Musing

In a Wheatfield in Auvers-sur-Oise.

2009-02-22T21:54:00.001-05:00

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)

2008-04-01T21:03:00.003-04:00

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

2008-03-25T11:44:00.002-04:00

I long
to fall
and
not to fall.
That is the great
Mystery
and
Allure
of
Love
and
Loss.

To The Other Boleyn Girl

2008-02-27T22:08:00.006-05:00

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

2008-02-26T15:23:00.003-05:00

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

2008-02-04T00:08:00.001-05:00

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

2008-01-21T08:35:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-01-18T18:19:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-18T17:14:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-27T09:34:00.000-05:00

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.

In Which I Fly Home

2007-11-20T21:14:00.000-05:00

It is a strange feeling,
Standing on a plane.
Looking out a plastic portal and grasping
The notion that under my feet
And a few sections of steel

Miles of sky and cloud exist with
Unparalleled stature.
And here I am floating by people,
Cities, lakes, treetops, rooftops,

Reminiscent of the walking scene in
Every Spike Lee movie in my collection.
If you haven’t ever watched one
Then that last line makes no sense.

But it makes me laugh, that, and this
Travel without muscular locomotion.
This idea of moving myself
Without moving myself.

It makes me laugh like
All the children on this morning’s flight,
Hair alive with youth and static
From lying in their mother’s lap.

Underneath me, I am sure,
Are single-serve bowls,
Tables set for two,
Families crowded into diner booths,
And infants at swollen breasts.

I would give anything to be
Witness to each their own homecoming.
A silent partner in private
Happiness & turbulence,

Confidante and imaginary tree-house guest,
Stayer of knife blades,
And interpreter of shared lover’s looks.
However, I am moving without moving

Toward my own ten year absence
With open mind and hungry stomach.
And touching down means to be
No longer aloft with strange feelings,
But grounded in them.

A Children’s Lyric of a Different Kind

2007-11-20T18:00:00.000-05:00

You wore no black,
No Silver buttons,
Miss Mary.
You tread lightly on the air
When speaking
&
Comfortably place your hand
Familiarly on my shoulder.
Welcomed back to a sphere
I have never really
Occupied.

Your tongue is gold
And there is no resisting
An offer to sit in front of
Black & White lens,
To “Kiss on the third.”

“Those are the rules”,
You say.

And I must…
Yield
To the sweet tooth encouraged
By the taste of
Glossed lips,
Which vault desires to under bed sheets,
Cause fantasies to chip away
Gentlemanly armor.

Each flash of light,
A breath,
Seizing thoughts of…
…
An arm around your waist…
…
Drawing you roughly close…
…
Fingers on your clavicle…
…
Gravity seducing your dress
Down to my ankles.

We are close
Until paper dries and you are gone
Or rather
I have to leave
Or rather
The open bar is closed and the party’s over
Or rather
We share much in common
Yet separate beds in life
Or rather
I’m not sure what you want,
Need from me,
If indeed
You need or want
Anything at all.

And so,
I will see you again
When you’ve finished
Gazing at fence-jumping
Elephants
Or I have the courage to call.

Know
I will be waiting
With silver to sew,
Down your sexy sway,
If it be
To your
Liking.

~Brother~ (p.1)

2007-11-16T00:40:00.000-05:00

You say you come from
A dirt road.

I say you are
Of the Earth;
Lungs filed with fire
That could never exhale memories
Like dust.

I say
You are more than
The sum of unknown origins;
More than
Tarred dreams,
Empty bottles,
Smoke,
Mirrors,
Razor blades and tourniquets.
More than mystery
&
Ether.

You are my Dark Prince,
Who drags the Moon
Down from the Heavens
Each night
To swallow it whole.
My Dark Prince,
Crowned by the Sunrise
Ever present at his back.

And I am…
Proud of you.
Like a Father.
Love…
Protect…
And whisper prayers for you.
Like Brother,
Friend,
And Spirit.

