A rainy dreary Halloween from 2006.
Candlelit late night
bedroom phone calls.
Your dream about a train ride and mushroom farmers.
My dream about hidden cities.

"I want to feed you ****** and a muscle relaxer and **** the **** out of you"

How long has it been Now?
Too long maybe, some lines are stretched too thin, through waiting and longing, love and lust and the once closest of friendships,
Stretched like Taffy till nearly gossamer strands wound meandering miles of complex life events and other unshared memories.
A too familiar voice.
Echoes of "I want you to have the perfect *******"
Spaces in conversations that would have been empty  if not for the most contagious laugh I've ever heard.
One not matched before or since.

Can you live in the past and long for the future? Is it greedy to desire more of something that was already so sweet? I don't tell anyone about my dreams now. Candles sit on.the shelf primarily unlit.

There are no more secret cities.
No mushroom farmers or train rides
But there are still threads
Stretched like Taffy but woven like a tapestry.
Across time and distance.
Made of memories.
All you'd have to do Is tug on a thread.

I.
My face resembles your face
less and less each day. When I was young
no one mistook whose child I was.
Features build coloring
alone among my creamy fine-***** sisters
marked me Byron's daughter.

No sun set when you died, but a door
opened onto my mother. After you left
she grieved her crumpled world aloft
an iron fist sweated with business symbols
a printed blotter dwell in the house of Lord's
your hollow voice changing down a hospital corridor
     yea, though I walk through the valley
     of the shadow of death
     I will fear no evil.

II.
I rummage through the deaths you lived
swaying on a bridge of question.
At seven     in Barbados
dropped into your unknown father's life
your courage vault from his tailor's table
back to the sea.
Did the Grenada treeferns sing
your 15th summer as you jumped ship
to seek your mother
finding her     too late
surrounded with new sons?

Who did you bury to become the enforcer of the law
the handsome legend
before whose raised arm even trees wept
a man of deep and wordless passion
who wanted sons and got five girls?
You left the first two scratching in a treefern's shade
the youngest is a renegade poet
searching for your answer in my blood.

My mother's Grenville tales
spin through early summer evenings.
But you refused to speak of home
of stepping proud Black and penniless
into this land where only white men
ruled by money. How you labored
in the docks of the Hotel Astor
your bright wife a chambermaid upstairs
welded love and survival to ambition
as the land of promise withered
crashed the hotel closed
and you peddle dawn-bought apples
from a push-cart on Broadway.

Does an image of return
wealthy and triumphant
warm your chilblained fingers
as you count coins in the Manhattan snow
or is it only Linda
who dreams of home?

When my mother's first-born cries for milk
in the brutal city winter
do the faces of your other daughters dim
like the image of the treeferned yard
where a dark girl first cooked for you
and her ash heap still smells of curry?

III.
Did the secret of my sisters steal your tongue
like I stole money from your midnight pockets
stubborn and quaking
as you threaten to shoot me if I am the one?
The naked lightbulbs in our kitchen ceiling
glint off your service revolver
as you load     whispering.

Did two little dark girls in Grenada
dart like flying fish
between your averted eyes
and my pajamaless body
our last adolescent summer?
Eavesdropped orations
to your shaving mirror
our most intense conversations
were you practicing how to tell me
of my twin sisters     abandoned
as you had been abandoned
by another Black woman seeking
her fortune     Grenada     Barbados
Panama     Grenada.
New York City.

IV.
You bought old books at auctions
for my unlanguaged world
gave me your idols Marcus Garvey Citizen Kane
and morsels from your dinner plate
when I was seven.
I owe you my Dahomeyan jaw
the free high school for gifted girls
no one else thought I should attend
and the darkness that we share.
Our deepest bonds remain
the mirror and the gun.

V.
An elderly Black judge
known for his way with women
visits this island where I live
shakes my hand, smiling.
"I knew your father," he says
"quite a man!" Smiles again.
I flinch at his raised eyebrow.
A long-gone woman's voice
lashes out at me in parting
"You will never be satisfied
until you have the whole world
in your bed!"

Now I am older than you were when you died
overwork and silence exploding your brain.
You are gradually receding from my face.
Who were you outside the 23rd Psalm?
Knowing so little
how did I become so much
like you?

Your hunger for rectitude
blossoms into rage
the hot tears of mourning
never shed for you before
your twisted measurements
the agony of denial
the power of unshared secrets.

Vulnerable is what I am
When I let the real me outside
It's not safe, sometimes, to be so carefree
Should I risk hurt, or play safe and hide?

But people who love me keep asking me
To open my heart up to them
I don't know why that's so uncomfortable
I guess vulnerable is not what I am

The few times I've worn my heart on my sleeve
My words never came out right
So I've practiced being less vulnerable
And kept my real thoughts out of sight

People keep saying to use more words
But I fear I'll be misunderstood
Maybe I won't express myself right
Or I'll say way more than I should

Words, I've found, are containers for thoughts
I don't know why I sit here and hoard them
When I store them unspoken, my thoughts sit unused
Unshared—a container unopened

It's a little like having a pantry of food
And keeping it all to myself
Food's meant to be shared, and if it is not
It helps no one—just rots on the shelf

And that's how it is with my words kept inside
If love doesn't share them some way
My thoughts stored inside these containers called words
Can spoil and turn bitter someday

I used to complain that people didn't understand me
And for that I would silently resent them
But the silence, I now see, is of my own making—
If they don't know me, it's because I haven't let them

I thought ...



But now I know
And it's crystal clear,
Thoughts are all they'll ever be.

Never the popcorn
for a story untold,
little victories alone
that never unfold.

Never any applause
for a story unheard,
all the joys of day
and yet not a word.

Never saccharine sweet
the story unshared,
so chatter aloud
and let no one be spared.

