isolation makes me jump
into the shredding propeller of her tongue
it was Hi 8 and stereo record player
and a sense we belonged,
wiping nose on my hand
then on those jeans strained and faded,
we could make it work maybe,
her nightgown had buttons
linear nipples of distraction,
i would run
if it where not the seventeenth floor
and no closer to heaven,
her voice slowed quicker
than the snow outside,
are we done
gun still pressed in my back waistband
you look done
i felt battered beyond the cut over eye
and bloodied nose,
the projects would have heroes
i was not one of them,
failing to hold up the store
girl cashier
younger
faded blonde dye and dark roots,
i spoke and connected,
pulled a flower from the bunches
sold cheaply at the desk
and gave it to her,
a startling explosion
as manager hit me with a piece of wood,
i ran
never said goodbye
but i know who
i wanted now
Tag Archives: los sueños
winters fold
sticky beaked crow
raucous over winter berries,
as i ran on frosted ground
grass unlikely to bend
silvered instead of green,
clouds would shake
their snow soon
blanketing and forming
a soft landscape for me
in snow,
i was protected
the chill and damp
reddened eyes and nose,
sticky beaked crow
a shadow on the ground
lengthening under a low sun,
my shadow would be longer
one day,
for now i was content
to lay upon my back
feeling spread of arms and legs
as i be came an angel
dVersePoets
sublime oranges
he measured the room
by volume of the dark
with light subtracted,
moving as ulysses did in hades
he would find breakfast on the sand,
ocean not so far away
as high tides where relevant,
rituals began
ideas stencilled on embryonic dna
created this path and outlook,
sometimes he felt it was only he
he revolving and the earth had stopped,
it was not a crisis of meaning
only an imbalance on his poetics,
even in the dark
he could place a pen nib and write
about placing kisses on her
naked arcitecture,
a finding in deep silence
what she had really meant
under that cloak of shuddering mysticism
pen scratched paper
it would be ten pages,
before images faltered and pen halted,
ignoring wine that had already spilled on
table top,
peeled an orange
segmented aspects from which to
derive a special calm,
her bewitching had been an interference
but now choking fumes cleared
and he was at last
truly free
@dVersePoets
sucking in breath
sunburnt man
wretched and weary
beneath light and rain,
thunder smelled of goatskin
and musky aftershave,
steps taken like a drunk
falling on his own
sky crossed with jets
over the park
those travelling to another
countries sun to relax,
as slowly it ceased
shimmering haze
brought glare to eyes
worn with failing status
once he was among the rest
spewing from subway to curb
urgent and despairing
eager to get home,
that place with a yard
spill of ivy
trimmed lawn,
but that page had turned
fortune walked away like
everyone else,
yet his eyes sparkled
renewed vigor in his step,
he saw the torture he once
experienced,
now he belonged to no one
bank, employer, wife
even country,
he was an independent state
velvetmedia 