About what was…

Flawed —
That’s a word we use when we’ve carelessly destroyed things.
We empty our emotional shelves, and
Clean out the closet of our memories,
But carefully retain our excuses, because
Those are the ultimate image filter.

And one more time, it’s about what was:
And the next what-is that’s about to become what-was —

But that’s what happens when you’re “flawed”:
You strip the beds down,
You strip the house down,
But you sure as hell
Aren’t stripping yourself down

The Eagle Red

The forest gold
  alive upon the hills is calling out:
The vision lost:
  a parasite or leukocyte is doubt —

And where should I deliver hope?
And how should I uncover spoil?
Is there a wage that’s high enough
For this much toil?

The eagle red:
  a span of fire burning, bright and grand —
Still must be fed
  with creatures scurrying across the land

Winter and Insanity

Come sit with me upon the edge
Of winter and insanity;
Come watch with me the dancing spheres
Alight with our duality —
Inhuman as the cold of space,
And human as the living stars,
The universe has shown its face,
And we’ve shown ours.

For we are everything you see:
The nightmare and the fantasy —
So let us be here, you and I,
As cold and empty as

The sky

3 Beliefs – 1

“The fields are full of flowers,
  The sun is burning gold,
  Come run with me, come be my love
  Before the night comes cold —“

”My love, I have a different plan:
  For days and nights of toil
  Can lead us to a better life,
  And you to better soil.”

But days and nights gave way to weeks.
Now months and years have passed,
With each new job another score
He swears will be his last —

He loved her, just as she loved him.
But now he just can’t quit:
For I believe that summer knows
What winter won’t

Admit

mnemonic tide

you shared with me reluctantly
your out of pocket views
on how the world would look if you
were only free to choose

there was an ardor in your voice
a pattern in your eyes
what happened next bewildering
a mix of words and thighs

for what cannot be stopped must go
into the void or past
and what we leave for afterwards
is what will really last

for you were on a launching plan
that you were loath to forfeit
and i was just that bit of fuel
you needed then

to orbit

love is only what love is

love is only what love is

outside the realm of
resolute indifference,
she walks among the
clouds and stars and toast

but tells me not
to worry over details,
for it’s her essence that
she misses most

of rainy days and
stormy nights, says she,
there’s little left of
what was Givenchy

but round up what you’ve got,
and bring your graphs,
for heaven knows that i
could use the laughs

cinnamon or taffy

the boardwalk summer:
low tide and high feeling,

a helpful bit of sun
along the way,

and music, like a
soul-possession engine --

a tastes-like-cinnamon-
or-taffy day


a kiss behind the pier:
a running stallion,

a dancing mare
with yellow tangled hair,

a range of wooden slats
for many horses,

a galloping within
the blare and glare


a multicolored night,
a mini-vegas:

a taste, another taste,
a plunging in,

a space for two,
a tentative exploring --

a map of worlds,
that's written on the skin


a cinnamon or taffy taste,
a blending,

a play-it-off amid
the swirling crowd,

a hopeful kind of glance,
a sudden sorrow,

a private look
that's somehow said out loud


a day a night a gain a loss:
a growing

that no one notices,
and everyone --

a summer on
the boardwalk of tomorrow,

a halting start
that stops

but isn't


done