Here I am, drunk again.
So long friend.
I can't recall how many times I tried to reach you. Or how many time my student became the teacher, but I'm drunk again.
Remember all those bottles left unshared.
Got my brain in a snare.
Remember how I tried to care? But I'm drunk again.
Tip the top til it topples over, this stables staggering, are we sure it's sober?
No, no, November was waiting but we're still just debating. Am I drunk again?
Killed you with water, drownd you with tomorrow's sorrow.
But we're you listening?
This fires raging but still contained. I promised I'd stay sain, if only to show you.
If only to hold you.
If only I was sober.
If only you would stop smoking those sick clovers.
But I'm drunk again.
So long friend.

NAY! swear no more, thou woman whom I called
Star, Empress, Wife! Were Dian's self to lean
From her white altar and with goddess lip
Swear thee as pure as her pale breast divine,
I could not deem thee purer than I know
Thou art indeed.

Once, when my triumphs rolled
Along old Rome and blood of roses washed
The battle-stains from off my chariot-wheels,
And triumph's thunders round my legions roared,
And kings in kingly ******* golden bound
Shook at my charger's foot, past the hot din
Of Victory-whose heart of golden pride in wound
Most subtly through with fire of subtlest pain-
My soul on prouder pinion rose above
The Roman shouting, to an air more clear
Than that Jove darks with hurtling thunderbolts,
Or stains with Jovian revels-that separate sphere,
Unshared of gods or man, where thy white feet
Caught their sole staining from my ruddy heart,
Blazing beneath them; where, when Rome looked up,
'Twas with the eyes close shaded with the hand,
As at some glory terrible and pure,-
For no man being pure, a terror dwells
Holy and awful in a sinless thing-
And Caesar's wife, the Empress-Matron, sat
Above a doubt-as high above a stain.

Nay! how know I what hell first belched abroad
Tall flames and slanderous vomitings of smoke,
Blown by infernal breathings, till they scaled
Thy throne of whiteness, and the very slaves
Who crouched in Roman kennels wagged the tongue
Against the wife of Caesar: 'Ha! we need not now
And opal-shaded stone wherewith to view
A stainless glory.' In that day my neck
Was bound and yoked with my twin-Caesar's yoke-
Man's master, Sorrow.

I know thee pure-
But Caesar's wife must throne herself so high
Upon the hills that touch their snowy crests
So close on Heaven that no slanderous Hell
Can dash its lava up their swelling sides.
I love thee, woman, know thee pure, but thou
No more art wife of Caesar. Get thee hence!
My heart is hardened as a lonely crag,
Grey granite lifted to a greyer sky,
And where against its solitary crown
Eternal thunders bellow.

Let’s start from the beginning…
Serenaded by celestial scarecrows.
I’m drawing crosses on
bathroom shower curtains.
Steaming with potential, semi-permanent.
A blue Bible lies next to me.
Then again I’m surrounded on all sides
by dozens of Coke cans, laced with
stale beer.
Caution: Instant *** machine just add alcohol.
Please fill this prescription, signed with
The Cross.

I’m dancing with visions of myself.
Proverbs guiding my life.

Walking

Walking through the same patterns of their life.
Trying to find outlets of expression.
How expressive can I be in a basement?
On the hand I have a great life,
on the hand I want more.
Adam Smith curse guide me!

Not with child, thank you.

Thank you.

Dancing with the universe, a dance of time.
Don’t cry wondering gypsy.
I choose neither the mountains nor the beach.
I like them both.
Which wilderness is wild?
I will live amongst the stars, or so I hope…

This white room is making me regret
the wine.
If you could only see what I’ve done.
Weaving written words.

Lies.

All lies.

They’re all lies.
Every single one of them soldier.

Don’t you understand?
Viva!
Live!

This x-ray of my life.
Let keep it to ourselves.
Hiding these skeletons in a deck of cards.
There word were supposed to be art.
Maybe a portrait written on the walls.
Praying every night (Maybe I’m asking for too much).
Side street catholic, hidden.
Never cut in front of the buffet line.
Ears ringing, my decent.
Maybe madness is the Jester’s path to
madness.
Or maybe it’s the other way around.

I’m getting older and older.

But am I getting wiser and wiser?

Hello good sir! How are you?
Yes, it is a fine day outside today.
Looking into a mirror.
Maybe I’m hiding between words.
Hiding too much.
Why not?
Maybe it’s for the best…
Lets go!
Chase the white picket, two story.
What’s my story you ask?
It’s being written, erased, re-wrote.
Just look up the summaries.
You’ll get bored easily, figure out the ending.
I did.
I’m on top!
Paper bridges crumbling into

whiskey rivers.
Which reminds me of a story…

I’ve never been a good storyteller
Please help me.
Hear me.
Screaming through ink.
I could write about that, but…
I already did, you’ll have to find it.
Between these lines.
Maybe I’m drowsy, should have
enlisted your help.
This helps. Thank you Lord.

Cameras flashing, every day is
A new day.
Every time I see you’re eyes I dream
in romantics.
Maybe this is my new day.

Maybe.

I tend to learn lessons, the hard way.
In life we must take changes and
repay them.
I’m feeling…

The keys to our hearts
lie in the secrets unshared.
I’m a walking contradiction…
I have a lot of keys, and lies.

Let the water wash over you.
This is my hope!
Flying on the back of television signals,
blinded by daytime programming.
We’re ruining our visions.
Creativity is dying.
This is my manifesto to…
Will you read it?
Front to back (I wouldn’t).
High speed chase crashing into pen and paper.
Don’t be sorry.

What would you do?

What would you think?

Why should I care?

Anxious.

Anxious.

Anxious.

Oh…if they only knew.

