Your pheromonal whispers
So that dreams may weep syrup,
So may my cheeks dew with sugar.
Lusher are your fallacies
Than your twirled smirks of incandescence;
Lusher are your maladies
Than your smoldered iridescent kisses.

Fret Not!
Thou canst but read them all!

Hordes beset the pages now here-in
Contorting mental faculties to new and different bent

Perusal of Poetry in monumental quantities
is known to suddenly suffuse the brain with lusher thoughts, ideas

Behold! A new man doth arise
as a Phoenix from the ashes of despair

Continue on, my friend, to try to drink of all the knowledge here
While Eliot wafts his magic wand creating wonders in the air

But, ya can't read 'em all.............alas

Paul Bunyan is up and at 'em
with his trusty **** wacker, slicing
through to the other side
of suburban nightmare. Zeus,
in barreling breath, holds low
his mighty leaf blower.

An American hero and Greek god,
hell bent on getting what's
greener on the other side, begin their
Battle of the Lusher Lawn.

Paul's Babe, in her royal blueness,
is star-studded and singing, "Glory Glory"
as she banners the front porch
in red and white stripes. Zeus' sister-bride
Hera, turns a goat on spit, thinking,
"these Americans know nothing about
good barbeque." Later, the two will be
promising recipes over the side fence
of their baba ganoush and ambrosia salad.

The boys will be reminiscing Gallipoli,
slapping each others' backs,
and choking back tears.

Cool crater cascading down
This waterfall of hopeful infamy.
I wait for the red light to turn green,
Thinking of routine in a seven day order.

First thought. Best thought.
Love from her couldn't be bought.
A train. A lie.
The sun burns and yet was never taught.

An apple in her eye behind light blue spectacles.
She wishes for mediocre praise.
A laugh. A sigh. A sip of wine. Forgotten.
Brooklyn based never granted grace.

And though I tell myself the grass is brighter,
Green, lusher, plusher, holier on the other side,
I know that it is not.
The lies we tell ourselves to keep on living.

Everything eventually stinks.
Everything can burn.
Everything must age.
Everything has its

Beginning
Middle
And

End.

i found you in your boots,
making wrecks of all the flower beds,
daggers, darts, and seeing red,
and hell to all the rest.

you found me in my truth,
making reckless proclamations,
spitting spite inside a basement,
and studying for tests.

**

like a former prison colony
i watched you become
a strange place.

digesting tragedies like a peat bog,
preserving them for future
generations.

growing lusher and lusher.

I stroll this
Rose garden
Each plant
Represents
A previous
Love

The lusher
And brighter
The flower
The stronger
Our connection
Had been

In the corner
Are a few
Petite
Roses
These loves
Never
Fully
Bloomed

But I
Still
Cared
For
Them

l.v.s