A Nice Boy told me this:
If I was given the whole
Grand Canyon
to fill with what I love
about you,
I still wouldn’t have room.

And I fell for his words
like Abraham fell for God’s trick.

Except I wasn’t anguished,
I was only ever
rejoicing to be chosen.

And now I’m angry
and burying my fingers into my palms
until my nails leave crescent scars
and the pain erases the phantom
feeling of your hands.
And I ignore my friends
trying to uncurl my fingers and
press a cool washcloth to
my half-moon indentations,
because I’m only following myself now.

I’m not a ******* disciple.
These moons are my own;
the flag I’ll plant has my name
and my name alone.

I will never again be fooled
by the striking beauty in the cliffs and the
crevices
of the Grand Canyon —
all those baked red relics are
really just ruined land after
being worn away for years
by water and wind.

So I’ll say: Take
a stand, Abraham,
you don’t need God. Don’t
let anyone offer you
the Grand Canyon,
then make you climb it
to prove yourself.
And don’t let anyone
leave you on the highest point,
right where the sun burns you
raw in ten minutes,
dying of
dehydration
and
broken
faith.

Never give anyone the chance
to convince you
to **** Isaac.
And you know what?

Worship yourself
before any boy.

“I’m not sure if night is ending or day is beginning.  What time is it?” She asked as she opened the door.

“Its about 2:30” I answered.

She was pacing about slightly bobbing her head as she spoke.

“We're sorry to disturb you beloved.  We're conducting a homeless census. May we ask you some questions?”

“I don’t want to be put away”  she said.  “I have to be outside.”

“We’re not here to hurt you.  We’re here to help.”

"Where do you come from?" Ally asked.

She didn't remember where she was from and was uncertain why it mattered.

She knew she wanted to leave Paterson but was unsure about where she wanted to go.

She kept her eye on the McDonald’s across Market Street.  

"As long as the light is on, I know its still nighttime and I'll have a place to go if the cops kick me out of here."

Here, was this evenings lodging in an ATM vestibule.  

"I can also get something to eat when I'm hungry."

"What time is it?"

"Its about 2:30."    

She earnestly wants to know what time it is.  

"I don't want the people going to work in the morning seeing me sleeping here." she said, "It's embarrassing."

Her papers were scattered on the floor.

She had one shoe on and one shoe off.  A white sock gloved an indeterminate number of other sock layers warming her shoe-less left foot, sufficient protection from the balmy mist of this late January evening.   The orphaned shoe lay on its side in the corner of the Wells Fargo foyer.

White, black and yellow plastic grocery bags filled with the content of her worldly possessions lay atop the shelf housing bank deposit slips neatly stacked in cubbyholes.

A woolen hat circled her head.  Her tiny face shone through the gray skull cap tightly tied under her soft chin.

She looked to be in her 50’s.  She spoke in a pale uneven tempo with a quiet anxious voice.  Her eyes were clear.  Her pursed mouth bracketed by a trinity of long chocolate crescent winkles. The sounds floating from her mouth were gently angelic and the kindness of a tender smile was filled with demure submissiveness.

She swaddled herself in multiple layers of coats and trousers bulking up a waif like frame.  Her outermost cloak, a gray trench coat was secured with a tightly wrapped knotted cloth belt.  The coat was thoroughly soiled by a life of sleeping rough in the urban outback.  The fabric boasted a consistency worthy of an Abercrombie and Fitch oil finished coat.  The bulky layers rounded the frame of her shoulders.  She resembled a small granite headstone.

"Whats your name?" I asked.  She was reluctant to tell us.  “I don’t like my name”.

We gently coaxed her.

“Carmen” she whispered.

“That's a beautiful name.  Its the name of the most beautiful operas ever written.”

“I know.  I’m gonna change my name someday.” she answered.  “I never liked it.”

Ally finished taking the survey, leaving more questions unresolved than answered.  

We gave Carmen a blanket, gloves, a hat.  Some hot cocoa, two sandwiches and a chocolate bar. We implored her to visit our pantry when it opened in the morning for cloths, referrals and food.  She was very grateful; but I don’t think she’ll ever make her way there.

I gave her my phone number; but I don’t think she’ll call.