Am I putting too much stock in to
Materialistic consequences?
Please put your phones on vibrate!
This is a lecture!
Change your ways while you’re this age.
What am I learning you ask?
How to…what are you learning?
I don’t have a lesson plan.

Laughable poetry.
I used to be articulate.
With a sailor mouth.
Oh yes! My vocabulary is crude.
Then again so is this poetry.
So is my life.
Classroom experience is my real world.
Put that on a resume.
Don’t write poetry. No one will read it.
That’s what you’re told.

Queens the questionmaster. (I ask a lot of questions)
Lucky you!
Let’s go back to moments.
Put our trust in technology. Ignorant.
Pouring out my feelings into empty chalices.
This is something I will not do.
Wait.
Forget what you’ve been told and read.
Please.
Thank you.
It’s all I know. I guess.

Church lights bearing down on snakeskin lies.
Collection plates.
Am I jumping around too much?
This isn’t poetry?
I’m sorry I don’t think I asked for your opinion.
I did?
Oh…Well thank you for your input.
Let’s begin
At the end.
Oh how cliché can you be.
You’re so unoriginal.
Not using punctuation correctly.
Rebellious youth.
Next you be talking about peace, love, harmony, serenity, happiness…

Hear me! (no)

Look at me, answering myself at
1am, drunken hours.
Critique this!
Peace, love, harmony, serenity, happiness.
Not in this poem.

Wait.

O.K maybe a little.

Pouring over the top of my beer stein.
Snake skin wrapped around my fingers.
I hope.
Let the right foot touch first, then
You’ll have good luck
Trust me. I’m an expert.
I’m hopeful.
Kneeling by my bedside.

Speak.

Speak now of forever or forever hold your peace.

It’s your choice.

You are responsible for your actions.

This is making me feel better.
I hope this crosses over.
I hope you’re understanding this.
Or maybe I hope you aren’t, then I can keep it to myself
You are?
Good, because its getting past my bedtime.
Growing weary of questioning.

Mankind,
Womankind,
Humankind.

Help me on this journey of life.
My solemn prayer.
I think I’m losing myself.
Maybe I am already gone.
Replaced.
I am this mirror image.

Hello.
How are you doing today?

I’m fine thank you.

Eyes popping
in distant stares
I wonder if a soul inhabits the pair
red hair, bombs,guns
and drugged?
The second killer nowhere to be found
but was seen yet disreguarded and most unaware
of the eye witness reporting
Why cover the details?
Something fishy lingers in the air
Something remains unshared
Motives so unclear
but I heard holmes had an obsession
with mind control
The neuroscience student
that spread so much pain and fear
conspiracy surrounds like a think cloud
like Sirhan Sirhan
The scenes shrouded in mystery
yet similiar
Ever heard of the illegal CIA human research program
Rockfeller Commission?
Did you know he had a Neuroscience University?
Fishy indeed

At the moment when I woke up in the morning, the dim light was on to my room and I saw the beautiful things in yours, at that moment I found my soulmate.
They are still there even when I let them go.
The more I think about how beautiful in somethings are,
the more they are always beside me.
The space in my mind always gives them a chance to stay, and yes, they will stay.
The hardest part of letting them go when you couldn't notice them.
They are too far for you to reach because your heart always guides you in the way that will be able for you to pass.
Sometimes you know about it, but you try to ignore it.
I realized that the beautiful things in yours should be followed,
but you are always in silence,
so the voices in my head carry me to things that hard to understand and it makes construction in my human being to love you with great expectations.
"Is this what happened?", I asked myself.
But the loneliness in me answered that something unhappy should be not unshared.
It reshaped them all into my anxiety.
But suddenly, the voices in my head asked me,
"How's your day?"
"Did we see the same most unexpected ways?"
"I wish you loved me as you love the journey of your life,
please stay calm, I was listening to you."
That was a beautiful goodbye.

Pained words
Heard at night,
Words rewind
Replay
Repeat, overlay
Become twisted
In the middle of the night.

Pained words
Twisted in the morning
Heard, back turned,
Nothing but empty tears

Pained words
Unshared
Interested and
Harmless.

Why is it so hard to find and keep love?
And why is the pain of the heart so much worse than the pain of the body?
And why does it seem that a death is more bearable than accepting that someone left you -
because in death they had no choice.

You walk away from each other with so many memories not yet created;
so much remaining unsaid,
so many dreams unshared,
because suddenly it doesn’t seem safe to share.
One moment that person is the closest soul to you;
and the next moment,
before even a full breath is taken,
that person is almost a stranger.

And the unsaid words consume you.

wanting to ask: if you love me,
why did you leave me?
wanting to tell you how much I miss you,
but knowing that I shouldn’t.
wanting to ask you to re-consider,
but knowing that I wouldn’t.

Thoughts dominate your every waking moment;
you sleep less yet you cannot stand being awake
because the pain is too much.
You try to occupy your mind with other things, other people – movies, reading, work, travel -
but nothing else exists.
A phantom of you carries you on with life, a shell gliding through the motions;
performing,
smiling in response to a smile,
laughing on cue…
When all you want is be away from it all,
lulled in the cocoon of your own thoughts,
wrapped in the blanket of the dark recesses of a place where you can finally break down,
surprised to find that sometimes the healing is worse than the break.

But fighting it takes too much effort,
Strangely, you find peace in giving in to the pain.
Because beneath the facade,
your soul is dissecting every word previously said.
His words run like a coiled fuse
across your mind and around your heart:
“I can’t believe you’re mine“.

Behind the mirror of your eyes you are replaying every encounter;
trying so desperately to understand why;
wondering if you said something wrong,
did something wrong..
if maybe you had done things differently…
trying to make sense of what can never make sense.
needing answers you know you will never get.
You go through so many emotions,
so many conflicting feelings..
torn between anger and pain,
confusion and denial,
love and hate,
blame and understanding -

wanting to forget and wanting to hold on to the memories..
wanting to delete those pictures and wanting to save them forever.
and the cycle repeats.
.. and repeats..

