Canyon Edge

Aramis, she thinks it was,
But she can’t remember;
All the wrapping paper strewn
There, across December —

What was that, the warm and close?
Scented candle drippings
Windy August brings to mind;
Sliding on her slippings

Once, there was, but there is not.
Edge of canyon yearning
Thoughts forever in her mind
Tumbling and turning —

Who is she? She doesn’t know.
No new light is breaking —
It’s not emptiness she fights,
But a fullness


a tuneless song

she gets up when she wakes up and
she wakes up when she will;
the snow, a crystal chalice there
upon her windowsill –
she gathers up her coffee in
a cup to big for one,
and hums a tuneless song that is
for everyone
and none

she wanders through the wasteland that’s
a day that she enjoys;
the winter, like a blanket, warms
and muffles most the noise –
she has another coffee, since
there’s coffee to be had;
and hums a tuneless song that
isn’t good, but
isn’t bad

she feels his hands upon her when
the day’s been put to flight;
as light upon her shoulders, winter
settles in for night –
she rinses out her coffee cup, as
thoughts begin to steep:
and hums a tuneless song, that
every night
puts her to sleep

she’ll dream of cats and shiny things,
and bits that glow and fluff –
and hear a tuneless song, because
the words are not

Paradox 5 – Freethinker

An old, old piece.

He licks the syringe, lets the metal tear his tongue;
Doesn’t care what time it is, just what age this is —
He says all politics is lies and all religion deception;
He claims he will live honestly,
Even if he has to die alone…

But he colors his hair


they do not notice
the gradual unraveling

behind the smile
and the warmth
incessant worries traveling 

they’ll ask her some days
how she is
is that fatigue or is she bored

they can’t tell she’s
until the day she comes


7 Essences – 1

The first: in fall,
A gathering for fun;
Her newly single,
Gentle and aloof,

And I, a troubadour,
Or kind of sentry,
Who sang on balconies,
Or on the roof —

She was a moving spirit,
Born a dancer;
Though shy in life,
On stage she loved the eyes –

She spoke in tones so low
I had to lean in,
And found a feeling
Hard to recognize

For lacking much experience
To name it.
As did she, too, although
In different ways —

Of why two souls, so different,
Bind together,
Or just how fast it happens,


Across A Thousand Summers

Across a thousand summers, they
Ran love through all its paces;
Though lacking funds, experience,
And all the social graces,

But she was beautiful and free,
And he was strong, undaunted —
And though employers had them on
The list of their least wanted,

They lived from hand to mouth to hand.
So perfect in its purity,
He missed the shadow in her eyes
Of seeking shelter’s surety.

Across a thousand winters now,
He crepey, old, and languorous,
Remembers what he gave for love,
And how it all was meaningless —

These pictures in his fevered mind,
Unfaded and undusted,
And how he just was not enough
For that one girl

He trusted