“You are not forgotten beloved.  You are deeply loved.  Please remember that.” I said cupping her calloused hands within my palms.

“I know” the dainty caged bird cooed with a submissive smile.  

“What time is it?”

As we left Carmen, I wondered how to count a person wishing to remain invisible.

Music Selection: Bizet’s Carmen, Habanera

Maya Angelou: I Know Why a Caged Bird Sings

Paterson
1/30/13
jbm

I have set my heart to rest in the palms
Of so many others, each a spiralling hate
grown from the echoes of differences
but I guess I've come to regret my mistakes.
I have loved as much as I have lost
Watched the tides take love from me like a kite
caught between the drifts of stormy winds
Just hoping that one day things will be alright.
Maybe I trusted myself with too many others,
screamed 'here take a piece of my heart...
do what you want with it because I trust you
Not to ever break it into pieces and parts'.
I never did learn, what it was like to not trust
And I guess doing so, I drew the short end
of a twisted stick, just some sick game to those
Who saw it fun to break hearts over and over.
I look around, I see people filled with life
Filled with joy, I look at a mirror and I see
a desperate cry for help that goes unheard
because of all the things unsaid like simply
'I love you and I hope you do too'.
I guess me...and others...we weren't meant to be
We weren't meant to ever be lovers.
So I write this dedicated to those who I've loved...
And those who I have lost.

'A part of me will always remember what we had
And you might not think you had an impact
But I guess you gave me a piece of myself I never
knew that I ever had.

You have a piece of my heart-
And you can keep it;
I won't need it where I'm going...'

From: Someone you once knew, and someone who needs to forget.

I want to fall into the room with you,
pulling at our jeans and tee shirts
until we’re in nothing but our
white cotton underwear.

I want to forget about light switches,
cell phones, and my breathing.


I want you to have trouble with my bra,
fingers clumsy with the clasp.
You’ll mutter Jesus Christ,
and I’ll smile against your lips.

I want you to tangle your hands, in my curls
and I’ll spread my palms across your back,
mapping from your shoulders to your ***.

I want to run my hands down your
chest and see if your stomach tenses
when my fingers meet your boxer band.

I want to know the noises you’d make,
and see your face, when we fall together
into your twin bed, in nothing.

My palms hit
With every step

Weightless …

Moving lightly
Swiftly along paved routes
I am fast
Perfect in form

Perfect …

I am always running
From what is
From what is now
And who will be

Faster…

I say to self
limbs tense
My gate in full

Pushing…

Determined
People say I am
Of things needed
And wanted

Farther…

Just a little more
It s right there
Its in reach

Finishing

Why?  How can I?
Looking forward
Eyes fixed on horizon

Passing…

Not giving in
I have much yet to tread
Because I enjoy

Running…

I am angry for the way your eyes touched mine, how
They looked at me and without thinking, made contact,
You
Opened your mouth and the word beautiful
Fell out

I don't know if it was the 2 am restlessness or
the alcohol speaking but
What you said burned a pit in my stomach
I planned on filling it with your smile but
you stopped sharing it with me

I wanted to pile the void high with the thought of how your
Hand pushed hair behind my ear and
Your arms reaching out like you needed me

You told me,
I was beautiful
Whether or not it was an accident does not matter when
I can still feel how your breath felt brushing my cheek as you spoke and
How I blushed, laughing, turning my head to break the connection
I shook it in response saying,

"No, I am not"

Because beautiful things don't confess to their own knowledge of being

You said yes
I said no,

Because beauty is a privilege I have never been allotted

You said yes, you are
I said okay

I don’t know why you had to tangle truth into a lie
If I were truly beautiful to you, you would say hello and still mean it
I'd like to think that if I really were, you would want nothing else but to hold me at all hours of the day, to
Kiss the face you held in your palms and just watch the up and down of my eyelashes but
You don't and I understand, it's okay

It has been a month or two since you spilled poison into my open heart and
for the first time I am remembering this encounter,
It is too sweet for your now bitter
I ask myself why I still think of you and
I know it is due to the way you spoke to me, how
You touched me too gently for too long
Your fingerprints left holes in my memory foam skin, I let you get too close.