Every moment, every memory, becomes so much clearer,
so much sharper -
like a razor blade in your mind;
more deeply engraved into the psyche of your soul.

And the reminders are everywhere..
because he was a part of your life, every part
and you thought it was forever.

You try so hard to forget..
But it ended too soon, and seems so senseless
like throwing away a bouquet of flowers before it even begins to wilt.

You tell yourself that people are who they are.
We cannot change them or ask them to want or be something they don’t want.
That no matter what they do to us, we have to accept that they are on their own personal journey.
And it is their right to seek their path as they see fit.

Perhaps that is how we grow, how we learn.
Perhaps their purpose in our life was simply to light that spark– and the rest is up to us.
Perhaps the purpose of Love is to always seek it, sometimes find it..
but never keep it.
perhaps Love is not ours for the keeping..

Your friends try to be there for you,
Offering an understanding ear to unburden your soul,
but your soul wants to hold on to its burden.
Offering a shoulder to cry on,
but no shoulder has enough strength for the load you carry.
Offering arms to embrace you,
but no arms will suffice when the only arms you want to fall into are those of the one who left you.
Offering sympathetic words that only serve to bring forth more of the tears you’re trying so hard to keep at bay..
You cannot risk letting anyone into the fragile sanctum of your Being as the wound is still precariously tender,
and the slightest quiver may open up floodgates you feel may never close again.

But Time passes by,
slowly but inevitably.
And, mercifully, the pain lessens a little each time you sleep and awaken.
The days alone become tolerable,
The nights that were once filled with loneliness become tranquil in solitude.
The once constant agony becomes the occasional twinge
when you smell a certain scent,
when you pass by the restaurant where you once shared a booth and enjoyed a meal,
when you see a happy couple holding hands as they walk by,
when you pass the place he first asked to hold your hand, and you shared your first kiss,
when you see the commercial for the television show you used to watch together that you can not bear to watch again
when you see a mildly familiar silhouette,
or in the hint of a smile that is almost like the one you remember,
or in the intense gaze of a passing stranger that is reminiscent of the one that haunts your dreams.

…and you can finally smile though the tears because the memories,
while once only painful -
are now painfully beautiful.

The pain passes but the beauty remains..

..and one day you realize you no longer count your growth in years,
but in the number of times your heart had been broken,
then scarred and healed again ~
like the growth rings of a tree,
growing stronger in the process.

"LOOK!" So quietly you choose to speak...
I hear the sweet vibrations of your voice
my eyes lift to search a dark night sky
and you say, "There! Did you see?"
miles distant, shadowy light flashes
flickering over the mountain shades
lightning slicing through that atmosphere
and I answer you, "Yes.
"I wish that the thunderstorm was here."
you respond with your enigmatic silence
yet still I strain my ears
hoping to somehow maybe hear something from inside of you
even just a faded echo of your unshared thoughts
because you are my deepest desire
it's you alone that I most desperately crave
I'd sacrifice everything I have in this life for you
for only just a fleeting moment, I would
a moment in which you were solely mine,
worth more than I could ever have to give
my very soul cries out, agonizing, for you
my heart begs for your love to fuel it's own love
my flesh, my bones and blood burn to feel the warmth of your embrace
my lips quiver at only a thought of brushing against yours
my entire being tingles and aches to find solace in your affections
I'd rip my very soul from my deepest depths and place it in your hands
my heart I'd also eagerly tear right out of my chest
my promise, my solemn vow I'd gift with my bleeding wounds
never would I- could I, forsake you
if I could keep you, keep you, I would, indeed
a treasure I'd never relinquish willingly
passion, grace, unconditional love, yours forever and free
A picture of these, my most fervent of prayers and dreams...
split- second bursts of color and light
electricity, a bringer, a conveyor of destruction,
birthing fires in the brush and trees, and, mocking, denying me my love...
in that far away storm, a creeping portrayal; image, stretching wide:
I see a vision of your cherished face
I feel unbearable, disabling pains commencing
there's unfathomable sorrow, misery within me
I realize my heart is about to crack, break, shatter to dust and ash
no mind to how great and vast my love for you
no heed to my willingness to give up everything; anything
I glimpse it all in that fraction of a second
those stars; twinkling eyes, tell me an entire story, at the speed of light...:
so unfortunate, that you won't be mine now,
never else either, shall you ever belong to me
my gaze is drawn away, and departs from the place where the mysterious and celestial dwell
relinquish their view of power unleashed, blinking far off, in the sky above
I turn my head; swivel towards you,
for dire, is my need to take in every aspect of your beloved face...
maybe I'd misunderstood; maybe I'd been mistaken,
maybe a bit tired, rather easily confused,
or perhaps, it was a lie that the lightning storm's vision, sly and sneaking, portrayed...
but I can see the tangible, physical you, before me right now,
and, the truth - - -
(which I cannot positively know, for certain,
perplexed and having some doubts...)
- - - an obvious, unpleasant, ugly reality...
my tears have already begun brimming, as I watch, through a blurred void,
and prepare, because that mouth of yours is, once again, opening to speak
a bullet, slivers, pierce through to my soul when I hear you softly utter my name
"Alex, what's wrong? What is your problem now?"
how can you be so oblivious, as I feel so transparent? I ask,
but only to myself; not in such a way for you to actually hear me,
giving you, instead, yet another of my head shakes; slow, speechless reply...
I'm broken, and it's painful when you look at me,
what if you were to notive the sadness and hungry longing buried within my eyes?
please, please don't you look at me!
all of your questions, I'm incapable of answering,
never could I openly share with you how I so intensely feel
my fear of rejection has given me an answer in your stead
and, thus, this love shall go on only inside of me, in silence, secretly
despair, loneliness, burdens so heavy; wicked,
thick enough to rot me inside-out...
torn down, destroyed by love; my very own love - - -
(mine, a love undescribable... immense, immeasreable love;
love which was borne of my seeking indifference, but finding you...)
- - - until my savior of death comes,
will be working diligently to ******, slowly and bitterly, my life force
and impatiently, I'll live out the remainder of my days waiting and suffering;
looking forward to the moment when my black-robed executor shall, at long last, come,
and set me free of these suffocating bindings scarring, straining my heart...
for without you to hold, I am empty and lack purpose
I've no other hope on which to let the weight of my hurt bear
still hoping, inanely, for some unforseeable chance;
a growth of buds sprouting forth from the blooms of God's grace...
"Alex...?" oh, the way you say my name...!
"Say it if you have something to say!"
but still, once again, I say nothing at all,
just give another of my small, weak, neck-twist type of shakes;
a minuscule gesture that gets neither of us closer to anything, or anywhere...
I wipe away, quickly, a single tear that's escaped to leak down my face; slide down my cheek
you are the happiness of my world; my everything,
and yet, here I am, excruciatingly frightened, and left alone with that fear
paralyzing terror, stalking, menacing me into remaining silent;
horrors feeding my tentative heart cruel and brusing, nasty notions,
convincing me it's my destiny to uncover a crushing ruin of defeat, unavoidable,
if ever I was to make an effort to reach out
pitiable... I'm a motionless, frozen captive to its stagnating, discouraging taunts,
a demon, so intent upon pushing me to my hope's final demise...
until then, I'm just some pathetic subject to ludacrous torment; prisoner to torture
shuttering, I hear gleeful whispers in my ear - a surreal voice saying that all my fears could,
maybe, just possibly, maybe, be a confining falsehood; a tower of cruel lies...
...but then again, how could I ever find out and know for sure...?
condemned I am, by my own terrors; haunting fears of loneliness and rejection,
and so, I suppose, I'll never discover what you truly think and feel...
as I sit here, the passenger in your car, I'm so desperately wishing,
~ wishing that my lips and tongue could remember how they used to work;
~ wishing, so fervently, that my mouth, sewed, cemented, and stapled shut,
would somehow break itself open, and then, free, suddenly speak,
something! anything! any words at all!
a simple sentence could potentially be sufficient; could be enough to break these chains, to set my thoughts free...
perhaps, all it would take, language - me, bringing myself to fearlessly say,
"John, do you think you could ever love me?"
but no, I stay void of speech or sound
for now that's it, and there's no more to do - that I can do...
maybe the strength to ask will arrive on another, different day,
only, I hope, that if that could be true, it won't be too far off from now,
because, by then, it may have gotten to be too late...
SILENTLY, secretly, my very pulse screaming of my emotions;
declaring, to no one other than myself, my feelings, my love for you...
and without my vocalization, you just may never know,
but still, sweet man, my beautiful John, I so very greatly love, love, love,
everything about you...

