In a Wheatfield in Auvers-sur-Oise.

It’s like yellow paint,
Vincent says,
Thick and messy.
Expecting to come out clean
Is a notion better left for fools.
One’s more likely to cut off a lobe
To spite another’s face
Than to come out clean.
Like paint-
Untidy & broad,
Simple & clean,
A Starry Night-
A Sunflower-
Ugly,
Beautiful,
Simultaneously.
There’s a beginning,
Middle,
End to each stroke
And no picture has just one.
Remember that,
he says
While chest and revolver intimately embrace.
Remember that…
When what was imagined for canvas
Isn’t what is in front of you.

~Brother~ (p.2)

Only Titans will fall
as you may,
if carelessness is your unremitting bedfellow.

Like the last drag of cigarette,
the last desperate drop clinging
to bottle necks,
I fear you may burn out
before this world has finer use of you
or you of it.

&

While, at times,
phrases flow
veins to page
with such divine grace
one might think our Heavenly Father spoke
to the privacy of your pen,
I prey you
remember,
many a great
Man~
Saint~
Martyr ~
have passed without much notice,
as one might brush dust off boots.
And people often tire of cryptic words
(even mine)

Only Titans will fall
as you may
if excess is your tireless Gabriel.

And like razor’s edge-
Foreplay’s noose-
I fear a trembling hand,
The slip of the chair underneath you
Before Time has taught lessons
Or you have found the means to defeat it.

Hours of My Day

1. I long 
   
2. to fall
   
3. and
   
4. not to fall.
   
5. That is the great
   
6. Mystery 
   
7. and 
   
8. Allure 
   
9. of 
   
10. Love
    
11. and 
    
12. Loss.
    

To The Other Boleyn Girl

I thought to write you something last night.
But other, more poetic, words to say,
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you”,
would not come.

So I crossed out weak lines and discarded them.
Struck and left naked on the page
like days notched
that bring me closer to seeing you again.

Closing my eyes I secretly wished my abandoned
meager words would copulate-
Do a push-up or two-
Perhaps take a Thai kickboxing class-
And I, upon waking would be greeted with
brilliance.

But to no avail.

There they lie
and I as well
with no better thought than
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

So, in the end I am obliged to write a poem
about a poem
that never will exist
but for the space between
this constant meditation
on six little words
and my hand resting on your cheek.

Dumas' du Vallon ~ or my stuffed turtle

Late at night
often you whisper
“Slow and steady wins the race.”
At times I heed this advice
but mostly I, like D’Artagnan,
rush toward a fray with little regard
for friend or foe alike.

Trusted wisdom carried on your back
springs forth all that is my world.
Knowledge of love & honor protects you.
Drink keeps you.

And though you never appear to have bested
legions of swordsmen when I crawl under covers,
I know, in my absence, great adventure
crests at your feet and welkins the blood to action.

But
hushed stardust
to my earnest inquiry
is all you ever yield.

And to my ear-
Riposte-
“Slow and steady wins the race.”
My first,
last,
and perpetual lesson.

девушка

I know exactly what you’re doing
When you
Adjust.
And trust me,
I could
Make you
Bite that bottom lip
For a real reason.

If I so chose.

I’m no fool.

I can
Take
What I want.
When I want.

But restraint

Restraint
Is the better part of virtue
And I am no musician.
Though,
Playing would be as effortless
As laying these lines
To lay you.

I am aware of hazel contacts hiding baby-blues.
I know all about
Sidelong glances
And how they belie the danger of your youth.
I am well versed in
Pulling hair,
So don’t make a game
Of twisting yours
As if you wanted something.

I am no fool.

I have restraint

And no taste for a secret garden of uncut flowers.

Response/with your words ~or~ If You Can

fuck your buffering, Friend.

ay.
these months
call upon her being.
call one
her call.
home –
all
her
Call.

you are but you
with your writings
imprinted audience.
incant the passing of her soul
into coming.
bring the one.

her

You used to sleep with your hands between your thighs.

It’s time you withered and died
Before you become my enemy
Before you make up three corners
Of my already empty room.

Time we fought.
Time you did me a favor
And told me to go away.

I’ll do me a favor
And stop asking questions.

It’s time I used my pillows as
Comfort for my restless head
Rather than a breathless
Loveless
Recreation under my sheets.

It’s time you withered and died
Before I become my enemy
Before I become just another corner
In my ever silent room.

Hitch

You have been talking for an hour now
and I suffer you patients more than any
other could.
I suffer because I am
the only person who understands.

After all these years you finally mention this
fact to me
and I am keenly aware
of the consolation prize for being a decent man.

I don’t flinch
I never did
I don’t say much
I’m not supposed to.

My role, tonight, is to listen to stories of
divorced father of one
interested in your
Hair,
Eyes,
& Breasts;

The smile and laughter of your body,

while I die slowly
syllable
by
syllable

because my heart resides westward
and I’m stuck in this fucking city,
this fucking station
having decided to miss the train with you.
For you.

And it’s lucky, I guess,
that my heart is just small enough
not to choke on when I swallow.

Luna

No one who pines would choose
other than you.
As waves do by your decree
hearts will

crash on foreign shores
only to be swept out to the abyss by undertow.
And the only evidence of existence

are gnarled & desperate lines clawed into sand
that promptly erase themselves
by the next and the next and the next and the next.

Yet you are as false as any that swear by you.

The Light you have is naught,
save the reflection of a complimentary sphere,
and you diminish in time
just as those under your charge.

And there,

In this truth,
you remain a comforting and cruel seductress.
Twice blessed, twice cursed
for reminding eyes of loss & hope
at your rebirth.

So,

When next you have cause
to grow love for me in your belly
I will
wrap your celestial dress around my neck
and with a death embrace

as strong as any star-crossed lover,
you and I
will struggle and drown
down
down
down into the darkness
where promises wait to die.