you will fade away
you will fade like the others
did too
you will fade, my SOS
and leave me with this island's truth on solitude

i rode as passenger once
in a boy's car
i had named Bessie
Bessie grunted and took naps
like a narcoleptic
we drove together
me and this green-eyed boy
in ol' Bessie
through the construction of the Yards in the summer
with our windows
rolled down
smoking cigarettes
under overpasses
on a highway bridge
the city swelling, heaving
over us
and the wild winds
splashing my face
hair tantalizing
impatiently over to his side,
my downtown apartment waiting like a desert flower at dusk
throbbing to bloom
David Bowie sang heroes and i believed the song
could never mean anything more
than our moment shared

years pass and summer nights choke me again
i'm in love again

thundershowers knock on my window
David Bowie sings
but i don't think of that green-eyed boy anymore
now, it's you
tall, spectacular man
spritzer of mystery magic from your hands
i think of you
but i'm alone in my apartment this time
i climb out of the fire escape
thunder cracks the sky
and i let the rain soak my bones
i want to hold you, but
you will not have me
completely
like how this storm
is finding
its way to the last inch of me

i close my eyes and
give
myself away


you won't be the last of them
i know
my story of heroes and lovers sits on the doorstep
of a vacant home

you won't be the last of them
i only dreamed you would
like the sight of a ship too far from shore

She seemed like a nice, pretty girl, so I had invited her to dinner in a small Italian restaurant. Over aperitifs (spritzer for her, scotch for me) she told me about herself. She was twenty years old, she came from Baltimore, her name was Lucinda, but her family called her Lulu. She had a passion for poetry, in fact she had just finished writing a poem, that very day: would I like to hear it?

In the circumstances, only one answer was possible.

I tried to look suitably impressed, and when eventually it was over, I applauded. "What imagination," I said, "What talent!" She smiled, reached inside her handbag and brought out a sheaf of dog-eared manuscripts. "Dear God," I thought, "There's more!" Oh well; there was still the possibility that after the liqueurs she might ask me back to her place, for ***. (Or, as she would probably pronounce it, "coffee".)

So on, and on, she went. The little lady had a talent all right: she could recite and eat simultaneously. Neither the pasta puttanesca nor the saltimbocca di vitello could slow down her almost-rhyming couplets. At last, the papers were all returned to the handbag. She looked at me expectantly. "So, do you think I could get my poetry published?" I paused, to consider my answer. But the pause was too long: she looked right into my eyes, sensed my mood, and in that moment knew what the answer had to be.

During the dessert she crumpled; large, heavy tears fell silently into her zabaglione. Poor lamb! I'd never wanted to hurt her. She didn't deserve the destruction of her dreams.

Who does?

a  rainy sort of rain
buckets thrown  
from invisible  
sky hands
a newborn stream splashes
down main street
slicks train tracks  
and  thirsty lawns
with a spritzer
cocktail  of  cool air

I miss you
We used to have such fun
Was it something I said?
Something I done?
It’s hard to believe
that you made a run…

I’m standing in front
of the open fridge
but it is not Misery
that is piercing my chest
**** useless emotion
would not be so bold
It’s not because I’m hungry
and I welcome the cold

It’s nostalgia that carries me away
as I catch sight of what is sitting
on the back of the shelf
All alone
A can of Harden Up
your favorite drink
but you didn’t know
I used to slip it
into your white wine spritzer
to try and stop your self esteem
sinking
like a stone

But now your gone

Right in the middle of planning
our next dinner date
where we sit and shoot daggers
at each other
through candlelight
as we eye
a great big plate

of

Revenge

But you'll be late
again
and as usual
it will be served cold
again

Why did I ever hope for more?
We were like a complimentary meal
served by the most
lowest of restaurants
Free
Wholly unsatisfactory
more like takeaway
really...

You're not coming back are you?

Obviously you are now finding
your own brand
of fun
I thought we had it all
But I guess I was wrong
and you proved it

You're just a big coward

Run

Baby

*Run

Shiny rooftops struck my eyes.
Ice chewed on my fingertips.
The wind his name was Chilly *****.
My toes aren't coming out to play.
They're hiding under my snuggly cover.
I'm not bitter.
It is a bit.
A spritzer of icicles just where they fit.
This old soul is rather cold and she really doesn't like it much.
Take hold of my hand, unfurl the coming blossoms of forthcoming spring.
I heard a cuckoo call two weeks or so ago.
I guess he got it wrong.
(c) Livvi

The  night flew in like a Kamikaze on patrol and I
the target vehicle lost control and tried to flee, but the pilot
of this flying bomb could not fail to see the terror trail.


before the end.

Then
it's not dark anywhere and the air is light,
the drone of the engine carried away with the night
but the chattering of my nerves serves as its own master.

Two alka seltzer in a white wine spritzer
I might as well feel alive and drunk,
dead drunk is a dead loss.

Weaving slowly a carpet from the day may be the way to keep out of sight, a covering over me to keep the kamikaze from seeing me.

Either way or anyway the day will end.

What man can be and cannot see to see what man can be and are the words that come so free
from the fountain
that spouts inanity?

They send another and another and the night becomes my brother, some time good and times when bad is bad, scuff marks on the overhang and split nails when enough's enough
I'll stand and catch the blast or mix a drink and watch the pills dissolve.

both eyes on the sky which fades to cemetery black
and the night is back.

become cemented in my clementine indents
comb thru my spritzer peels and feel my scales
cradled back curved with soft hands and knuckles
cover me with darker pigments of blue
I'll swell under the thick, grow mold in my creases
fill in access points so my insides stay ripe

Hello, four walled cedar room
encased with dirt and idle worms.
A place for quiet;
the last great march to victory.

The tag on your toe will be the  only remaining mark
of true identity, lest someone you once loved
possibly loved you in return
enough  to claim a vacant version
of yourself.
Most will lament to the former you
a select few will only feel ****** and slather pity
if only only for a moment
over spritzer and finger foods.
They can't possibly comprehend that
the exit was brilliant beyond words; that your chalk
outline was significantly different. Than the others.
No one can fathom what you
must have gone through
to get to this point.
The careful consideration that went into
planning such an exit. How to anticipate their
grief, or the planning that goes in to remedy that.
We can only assume the recently dead
revel in the envisage of how strange it is to watch
the artful way
that others fall apart around you.

a plane taking off
a green sign
dreary rain
sad songs
blue eyes
lime spritzer
cottage cheese
a ten dollar bill
a penny on the pavement
white pants
laughter
a bad smell
weird hair
a magnet
cinnamon

Crazy as a crazy gets
I'm on my david Suzuki tip
Major stupid ****.
Framed by a smooth built script.
Like jews knew hits
Where written in jehovas fists
Know me *****.

Swear I'm naked in figure.
If its dough they want.
I got a bake in mixture.
Fragrant spritzer.
Of a champagne sail away.
Neath skies of give aways.
Trip vacations. Swag bag winners.
project  housing remaking
Villages. With billions made with in
A money system. To feed hungry children.
lobbying dummy politicians.
To drop guns and hit man.
Like gods got nuns and Christians.
We don't slum but the slums
Got big plans
Once this business sharing website
Hits man
Its like witness to a switch stance
Watch it *** either way I'm going to hit man...