In This Style 10/6

2007-11-13T11:57:00.000-05:00

I am entertaining ideas
This morning.
A tea party for my thoughts,
If you will,
Only with coffee.
Being a good host
I must ensure that these ideas/thoughts
Mingle,
Make friends.
Connections.
Make certain an idea
And their Ex
Are not invited at the same time
Or not to sit down a hot thought
Next to a jealous one’s
Flirty husband.

There is danger in this gathering,
Like any party.
It may be a success.
And like any party
The opposite is also true.

This morning, however, my ideas are civil.
Thoughts, well mannered
Yet persistent
&
Coquettish.
A few run their hands
Through my hair,
Whisper in my ear,
Tug at my lip with their teeth.
I am not surprised at their
Displeasure
When I request
They come back at a later hour.
Nor am I surprised when
They linger
In the corner awhile longer,
Innocently…
Hiking…
Up…
Already short skirts,
In order to win my attention.

But you have been detained,
Have you not,
Alice.
You are late
Perhaps to fuss with your dress
Eye liner
And white locks.
You are not here,
My fantasy.
I cannot recall you
As hard as I may try.

You will come of your own
Accord,
At your leisure,
To wink me
A taste
Of what it may be like
To love you.

G, Julia, Hal, and I Walk Hand in Hand (p.2)

2007-11-09T19:18:00.000-05:00

Moments later,
Hal seizes me by the throat
Thrusts me into the spotlight
Naked
And afraid,
Opened by her flood;
Breaths words into my loneliness,
Guides my tongue to taste
The contempt
Rotting
Behind my front teeth,
Rings the church bell
Of my faults,
Radiates heat and seismic doubt
Throughout my core.

Meanwhile
Hal and Julia,
Having found each other
In their swing set
Satin ribbon romance,
Make love
Behind my eyelids.
He hinders not her course,
She throws off his loose behavior,
And the salt they earn
Rolls
Rose
Nostril
To lip.
His hand
Breast
Her nails
Chest,
Locked from hip.

And in the instant
It takes me to envision-
I blink it…
Away…
To defend from her disarming
Empathy,
Her pumpkin hoody
And black framed
Gaze of wonderment.
Blink it to replace
Names
Faces
Bodies
To suit my needs;
My safety.

And though
G, Julia, Hal and I
Walk hand in hand,
We may never
Four
Merge,
Becoming two…
One…
None,
In the distance
It takes for bravery
To accept an open
Invitation.

G, Julia, Hal, and I Walk Hand in Hand (p.1)

2007-11-05T00:36:00.001-05:00

“The more thou dam’st it up, the more it burns.”

She says.

I feel her spirit at bay
Ready to burst through her eyes.
She will find love
Weathered
Whether she winds her way
To his wild ocean
Or he come unexpectedly
Upon her
With little more to give
Than pride less tears
That mingle in her stream

She will find
Stillness
In the comfort of pajamas,
Carotene,
The dismantling
Of her cheekbones
Brick by painful brick,
And the resulting
Quiet
Will tear-
Bleed the eardrums
Of he who hurt her;
Cut him off at the shins,
Force him beneath
The dust of his memories,
Eviscerate his breath,
And buried there he will remain,
Restless.
Bound to a waking life
That is death without her.

~If My Mirror Had A Voice~

2007-09-17T23:22:00.000-04:00

It would prefer
That you write
In blood
As ink is too reserved
For my taste.
Rather you spoke
Full of bass and sin
Than tremble with possibility
Question
Doubt
Or things pleasant.
Break my arm
Rejoice at splintered marrow-
Don’t hold my hand
And kiss me softly
If you require an honest answer.
Desire honest love.
Place my death gasp
Safe on your mantle
As proof I once inhabited your space
If you care to keep me.
Turn your gaze from the stars
Down to veracity
Lie if you must
And save nothing
Of that which will shatter
In your wake.
For, on the other side
I wait
In an impossible existence.

Wide-eyed

2007-09-03T23:43:00.000-04:00

Much of this time spent
Has been without you.
Spent out of reach of your
Hands and shape.
Too Far for your spirit to
Fill the dark and sluttish
Corners of my mind.
Too much of this time
Has been conjuring hope
As if wringing
Arid sand
Would yield water to drink
Or walking in a straight line
Would disguise my tracks.