This is simply sadness that
is too tired to morph into anger
I am only angry in how you made roses out of words
to plant them in my garden, unfit to grow
I could never keep much else alive besides myself and
everything dies out eventually
I should have guessed that we would too.

Why did you burn me, Fire? Constantly
screaming, jagged in breath, while desperate
for attention-- Where's your dignity?
You've been asking for attention, reaching
for our hands, snapping towards scorched
palms you bubbled, inflated with infection.
I flinch when you spark back to creation.
You've cracked within pressure, Fire,
molten at the core, insensitively lost,
but you, Fire, you lost yourself within
heated monetary discussions--
You seek for growth, demolishing
the path you take.  I can only blame
myself though, Fire. I'm the one who
encouraged, blew on your embers,
empowering your ideals, starting rampages
that engulfed forests and plains. Leaves
dared to love you, now burnt--
You've lost yourself, Fire. Will you
ever let your guard down again?

Your hands are posed up in front of your body,
as if you are warding off bad things.
But your face is waiting.
Fingers come up to meet yours,
weaving themselves around you.
They are my own.
Our palms press against each other,
a fire igniting beneath us.
The white blue flames licking our toes.
How can a simple touch
feel so rewarding?
I lean in so the tip of my nose grazes the stubble,
stiff, but I can still feel the softness of skin
below your jaw.
I want to take that skin in between my teeth
and ****
and make you want me more.
But this isent about ***
No, this is so much more.
I inhale that intoxicating scent.
A scent that can't be described as anything but you.
Just a simple smell, so intense
that it wraps its self around my chest
and squeezes, until I release my breath.
Unable to hold on to it any longer.
Your arms move around my waist
and they are pulling me in closer.
But im drifting.
Blackness is consuming you
while my ears are perking,
ajusting to a horrible high pitched noise.
I roll over,
shifting under my stiff cold sheets.
A green 7:00am flashes in the dark
as I embark on another day without you.

It started off inocent enough,
As it always does;
You examined my hands,
"You have nice palms"
You said in that sweet singsong voice you use when you dont want to wake my mother,
Your head rested on my chest while we watched a rock documentary about Janis Joplin.
Eventually there were other sleepless nights spent rubbing thighs, elbows, lips, and every crevice of you I ever wanted to explore.
You never wanted to smoke but wanted me to,
I always felt bad but you never mind when my mouth tastes like ****,
I remember once my neck was buried in your neck, and your scent brought a beat to my brain and music to my mind and all I could think was "I want this forever"
For some reason though I think youll just do this for a while and get bored, maybe make some art about it, who knows you usually do, I just wish you meant it when you tell me you love me, for some reason I cant see it, you have everyone on your heels and now after all this time of telling me " just friends, this should be platonic" you just decide that im good enough to be the choice now?
How do you expect me to believe that you love me when you have always told me that love was fake anyway?

There are three or four
seconds between the
clicks of broken crankset
on the latest nights laced
with adjacent luminosities
and surreptitious glances
and back of hand touch.

Late lake lit low on warm
weekend afternoons with
goosebump breeze and
words on platforms and
palms that touch hips
and waists and fingers
traversing the length
of narrowing distance.

Notice the breathing and
furrowed brows, a focus
on sandcastles and houses
made of cards, the biggest
problems are no more easily
solved by forgetting arched
backs, sharp breaths, toes
tingling, contented collapse.

Some sunshine mornings
yield just the right few
moments when arms and
legs entangle and you
bring your lips to mine.

In our hearts we may burn,
But soon sizzle clean.
Our ashes blown
Into the unseen.
Our misty foil flaws,
Since beneath the cracks.
Our past and our sins,
No longer burden our backs.

Meatless;
Mindless.
Beat-less;
Bind-less.

Our palms wear down our minds
Our bones collide,
Tears are taunting
All set aside.
Whispers woven
Through our cheeks.
Covered by contentment,
Our limbs we speak.

A love aside of
A love forgotten.
Bite until our teeth have rotten.

i am a hypocrite

for a long time i wanted that word tattooed
somewhere on my body and i still do,
i think.

i cherish my ability to value the
wellbeing of others above my own…
that’s not why i do it
but that’s how it seems, isn’t it?

doesn’t my own lack of motivation
seem so **** selfless?

hypocrites only run into trouble
when they make it obvious.
for some reason, not heading your
own advice makes people very
upset with you.

i do it because
when the fall leaves break
off the trees and there’s
crimson on the sidewalk,
crimson dripping from the palms
of our hands…

well, the winner would be
whoever threw the first punch.

