I find my self bordering between a Brandeis Blue and a Bright Cerulean,
Not too brilliant like Turquoise, but yet
I don’t find myself as dull as the Cadet shade, nearly Grey.

Although, depending on the circumstance I can exude a shade of Chartreuse,
Which leaves others a bitter Cal Poly Green,
A color which looks terrible on anyone.

My favorite shade however, is of bright Ruby
Brilliant and fierce in all its color, but can suddenly change in one swift mix.
With Black it becomes a tainted ashen Rouge, spoiled and rotten with grief and distaste
Bubbling under your skin, turning into a fiery rampage

Rather than becoming pinkened with a serene Pearl
A complement to the Ruby, flushing it with hearts desire
Soothing it too a point of Lavender, then Boysenberry
And then finally,
Back to my Brandeis Blue.

I breeze into the bar alone
Order a drink then
Waltz on my own

Four fated eyes
Fog machine
Collide

Seven blocks
Until home
Debauchery
On the dome

The ******* twist of
Pinkened papilla
Candled glow
Sandalwood
Vanilla

Your tongue the till
To my loam
I shrill

You blissed me
So sweet
Sugar stains
On my sheet

Your departure
While slippery
Is no less
A victory

Click them off like

rosary beads

with accossiated prayers.


Smudge the dreams

into the eiderdown,

And divide them down

in ironed out

layers.


Line them up and

gobble them with listless

tea.

I am your prediction!

(said in shushes,

quite benediction)

I want to drop like stingless bees.

I am Addiction to Tranquility.


How jealous I am!

Watching him fall on his ****

as I begin the solitary farce

of trying to close my

eyes.

I watch his chest slowly sink and rise.

How beautiful -

to be cut down,

like grass.


Flophouse drapes of

cigarette smoke

hang from the ceiling in

billows.

A headache clings and

holds me close as

daylight stumbles

like a ghost,

and settles her questions

on my pillows.


The tragic thing about each morning

Is that I greet each sleepy dawn

with the dry and

pinkened threat of tears.

Sleepers – do you know the

might of what you do

each ******* night?

The oblivion in half your years?

The fiction of your wild frontiers?

The obliteration and presentation

of all your garbled

Freudian fears?

Do you know the glamour in what you do?

Do you know what I’d give to be like you?

To live and somehow not be here?

To close my eyes?

To disappear?

don’t tell flowers

you love them.

wilting daffodils will cry,

sunbaked tulips turn their gaze,

and beneath the pinkened sky chrysanthemums

hide shame in yellowing beds of weeds.

in the new age your bursting fingers fiddle helplessly with a broken plug.

you’re all swollen tongue and swollen heart and swollen organs in a big bag of bones.

no one has loved you since, and repeatedly in three years of foreign language,

we remind ourselves of our broken mind, broken body, broken roots,

an oak tree that has been standing for too many years and is rotting at its core,

all its rings eaten up by termites.

loathe love, hold onto your bitterness, you’re starbucks hot chocolate.

The first flower of spring,
The first flake of snow,
The first walk in the rain
While warm breezes blow,
The first pinkened cheeks
As by sunlight kissed,
This is what I would have missed.
Grandchild's first steps,
His first words spoken,
The first hand held,
As he's gently awoken,
His first day at school,
his first girl kissed
This is what I would have missed.
The honour of becoming old,
And seeing wrinkles in my frown,
Pimping my mobility scooter
And roaring on it around town,
Laughing with the OAPs
While I fulfill my shopping list,
Coffee on a chilly day,
This is what I would have missed.

oh,
how the seashell
screamed so faintly in my swollen, pinkened ear
labored from listening

mama's face open,
all lit up
and how she whispered "it's the water,
she's calling you
home"

and I
turned on my heel
fell into myself
my little face, stone-cold

and the sea
oh,
she got me
quite figured out

the lurch in my stomach
was her, and her
millions of
droplets
of doubt

we stopped the car at the ocean
and you all jumped right in
and I
hung back-
frightened
of the black, crashing abyss

A smile
tugging at the corners of my rosy lips.
A thumb
sliding across the tear trailing down my pinkened cheek
Soft lips that burn off the old love
and give life to a feeling more pure.
Take example
from the pheonix.
Warmth
from the cold
Hope from despair
Such love sprung
from such strong friendship