Is this
How we
End?
Does our
Relationship
Crumble
in the
Silence
of no
Words?

Do we
let our
Dyad
Breathe its
last breath
alone
in the
Night of
Unspoken
Thoughts?

Do we
Let our
special
Connection
Break apart
in a
Noiseless
Dirge?

Is this
How we
End?
No words-
Only the
Unspoken
Goodbyes
in the
Void of
Unshared
Thoughts
and wants?

Do we
Die
in the
Stillness of
Nothing
Spoken and
Dreams
Broken?

Is
This
How we
End?

368

How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine—
I knew last night—when someone tried to twine—
Thinking—perhaps—that I looked tired—or alone—
Or breaking—almost—with unspoken pain—

And I turned—ducal—
That right—was thine—
One port—suffices—for a Brig—like mine—

Ours be the tossing—wild though the sea—
Rather than a Mooring—unshared by thee.
Ours be the Cargo—unladed—here—
Rather than the “spicy isles—”
And thou—not there—

Cold, unfold
with just a second
I taught myself to crawl,

Pure, uncured
with just a minute
I learnt from every war,

Tears, unshared
with just an hour
I forgave, but never forgiven,

Found, unsound
with just a day
I appreciated life like rain.

You don't listen to what I have to say
So I come here

I've spent what feels like a lifetime
trying to ease my way into an English world.
The world of Chaucer and Eliot
and vocabulary only Merriam-Webster knew.

I declared a major.
I don’t know if it really matters anymore,
because when it’s dark
and the campus is empty
all I can feel are the forgotten words floating overhead like stars,
whispering for me to go home,
rectify the official white papers.
Become something else;
become anything but this.

Become who?
Someone who can’t feel anything
but the weight of the leaves
as they crunch under the lilt of their laugh?
Or the one who cries outside their advisor’s office,
because they read something so beautiful
yet still so small,
an unshared treasure?

Why write? Why speak?
I don’t know the answers to either.
Because when you are writing, you are speaking,
and one is almost as good as the other.

But when the words get caught in the back of your throat
and your feet are blocks of concrete,
unable to move
or think
or feel —
Is writing any better?
Will writing save the invisible,
or the insignificant
or the unheard?
The ones who disappear?

I've spent what feels like a lifetime,
trying to force my face into the light
and take a major that isn’t really mine,
dashing off poorly executed poems and flash fiction,
grasping for something that might work.
But in the end it’s nothing
and I am still just as
lost.

As crazy as it might be
This callus is a beautiful thing to me
What's an ego to go unbruised?
What's a heart left unabused?