Too much looking
Over my shoulder
Beneath stones
Through oakum
For clues,
Directions that lead
Nowhere
But to the growl
Of sex in my belly.

Wanting you
To get on a plane,
Escribirme de inmersión de lengua y amor,
To be my queen
In reality
With hair dyed the color of your fancy,
To want children,
Leave your married boyfriend,
And your open husband.

Most of this time has been spent
Yearning
Even while in your presence.
Waiting on specters
And twilight.

To much
Of my time
Has been spent.

Wide-eyed

Neftalí

2007-08-14T23:16:00.000-04:00

Last night
I went for a walk with Neruda.
He took my hand
Whispered
Softly in my ear-
El amor no espera a ningún hombre.
I pause at this.
Lower my eyes to the wine glass
In hand,
Half empty
Half full
Depending on my humor,
And consent to it’s
Solemnity
It’s overwhelming need
To mark the ground
On which I stand
Should I ever require
A way back
To a dead man’s
Sound advice.

In Which I Left Her

2007-07-26T01:12:00.000-04:00

I wear clown shoes
To hide what is
Broken inside me.
The clockwork gears
Of my heart
That once kept Mountain Time
Have ceased their
Pendulous sway
And memory
Is now the mirrored glass
On the lake where she
Lies
A weary head.

I could lie
Forever
If I didn’t love her.
Make trinkets of silver
From mud and spit.
Offer them up with constancy
Like a child offers
With the very best
Of intensions.
Yet, tears of longing
Would only wash them away
Corrode
Make sharp the edges
And prevent
Lives
From moving
Forward
As they should.

In Which I Pray to My Pillow.

2007-07-09T23:38:00.000-04:00

Your words soothe.
Pours like milk-
Halts the global shift
Of my inner-child’s need
To spin out of control.

The circus
Inside my head
Is populated
By Argentinean
High school
Spanish teachers,
Painted bride’s maids,
Pixie haircuts,
And slow
Tangos
Over a shared
Game of pool.

Your words allay.
Wrap around the fissures
In my life
Left parched for tears
And draws their curtain.
Sutures
With a kiss,
A breath,
The orchestral diversity
Of my aspiration.

What Wakes Me

2007-07-07T00:48:00.000-04:00

There is a bent chord
After I hear
My back door slam.
Shakes ice
From eyelids
Warms the flesh
With sadness
And gives way
To the nightmares
Dreamt last night-
To strong for the traps
I lay
Above my bed.

Vibrations that
Sink into the heart
As if they were
Hooks
Pulls my soul from the breast
Before me
As the rest falls
Away
Dissipates through concrete
Below the bridge.
Still the only place
That forces a held breath
Until crossed.

Descending into
My incorrect memory
Which has me kissing
Scars on wrists,
Icing knees,
Blocking the door
While you struck my chest
Provoked by the outline
Of his temper
On your forearm.

Collapsing onto
That which
Supposes I am sixteen
Watching you undress from underneath
My bed,
Persephone
Tattooed on the small
Of your naked back,
Wishing you not to pass
Through unknown gates
I have no hopes of breaching.

Awakening
To the unraveled
Possibility
That I would place you
In front of me
Barefoot
Dressed in white
Pacing around a fountain.
Confident that I shouldn’t
Follow you
Chase you
But rather
Wait
To hear your steps
At my back.

A Drifters Song for you to decode.

2007-07-02T18:17:00.000-04:00

The tar between my toes
Belies the clean fun we had
While backs rested
With ease
Forty feet above ground.

Star gazing eyes
Occasionally drift
To the detail
Of your head scarf
And I question why
This
Seems
So effortless.

You Smile-
Ions fill the air
Give warning to
Approaching storms.
Lightning creases
Clouds overflow
And fill the half empty
Beer
Which I no longer desire.

Desire
That has become
Your smile
And the doors it opens
The youth it invokes
The fear it crushes
The questions my teeth
Gnash in its remembrance
And the calm
That runs through
Twice broken ankles
Like flooded
Parking lot
Water.