The leaves changed
early this year,

shriveled and fell
to my feet.

The breeze
grew bitter,
a spiteful sigh
blowing

a wayward leaf into
my shaking palms.
In haste, I pressed it to my heart;

                  two withered orphans, it and I

with a boy whose palms seemed constantly marked
with calendars. lying next to him
in his twin bed covered in blue sheets
I made the mistake of asking him to sing
me psalms -- neither of us

were religious. I told him
that his room smelled like an old church
and that I’d only been to a church once
with a childhood friend
and that everybody there drank the blood of Christ
except for me because my family
has a history of alcoholism

the first time I saw his stomach I saw his
whole body and his knees looked tombstones

the first time he saw my stomach he saw my whole body and I whispered
over and over again silently underneath my breath
silently like an anxious fire ‘do not look at me’ the first time
he looked at me he told me I fainted: that night I
had dreams
of cutup magazines,
of hands that only bleed in playgrounds. somewhere that night
lying atop his stomach we heard a girl next door
screaming the way owls do. I’d seen her the morning before
and she’d been beautiful like an old wedding dress.

my makeup looks different when I cry, and I don't know who you are anymore. I've pulled out my hair far too many times to actually be in love with you. I hope you drown yourself in alcohol that tastes like how we used to be. all of my friends have cut their hair, and they don't sing songs from the radio. I've changed what I order from menus that were routine for years. sometimes I don't recognize myself when I look in the mirror. maybe it's because now I can see through my eyes. not in the way that they're faded or foggy or finally dry from all of the tears. I see myself, a person who goes outside when she feels like she can and reads books until the dog-eared pages are lined up like soldiers. so I hope you remember how I used to be. days of poking and prodding at body parts I wish I didn't have are over. please remember how you fed off of my sadness and took it from me. you did not break my heart to make me sad, you tore it from my chest and handed it back to me so I could brush it off and start over again. thank you for giving me back my heart, I never wanted it to belong to you. but I'm sorry that my sadness soaked through your fingertips and into your blood veins. I can't smile without thinking that you may be crying into your palms without any reason. please remember who I used to be, that is you now. I hope you drown yourself in alcohol that tastes like your tears, maybe you'll feel sick. but maybe you'll be too hungover (on me) to notice.

picture us,
lawn chairs and faces black, like kettles left
out go our hands and dark palms
For now we, the migrants
our knuckles on city doors not ours
humbled to our toes this star-less cold
dining room dreams, now on fire, mercy our new coat
neighborly faces take hands
washing them over buckets though nothing
there was no wall

The ones we hurt the most
And the ones who hurt us the most
Are ours
Parts of us

Our beloved boomerang admirers
And they’re the ones who love us more than anything

Yugoslavian aggressively panhandling for depositions from unrelated denizens of the gin joint

A panoramic view of a wire tapped room with a lunatic with latent panic that is undisturbed

Hoarded handouts
Admissions
Acceptance
Embarking on a new flight of stairs

Pitter patter of foreign fitted shoes

Coming across label makers
“Jew”
“******”
“******”

Steer clear

Then those who memorize banned books and recite them
Who question the validity and relevance of tradition and old fashion ways

Finding things in common
Tastes in music
Fondness in wine
Alike minds that crave astonishing world widening writing
And thought provoking art

A libation to the collision of the alive and living

A somewhat scary visionary who breaks the black and white patterns of a wheel of fortune and misfortune with a lance of optimistic disregard

Stealing kisses and sipping on top shelf liquor

Smoking mystic cigarettes from Indian mountains

Idioms and vernacular

Dedicated guardian angels who hang their heads and rest their faces in their palms in puzzled disappointment

New visions
In music
In literature
In technology

But actually in
Self-expression
Communication
And progression

Stab a knife into the stuffy conservative dollar sign chasing guard

And let the prisoners of self-doubting overlooked misunderstanding go free

The complex complications of cement commitment

Walking out on an infant
Walking away in an instant
Instantaneous fear
Spontaneous combustion