I didn't get this hardened shell
From concrete, glass, or fires of Hell
Why dwell on the knell you gave my cerebral gel.
I'm under someone else's spell

My palace with this Alice
Unshared with such malice
As what gave me this callus
It should be just now, us

I can say with a sense of pride
I needn't abide by a bride
Whos the great divide on each side
Without intention, will break my stride

I won't be denied
This emotional high tide
This woman which I confide
My side, a guide astride this distance ride

This callus thick of scorned love
Glad you're not what I'm thinking of.

The most beautiful smiles come sometimes with tears,
The deepest feelings can come with distance.

The distance between me and you
cannot be measured in miles, or kilometres, hours of travelling, nor in any other unit invented by mankind;
it is measured in feelings and thoughts,
in dreams and longings
in "wish you were here" messages sent at 2:32am from a drunk heart who has forgotten the touch of a kind warm hand
it's measured in unsaid words and unshared laughs ,
in skin that has not been touched and tears that have not been wiped
in mental blocks caused by a picture you can't stop staring at
in mad driven souls screaming the same name endlessly
in hearts beating fast at the sound of a ringing phone,
it is measured in empty arms
in lonely walks at night
in the morning coffee poured in only one cup and tables for one at the restaurant
in cold beds
sleepless nights
in eyes that don't meet
lips becoming dry because of the absence of that special kiss.
It is measured in never coming true wishes.

Such a long, painful, distance between me and you
I will always be able to reach you
only with the fingertips
of my mind.

Promise me, Maiden. Promise me you care
Promise me his Hand is Well-Strung and Fed
Promise that Dad's Serving Letter is there
And I Promise that my Fealty is set
If these Turning Events will make me Strong
And become the Hunchback allied to you
The Borgia Venom melts; It won't be long
For Sorrow to accept the Better Truth
Riddles apart I am Serious in Theme
About your Magic Craft I can't Compete
Hearts cry with laughter; His Smile justly seen
With Shifting Paradigms he is Complete.
Secrets Unshared, it is better as known
For a Child like me to know if he's grown.

Were there things of I scarcely write,
Flesh-bound secrets: my darkest plight.
Unaided heat and aching skin,
A howling instinct come from within.

Such carnal longings... my guiltless crime
But none do know my mind sublime.
Left to myself, I twist and turn,
Frustrated flames in which I burn.

I feel the madness course through my veins.
I pull my hair; frustration reigns.
From my bit lip and furrowed brow,
Aroused, I ask myself "how now?"

In vast bedchambers, I lay alone.
My mind basking in depths unknown.
My toes curl tight and nails dig deep
for nowhere will my wetness seep.

I groan quite softly, left unappeased.
Such torment stands eternal tease.
Just one is tangled in pillows and sheets,
Trembling of wanting and unshared heat.

All over my skin the goose-bumps rise.
Perhaps a beast you'll find in my eyes.
What secrets be there in my physique,
Hidden within an element mystique.

His :

i make my travel
reseeding you
                my dear heart
                      into a compact unit of storage

i relieve from our nesting comfort
dismiss our established downey base of cooperation
                                   cleave from our snared compromise

instead to bed and thieve an unshared atmosphere
guilty joy followed by joyful normality
no stale thing

unravelling light
  lifted
(secure
  that I've a capsule world
  when i turn
  toward our lap again)

goodbye of you i am mended
made completely free
                    on the first turn of a corner


& Hers :

you leave me
      on your travels (you-were-my-travels)
you leave me susceptible
my heart alters to become
       a weak permeable tissue of easy tamper
       membership structure is dissolved
         returned to the vital spill
           welcome fluent contamination
               villainess and godless vibration
                  of the goddess confession

dress hooked up past my waist
i'll power-**** away my morality on day one
each day following shall be made easy
  ushered along in brutalities slip steam
                        and the prom of eddies

back in time i've been working on something..
       i'll call it The ****** List
criminal joys and tasks of double self daring
committed
     (not folded over
       or veloped in the knicker drawer)
           it operates as a basking lurk
                               tucked discreetly
                                 correct behind the eye
                      a charm feature of the unconscious
when released
   it's something melkish and larking with energy
   tacking harm to my activated mischief
      kinetic value and uncontrollable spur

in your absence
     i am permissionless
abyssless
i account for nothing

nooks of the apartment
the memory of us quickly forms a ***** coral
i've stopped washing to suit this mode
my body, a journal of stains and earned bruises
i holla and bay at mementoes of our brace
and then stop at the near point of the neighbours tolerance

time has crushed in on its own thesis
become gummy and tenseless
skipping about in haphazard spasms
  backstep, bow and reversal
     now
          observably organic in motion
           and proud of its many personalities

Oh, You're Back Again !
    no, it is your ghost
is it a spy ? ... i doubt you knew you even had it
it threads in and out of my company
seeming baffled and far from its comfort zone
did i put you there ?
i don't call you
the physical you
because you said 'no phones'
              and 'only in emergencies' (is-this-urgent ?)
Is This Urgent ?!
i restrict where i live in here
     keep the windows widowed and veiled
it makes for an unreal canvas
i'm weeding for a correction
sensual precarious highs
violate
in a spate
with this time alone
i'll make our home a vile space
a defication
and i can make no sense assessment of it any
i fight against digestion within these premises
i stay still long enough i am softened and palped
            by a dense atmosphere and salivations of contact
and outside..

the streets are exhausted
and i've quite the nasty reputation
violence, baiting and thievery
inebriation and toxic language
i shall soon be policed
no doubt i've lost my job
for now our place is a dare for vandals
             when i am an insensible heap
                 and perspiring over you in delirium
                    they devalue the exterior

unearthing
i'll find my creative sprite
that is good
i had missed it
now this is urgent (this-is-mine-was-always)
i take up a notebook and puke it full
i take sticks in my mitt and scrawl my charcoal visions
the blood visions
   the primal mud
  on all our walls

can i piece back our home by your return ?
can I sufficiently correct the blurring history I've smutted ?
do i care to ?
no more fading into 'partner'
lease is up
you'll not find me here destroyed
or waiting
    naked but an apron with my hands cupped and mouth open
i'll have ravelled myself up tight
- having stoked my inhuman malady -
     i'll mate my own travels

                                                        ­             - aborted

Human hearts are full of;
  golden sunflowers
  negative space
  sunken ships
  empty wine glasses
  sleepless nights
  deceased relatives
  cobwebs
  empty promises
  unshared secrets
  regrets

and the fingerprints of those
                                          who
                                            have
                                              broken
                                                *them.

