Saturday Afternoon

Pretending that you were coming
for dinner I stopped at the butcher shop.
There were men in the store
they commented on the amount
and quality of meat I was purchasing.

Pretending that you were coming
for dinner I stopped at the wine store.
I left all the decisions to the clerk
as clerks in wine stores are not clerks
at all they are sommeliers, artists
swirlers, tasters, swallowers of only
the best. I imagined that I would
serve it to you naked.

Pretending that you were coming
for dinner I stopped at a French
bakery and ordered buttertarts
and caramel pecan tarts and fruit
tarts with whipping cream.

I arrived home, thrilled with it all.
You said that fountain pens represent
freedom, so much flow from the tip
of the finger. A sketch, a poem, a ribbon
of thought. Today freedom to me was

pretending -
that you were coming.

The Sum of Parts

Her spirit met her body on a rooftop
in the dead of winter at 11:08 p.m.
and it sat there awestruck
as each time he kissed her mouth
it sparked it was dry but oh so not
such a desert of snow there laid
out below them - above deep wet

moon held shy between clouds
and somewhere over there
a river caught below the ice kept
flowing as she cried out and he leapt
out into her and for that moment
there was only that world held
in the quiver of what was to begin

cold wind sighed
warm
over fogged glass

Untitled Anticipation

Same damn window
Same damn view
Same cold sun
setting one minute
later than last night.

How many sleeps until Thursday?

The Beginning of

imperfect words disguised as poem
humanity bites the back of inhumanity
as poem takes off (with clear disregard
regarding edges) launches and flies
prior to de-icing fragile
wings that appear so infallible
until surrendering into great shudders
with a wobble of instruments poem begins
to tumble over itself somersault and leap
until all of the passengers dressed
as words we carry within begin to
scream panic hit the roof
as poem continues to hurtle out
of control nosedives towards hard land

now only one remains calm
reads the morning paper
in seat 13A
unbraced for impact

Charming

Happily ever
after the mockingbird sings

of evolution in the voice of a frog
(the frog does not become a prince)

(prince's kiss does not wake a princess)
no rag-tag heart seeps back to life beneath

her dress made from old bedroom curtains
magic is a kiss unscripted

bodies held together in repeated stitches
lips that strain to come together

unfurled into wet glossolalia
- learn to speak

Three Petals

He would recreate her endlessly
Once, as he spoke
he covered her naked body
with the petals of wild orchids

Petals on her eyelids
a delicate sleep

plucked from their
moonlit stems
blossoms parted
parted and closed

until there was
nothing

nothing but her scent
in a crush of wild orchids

Last Night I Dreamt

He would not speak yet wrapped me
up in the thick coats of night
kept me close to high
cliffs over which we peered
into crevices of broken ground
over which we kaleidoscoped
tumbling like coloured glass

The world became a gnarly tree
sky obscured by branches
animal shapes between thickets offered
flashing eyes that pierced or winced
signaled night’s willingness no words
just beacons throwing lines and catching
the fishermen balanced tucked between cliffs
tiny flares flickered at the ends of limber poles

A fish trembled the line bobbed
something was taking the bait
now only trails of sighing bubbles
we stayed until there was
no breath

We Have All The Time in the World

Happy Valentine's Day.

Ladybugs are Lucky

When a ladybird alights
its chosen landing pad
becomes new and improved

(fingers crossed)

Worry

In 38 hours she'll know -
another decade
slips through her fingers

Canned Gulls

I'm trapped inside, it's just a recording
- this gift from my sister last Christmas
a small white contraption plugged
into an electrical socket fills my living
room with the sudden sound of surf
breaking onto shore to a background
squawk of canned gulls.

I wonder who stalked that beach
held shell to ear for Wal-Mart.
It’s strange, all of this - snow
in heaps outside my window
grim dark below the evergreen
wood-smoke rising from brick chimneys
and still this ceaseless white noise

of wave after wave to remind me
I really don’t belong here.

Ink

the next poem I write you
scrawled across your left thigh
in the middle of the night

I Sometimes Claw

at a closed door.
It doesn't mean I am inside

wanting out

it doesn't mean I am outside
wanting in

It only means I am clawing
to be somewhere

on common ground.

Architecture of Fliration


My natural tendency
is to kiss you
and make it hurt

poison your throat with the
taste of my tongue

drown you like an olive
in a glass of gin

cross my legs endlessly
bat you with my eyelashes

weaken your architecture
shatter your windows

strip you of fear
until I crawl inside, naked

haunt you like a vacant building
shake my chains against the what is

grind candy hearts into your
thighs, a sweet tattoo

flirt endlessly with the night
furiously brand my heat into you

bleach you of everything but this:

the shape of me
forever tangled in your sheets

Done

I'm tired
and I want to
go to bed

Heart on Fire

Please help me
stop

striking matches
flicking them all over
chambers and rooms

blow

torching blood-filled
arteries pumping fake
desire in

and out

stop

please -
it's killing

Moby - Extreme Ways

Extreme ways are back again
Extreme places I didn't know
I broke everything new again
Everything that I'd owned
I threw it out the window came along
Extreme ways I know will part the colors of my sea
'Perfect color me'

Extreme ways that help me
They help me out late at night
Extreme places I had gone
That never seen any light
Dirty basements, dirty noise
Dirty places coming through
Extreme worlds alone
Did you ever like it planned?

I would stand in line for this
There's always room in life for this

Oh babe, oh babe
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh babe, oh babe
Then it fell apart, it fell apart

Extreme sounds that told me
They held me down every night
I didn't have much to say
I didn't give up the light
I closed my eyes and closed myself
And closed my world and never opened up to anything
That could get me at all

I had to close down everything
I had to close down my mind
Too many things caught me
Too much could make me blind
I've seen so much in so many places
So many heartaches, so many faces
So many dirty things
You couldn't even believe

I would stand in line for this
It's always good in life for this

Oh babe, oh babe
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh babe, oh babe
Then it fell apart, it fell apart

Oh Babe, oh babe

Oh babe, oh babe

Then it fell apart, it fell apart Oh babe, oh babe
Then it fell apart, it fell apart Oh babe, oh babe
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh babe, oh babe
Like it always does, always does

- Moby