A noose
Legendary
No
Not yet

Sing it to me
Play t

Lay morality to sleep
And raise yourself up
And proclaim a new way today

A jumbled viewpoint
That is brilliant and completely sound

Have a sip

Your hatred, look deep
****** it and rip it out
Then let it go

Busting up regulations and requirements

Creating an image that cannot be simulated
That is originated from the imitation out of respect from the innovative minds

Slow it down
Go
The lust
The envy
Two ingredients for a new story
All that’s left is the spilled blood and you’re done

Drift and go on a dimly lit trek into the subconscious and give birth to underived works

The world may burn, melt, freeze and shine

Surrender, transform, standstill then ascend

The ones in need fall into our laps along with the decision we all must make
To help them
Or pass them by

Click clack goes my keyboard
Revisits to the times before

With the aid of chemicals and inspiration
Mixed with ******* and crazed obsession

The feeling of being replaced
Like lying in bed on a cold night
Without a blanket that has some place better to be

My dear naval, nautical nincompoop
I miss you, you’re fighting pirates
Soon terrorists

You know it’s useless
You don’t want to be part of this nonsensical unholy fuckfest of political unrest

You’re a poet, you don’t write
Your life is your poetry
It’s beautiful, you want to live
Not just exist

Be wary, I have foreseen the pandemonium festering in your heart
You are lucky in your naïve exile in paradise
You’ve been hurt
Looking for love
Live, lend
And all the above

Fool proof plans
And ideal daylight

The suicide of the farmer’s daughter
California sushi roll
Burning embers
Red hot coals

Best of luck to you

No elegy
A eulogy
See it to the end

Distract them
Steal the vital piece
Then proceed to take what you came for

It’s okay
Forget what you’ve been spoon-fed your whole life
The greatest caper committed

Jam the doors
Skeleton keys
Skull and cross bones on the bottles
Take whatever you can carry

No man left behind

Leaving a not, imprints
For them to see
And know why we did
What we have done

Phony fame
Upper hand
Inclined
Shame

There is a time and a place for treason
When all is ugly and bigoted

For you will only be this young at this very second and never again

Shoot from the hip
Fly high on the seat of your pants

Grungy soap dish
Domestic disagreements
Empty reflections
Rapping at the window

Go away
Please
For your sake and mine
It’s insane

I expunge your from my life
Not in hate
But in agony
We both know it’s for the best

Don’t be spiteful
I hate being used
Just a tool to b left behind

Extraordinary shallow callousness

Let’s take a walk around the universe

I see two lovers showing their vulnerabilities to each other
I see a man and a man making love so pure
I see my friend traveling the world
I see an amateur addict about to take their first step into a lifelong dependency  
I hear the screams of those about to be murdered
Does that quench your thirst for reality?

Aiding and abetting
Guilty by association
Confession of guilt
Squandering money on bail

**** that
There’s a rat
*** wrap
****** wrap
Saving you from yourself
Following, no matter where you go
Always

       -Tommy Johnson

Others fail you
But you must never fail yourself

Drop
Down
Drown
Die

So many futile attempts
****** submissions
Preponderant talent

And that’s about it

The Tingling
Pulsing
Throbbing sensation.
The thought
Of your sweet slow
*******.
The approval to claim your
Deepest Redemptions
Your Temptations
Delivering me
Blissful Salvation.
Belly button deep
Seeking for keeps
Your palms grip my hips,
My hips switch
Like a gypsy.
You bewitch me.
Twitching
Writhing
Spell-bound  beneath me.
You beseech me.
Eyeballs rolling back into their rightful sockets
If you can pry the clasps open ill give you the key to the locket
Like Future said,
Ill put your heart in my pocket.
Soaring inside me to destinations reached only by rockets.
Fingers tantalizing hard *******,
Love fluid gushing with rip tide strength ripples.
Mary Jane modeling between my fingers,
Idoling bliss towards the tips,
My fingers seek a settling seat upon the floor of your luscious lips
-Lust at your own risk
Inhale the kush
Push me to the depths of my mattress
Submerge me beyond the sheets,
Beyond the springs underneath,
Beyond the heights of my wildest dreams
Make me shy, make me fly
Provide me your name so I can surrender and scream.