Little girl, your deepest fears have
Nothing on me.
Speak to me of your angst;
It's a miniscule bug to my foot.

Our pathetic misunderstandings
Are egos fighting the memories of
Each other in themselves.
Love is ***** and diamonds.

I love you prematurely when I
Sense spring on your
Skin. It turns me on beyond myself.
So let's just argue,

If that makes you feel as alive as you
Should beneath the hands of my
Unshared attention.
Little girl, your fears have nothing

On me.
I eat insecurity like sushi, wasabi
Memories of idiots telling you
You were never meant to write or

Be written of.
Grab yesterdays with the sticks of
Now-man's hands  
And toss them over your shoulder

Like salt after some you spilled.
Your deepest fear is as shallow
As a puddle.
I've shouldered ten times your

Weight, without love.
Watch me now.
You need not set a foot.
I carry you like the sky its stars.

pejorative memes remade unwise,
the natural artifice of slang;
and the mnemo-linguistic "advantages" of being called a ******...*

arbitrary signs..

chosen  reasoned    signs.

i don't remember history, living it as
predetermined amens sinking blind
profane in sacred incense dogmas polished
                 elemental airs of azure old allure
named aesthetics new and purely false
    unlike a snakeback break
    they realm of fear indulged--
placate artistries of loving touch to numb;
with medieval noose, blade;
          scald of iron pen and human metaphors for *******
    sent to human metaphors for hell before their deaths
to burn as scapegoats for immortal xenophobic herds
remade

this is a word's weight
  now,
  for all unhearing yet apologistic legend-churners earthling-bound:
one witchhunt grin and phrase
--legend or not, urban or pagan--
    will burn me here
    to face imaginal apotheosic
   dawn
   of bigotry complete
.
in long-yearned laughter, musics
     yet unleased to propagandist aims:
empty prayers undone as selfish grims
  i do without
  as any fairy might
        with dusty wave of hand
my wings are spillful everjoys
    of momentary vasts
          of ancient youths; of loves of
    glittered rainbow in the hush of sunfall snow--
escapes of real dismissed
   all
    real
       fiction-true truths
                                bearing living worlds of love
and labyrinthine strands? and twisted more, ripe!
      for shock and awe filled fuel
      sierra-cut at ranges incomplete as Tolkien Silmarils
                                i brace the let of leavings-be
sever severed links in inner chains of links
    to remake ****** moonbeam skirt
    of spectra cloud and starry breath
---the window opens maths of savor
        (apsaras! tulpas!)
        surveyed in the tones of healing buildings
        shaped of love

huddled shapes of perfect friends
                   all craning necks to common interstellar home

i could be clear and disagreement wright
but i am here to feel ineffables of ******* felt
fall  up    from anger
        into union's many-petaled rifting veils
and in a citrus spray of scattered mists unshared
a stillness swim of happily amused
    awake a zombie-language only Borges knew
        to burn a mark of joy on history's flesh
a hidden question-heart of sensuistic quest whose end is known
    and yet exclaimed unknown
    as glories only moving rainbows know
hang-glide words to shadow-stripe the eyes
                       and dash Mneumosyne another arching voice

As fast as ocean sweeps the bay
legs of crescent carry away
a sea of wonder won't reject
the sweetest moons you collect
in the palm of your hand soft as peach
slender spine strains to reach
the sun in the sky too far for advice
on speaking to creatures fragile as ice
because the sweetest girl, dear Josephine
shielded by blue instead of green
has a smile painted upon the wall
off the museum fortress she dare not fall
because the places you venture will seem
only to exist before in your dreams
never so lonesome as an unshared bed
cluttered with thoughts of remorse instead
slamming doors in the old broken home
cover the windows high with stones
when travels far and wide resume
remember your home is always the moon.

There were three men
These men were friends
They played, they worked
They spent their lives
But in their age
And pockets empty
The three men agreed
To do something naughty
The three men did
Near succeed too
But a man-like monster
Did stand in their path
Little is known of the three men now
Except for their friendship and plot
But it is said by the young and old
One lies here
One lies there
And one flew away
Their lives unshared

just a sliver of silver
the orb's bright edge
peeking out behind a dull gray silhouette
falling to the horizon
in line with L. A.'s flight path
the darkness came early tonight
will the stars come out
in the moonlessness?

once laid my back in pitch black
on the sand at the Salton Sea
sky gazing
excitment stole my sleep
as eye witnessed the galaxy
is it an illusion
like water in the desert
or are the stars so numerous they appear milky?

I look for him in winter
three close stars in a straight line
Orion watches over scorpions and dogs
I follow the Big Dipper
pointing to the North Star
sky's center
the mother of all constellations
they encircle her
each telling her their stories in turn
the Ancients looked up and listened
transcribing what they thought they heard

now-a-days
with science preferred to mythology
and exact measurements to imagination
the stars twinkle silently
mocking us in mute mystery
and unshared secrets
gaze upward in wonder of the tales they hold
paying homage to their beauty and tranquility
listen carefully and patiently for their whispers
you may still hear a story or two
as they teach us to dream

Surrounded by dozen of eyes,
I take a look around trying to trade a smile,
Haven't made a connection in a while,
But you ain't looking at my face,
Just my curvature and size.
And when we speak I hear sincerity in your tone,
But I guess all that goes through your head is how you could make me moan.
My past, present, and future don't mean anything to you,
I'm just another girl you'd like to disappear after you *****.
But you're charming; you make me laugh and you could make me cry,
I have very few rules; some of with which I hope you can comply.