2007-05-11T18:52:00.000-04:00

Though you remain
Unknown
An indefinable
Mystery to me,
I have caught
Glimpses of your smile
In other women.
A hint of your eyes,
The mention of your pig-tailed hair
In past endeavors.
Whispers of your breath
In failed conversations
Detained by shyness
And the allusion
To your form
Through the yellow sundress
I can only speculate you own.
My imagination condenses
The vapor of your equation
Collects the precious drops
To give you history,
Essence,
The unmistakable devotion
A touch is obliged to produce
In one as
Inanimate
As I.

2007-04-18T01:10:00.000-04:00

When I was young I asked for a toy gun.
My father said guns were not to be toyed with.

~Mark of a Mistress~

2007-04-02T17:50:00.000-04:00

I have a memory of her walking away
That shocks my breath
Into submission.
Gravel crushed by the
Balls of her feet when she turned.
Black hair softening my knees.

I have a memory of her
Applying lipstick in the mirror
While I put on creased clothes
From the evening before.
Late for work watching her green eyes
The impulse to scrape the ice
From her windshield
Which I never did.

A memory of her arms
Wrapping around my waist
The warmth of a cheek against my neck.
Letting eggs burn
Because appetites didn't bend
In that direction.

Air between my fingers
Running over her collarbone.
My hand finding comfort
On her hip
When she drew me in
Locking our ankles together.
The pressure of brown leather
Across my wrists
Holding me up like a puppet
And a line of blood
Trailing down my back.

Memories a jet stream.
A heart a broken plate
While dreams spill through a slotted spoon.
A cigarette to burn a lesson in the lungs
And a cup of coffee
To wash it all
Down the drain.

Untitled 2

2007-04-02T17:46:00.000-04:00

Though her forward facing image
Drifts
Steadily away from unfolded arms,
A sweetness
Foreign to heart
Is found
In the distance that divides
Like rising water in a porcelain tub.
Knowledge of Time,
Ever
Pulling
On our stopper,
Makes a bold mind
Mute of tongue
And sends urgency
Through breathless lips that long
For hers.
If steam from glances
Could fog mirrors
On which to write subtle poetry,
Crisp mountain air
Would abruptly erase
What fingers
Retrace
To bring her home again.
And though her forward facing image
Drifts
Steadily away from unfolded arms,
A calm
Familiar to heart
Can be found
In the way brown hair
Spills over a sleeping shoulder
Like water wept from basin’s edge.
Found in waking eyes
That address his blue horizon
With a meadow of lusty green
And fashioned memories that slake
Spaces left unoccupied
From a life
Before he knew her.

For-S

Untitled

2007-04-02T17:44:00.000-04:00

When she smiles
I am reminded of the night
I rested my hand
On the small of her back.
Traveled up her spine
Fingers pressing past
The marked lack of bra-strap
Continuing
To the space behind her ears
As she lowered her head.

Once, she sat next to me
Slung her leg
Casually
Over my resting knees
And made the blood in my veins
Surrender to ash.

Reeds arise
From my arms
When the knock on my door
Is followed by
The request to uncork her bottle of red.
My taste
Distracted
By the hint of her toes
Through two repotted basil plants.

At night I imagine
Her black hair
Cascading
Over a neighboring empty pillow.
Her body
Wrapped in blankets
To fend off the frost
From the vent above her bed.
And I wonder whether
She knows that I leave my door
Slightly
Open
Were she ever to be in need
Of someone to keep her warm.

Sustenance

2007-04-02T17:41:00.000-04:00

If
Blonde braids
Could stretch out to the ocean
Her hair
Would rescue a thousand
Wayfaring men.
Her Seirenes smile,
A beacon of home,
Return restive hearts
From the yawning water they tread.
Return them to the sun drenched
Skin of her breast.
Sailing around the nape of her neck
Cape of Good Hope
My hand,
Metal made blush from
Green eyes,
Would come to rest
On the shore
Of her
Collarbone
Where heart’s pulse,
Though Tempest wrung,
Dissolves bone,
Buckles knee,
Sends
Waves
Through veins,
To anchor
The danger
Hidden
Underneath the ink
In my spine.

Under Construction

2007-03-29T21:48:00.001-04:00

Um...see above.