I sit on our recliner,
Luna bar wrapper on the floor.
My robe is cinched
too tight, a reminder--
your fingers should meet
around my waist, but my ****
and *** should spill out of your palms
because defined curves and wiles
are the definition of a divine
woman worthy of insta-fame,
tumblr posts, and right
swipes.

I'll twist and turn and pose
in front of any mirror, desperate
for a flat-planed stomach and fuller
cleavage, the whole time
wondering if you look at me bent
over the bathroom counter, fixing my eyeliner,
and think that I'm a dime disguised
in a size 0 dress.

If my sides could shrink as fast
as my self-esteem, I'd never crunch
my abs into idealistic numbers again.

privileged and dismissed.
the beige of the spectrum,
clothed in a flimsy dress
peeling off my hips
in a mint-walled motel.
matte irises examining the dingy sheets
where I sink,
saturated by sweaty palms
and the mildewed ceiling
is crumbling around us
at every tremor of the mattress.
we evaporate
into the musty air,
mingling with the mists
of the hourly guests before us.

and maybe I sauntered
from that room
a little rosier than before.
maybe I left there
a few shades darker.

I’ve dreaded this imploding moment
my entire life unknowingly,
if there was a way to avoid it; I have blown it,
growing pains should end when you stop growing.

I’ve got speckle scars on my palms
they’re always kissing my fingernails,
there’s only one thing I’ve found that calms,
but the road collapses or the guide always bails.
“This is your brain”, but the egg doesn’t crack,
no sizzling grease rain, no white burning black.

It’s the things that feel the best that also cause the pain,
as you can only enjoy the sunshine when you’ve had a spout of rain.
Just like you can’t have a fire without an initial spark,
and you can’t bathe in the light unless you’re drowning in the dark.

But what if I’m tired of obvious consequence,
Hell, I’m tired of everything these ******’ days,
where self medicating was once used in past tense,
I think it’s time for me to revert to my old ways.

So fill a rig until it’s completely full,
and shoot me up with some false hope,
it correlates your method of push over pull,
but it’s still not as good as actual dope.
And let me rail a line of pure nirvana and bliss,
if you’re the one to cut it atleast you gave it to me technically,
if something was never there, how can it be something you miss?
I’ll keep feeding the habit until I can no longer breathe.

Destiny lost when fate found a wall of defy
to change it I would sell all of my remaining soul,
and I think I now know the reason why,
a bandaid won’t ever cover a bullet hole.

What do you do when the best part of you crumbles,
tears itself to shreds,
slams its palms on the table and says no more?

What do you do when you find yourself begging that piece of you to stay,
to please don't leave, I need you so I can breathe?

What do you do when that shard of you looks you in the eye,
presents you with a gaze that is nothing less of indifference,
and murmurs who are you?

You won't know what to say -
because the best part of me was always you,
and you have chosen to leave me over and over again.

you cry like lost toys and dead pets
there's nothing you can do about it right now
you cry like a small animal with a broken spinal chord
you keep whimpering, but it can only heal in time
you cry like pressing the skin of your palms
into the membranes of your eyes

when everything in your head is so cacophonous
you want to rub away all the little things you absorb
want that your hands could throw out this migraine
like a candy wrapper on the sidewalk
and if you believe hard enough that it's gone
you'll never notice the sugar rush or the comedown
so you press your hands to your face
as hard as you can and try to pray like a religious person
but you were raised christian and american and
the ways of believing and hoping and loving that you knew as a child
seem insincere now, and hard to speak
the language is not truthful
everything is what they told you it was not
nothing is what they told you it was
or everything was always what it was
and you or i could've told them that

and you think that wrapper might eventually end up in a landfill
if you go throwing it carelessly around
and sadness taken with too much sugar can be a toxic combination
so maybe making the bad things go away
is harder than throwing away the wrapper and enjoying the rush
maybe the wrapper is somewhere else now you can't get to
where you can't hear it crinkle or see it shrivel,
but you can still relentlessly feel it
getting whittled away by time and weather
while steadily melting down bits of you
as you pass your heart around
gasping inside the icebox

until one day you look up and the sun is a bloodier color
and your lungs are full of ice like pins
freezing inside of you
and when seconds before you had oxygen
as you begin choking, you think it's amazing how long
it seems to have been
since you were alive

your knuckles are dry from holding on
to a rusty ladder wrung
even when you want to move so badly
and there's nowhere to climb
you refuse to jump
and you're still trying to figure out
how to fall correctly
to break the least amount of limbs

honoring the glass artistry of Dale Chihuly

A rainbow of serrated globes,
Friends to the water lilies,
Floats in a sculptured pool.