Yet, why is tonight so hard to sleep alone?
Here I am again picking up my phone,
Just trying to hear a voice; another's tone,
I no longer wish to feel dead inside, another living drone.

But I'm just drunk and stupid,
I feel so pathetic and useless.
I wish for a life much better than this,
But I like to **** it up with yet another tryst...

And every now and again,
I forget where I've come from,
Where I've been,
What paths I've traveled and choices I've made;
I'm starting to see a trend.

And we all get lost walking through this mess,
We lose focus, direction, drive, and all the important things we should address,
But there really is something I must confess;
There's a certain trait in my genes that I do not possess,
Tis the feeling of being loved, and how to love,
I know only how to give the most sensual caress,
As an object of desire, I'm a most powerful seductress,
But I still am very far from being my best.

Even while I talk to the handsome gent at the bar,
I can't make a connection, my mind is somewhere else very far,
Dreaming about warm summer nights under the stars,
Telling stories about how I got all these scars,
Talking about hopes and dreams,
Driving fancy cars,
Acting like ourselves, who we really are.

But I guess face value is what we're all about,
It's not what on the inside, but what's on the out that really counts,
Only looking at eachother skin deep,
Going to the grave with secrets unshared,
The promises made to ourselves we never could keep,
Or never getting to feel what it was like to be swept off your feet.

It's a shame things have boiled down to this,
And it seems no one really does miss,
Getting to know people all the way down to the soul,
We've become so heartless,
Trading it in for the feeling of being bold,
And even basic human company is being sold,
But I'm just a hypocrite with a story waiting to be told,
Even as you watch me grind on this pole,
I really do wish to share with you my heart of gold.

I just dont know how we got to judging people by these petty little things;
I hate first impressions, I'm not perfect; I'd much rather be interesting.

Caught between Guillan's tab and your roof toward me
Worn-out sackcloth but the dust is sick of my head
Now why won't I pound a rock on it instead
I've been here, actually

Break this *** and gather all your foes
Oh where is the breaking point of your wooden-crafted nose
A chance to defend my case was gave
But all along I was digging my own grave
Faithfully, maneuvers evading the light bleeding on the sides meanwhile!

Masks of oak and grey forcefully made to wear
Dressed with mocking silk
Clothed like a circus freak
Thickness of sugarcoat make you look like an iron bear

In mud, I'm bedraggled
Blades of shame, I shave my head
My craving for a just right or even perfect bowl of porridge went down to 'what's better than cabbage than cabbage

Why can't I just go back to the fattened calves
Potato salad unshared in halves
To sit like kids beside their father's mat
Praised by aristocrats
Save me! This is a distress signal, not a salute.

Detroit dropped away
after the big band wedding,
where The Sheik of Araby
climbed the hot pine hall
& the two of us killed
a bottle of Laphroaig
that we bought by the church
from the bulletproof glass man.

The next day,
she got the call -
he had died
in her room.
The marriage
began to sag
at that exact moment -
something failed,
something failed,
something closed
that never reopened.
I was alone
breathing
her desperate air,
her secrets almost
off the tongue,
almost vulnerable,
but left unshared,
carried alone,
held away from me -
I found it out the hard way.

I still feel it,
the green empire
of the reception night
punctuated by her
lipsticked cigarettes,
& the trumpets calling
both of us back inside
for last call.

And what of the eighth day? When did God sense the ethereal rush of completing a project was wearing off? Does God get bored? Does he, like everyone else, grow tired of the mundane and of the usual?  God projecting his own image onto his creations was not enough anymore. Too lonely was God and too curious he was to be left unattended with the power to elude the impossible. Too lonely he was, too much he wanted to be around others like himself, too much time he had spent with his own thoughts reverberating off the walls of his own making, shouting back ideas already known to him. Too curious he was to see what would happen if he could experience the company and love of others like himself, and too insightful he was to know all of these things existed in his mind but not as a firsthand account. Too self-aware he was to not understand that a genuine account of such feelings was what he wanted. He felt all the feelings we feel; curiosity, loneliness, boredom, company, and love. He understood them so completely and totally in the world he created that he grew tired. And then the only feelings God could now sense were those of loneliness and of guilt; strong undying feeling of regret of knowing things that only he has ever felt. With these thoughts encircling his heavy mind he also realized that if he were to create another like him, he could not control it. His identity would have to be shared with another complete equal. Could he have this? Too wise he was to not account for the repercussions of his artistic actions; God was still. For God like all of us God wishes to be special, to be unique, and to have control; control, the original ***** of God. God realized this at the dusk of the seventh day; he realized that now after looking at the last of all his great creations the problems with the ones before. In no measurable time he had created many planets, worlds, kingdoms, and creators, none holding his attention long enough to not create the next.  So these, he muttered in his kingdom of unshared silence, these had to be different. Not God enough to oppose him but human enough to feel him.

The lump in my throat has returned once again
stemmed from familiar stirrings in the pit of my stomach
just when I think I've locked them in their black box for eternity
they break loose and begin the ascent
like long twisting fingers groping the vines of my heart
tightening, squeezing, forcing me to feel emotion
like a partner in crime-memories show up
and dance around me, tapping me, tripping me
hugging me, loving me, until one stands alone
there you are, standing, waiting, twenty years have passed
the warm embrace, the joyful reunion,
but life's cruel twist of fate would not allow it
you were taken from me, so many things left unsaid
so many moments left unshared, questions left unanswered
Oh Daddy dear, one day we'll meet again.