A surreal yellow glass Medusa
Woven through a white crescent trellis
Gleams in the midday sun.

Choirs of chrysanthemums
Sing with multicolored flora
Blown from molten soda, lime and sand.

Sheltered in a geodesic tropics
Orange herons stand on legs of glass
Amid living palms, bamboo and wild orchids.
Towering blue spires
Lift skyward out of the soil
While butterflies dance
In the misty veil of a waterfall.

Nature and the shimmering world within
Happily converge in the florid vision
Of an effervescent man with a patched eye -
A man called Chihuly.

October, 2006

You ignite the papaya scent
of Zanzibar romances
spiced woods behind ears
seducing the body's non-senses
like kisses enticed from hints
formed in a humid land
kneading your cat pad toes
into my kicked off sandals

soft sinking
warm as sand spreading
on golden embers
smoking like a slow glowing dhow
sailing wine tumblers
spilling Matemwe beach rays
of crystal rain in sunshine
tinkling against my skin
like the random meditation
in wind chimes

tuned by the slight twitch
of Mnemba Atoll frangipani
to unwind my fire
into an isle of leaves
singing sunny
somewhere mysterious
through winding alleyways
we kissed on shady curves
sprung open
on to Stone Town seas

your weather
beaten hair
waving in Forodhani Gardens
showered into labyrinthine storms
travelled blue-black horizons
infused with times
of thunder roaming
lost in alluring plans
mindful I look back to check
your coral stone directions

we swept into an unclipped tent
of Salamah **** Saïd's
eating hot shwarma
like I was the Sultan and you princess
your attractions slipping a cargo off
of precious unguent wet essentials
drying to flow a silken scarf
around Darajani Market thrills

floating in a dark continent
on each kiss to my needy neck
leaning in the white wake
of Zani-bar dreams
which seek
to push the boat out
on your shoulder
once you're moored
on to my arms

longing for you
swaying now
under sweating hot
Gizenga road palms

Amy speaks to me sometimes,

reminds me of the losing game that I’m playing:

I’ve put in all my coins, gambled all I could call mine

and she shakes her head but keeps her silence.

There are no rules, she knows this

it’s all in or nothing,

and she watches me give everything.

I resurrect every ghost to make me bleed,

and tear open this skin for meaning,

but what is the value of hollowed bones and haunted dreams?

How many revolutions until your words lose your voice?

How many revolutions until the sun burns my hands away from your eyes

so you can finally see the light?

I lost the heart in a wager for yours

only to return with empty palms

and another phantom shackled in the mind

that patrols the lock-up, and the whip comes down

at every clink of ball-and-chain – no prisoner stands a chance to escape.

How odd that every lash on the prisoner,

you’ll find on my wrist, on my back, on my neck;

how odd that every movement is a punishment;

how odd that you don’t see the manacles

I’ve bound myself with.

Their love was like sparkle,
Enclosed in a strong glass jar,
With straps tied around it's head,
To have it saved and delicately spared.
Their eyes empowering the deepest flecks of care,
A gaze so tight, no force could interrept.
Their bodies together, were artistic,
Picturesque and parallel.
They breathed, to inhale the scent of each other's existence.
Their hands intertwining, agonizingly slow,
Feeling the lines and contours of their palms.
They didn't speak much,
A similarity in the flow of thoughts got their minds aquainted.
Their love was like paint.
Colorful,
Always ready to trace towards the dry canvas and fill the blankness.
They didn't love to show,
Their love was the only thing that resonated through their hearts.
Heartwarming, young and inseparable,
Their love was like the smell of books, whether old or new,
But always soothing.
Their love was what true love is drawn of.

               ~kc
                4.1.16