Dual
He's hellish haven That won't stay still And I know damn well Not one to balance. His lunacy The sane one Discerns the complexities While the other side retorts in haste Laconic disregard of our bond. Soon, Rudeness spills from his sly grimace In the hopes I won't be able to tell If he hides Or if it's just those damaged goods. He's karmic A jailer A jail Too potent for my taste bud But I'm addicted nonetheless To the...

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Devotional
He's still here but Is he still willing? More so than me Because he's my crab A scorpion riding a bull With tough pliers His outer shell Glistens. The creature is all about staying He persists Grabs Claims Instinct devotional and He prays to me drunk. But for what? No! I bade him to stop And then again He's the literary dream I asked for Without knowing. He demands And I am his To come home to Vent Relieve Why...

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Unanswered
Who are they? And where from? Old lovers, friends, sons, fathers, brothers Those who helped, guided, worried, cared Same ones who left, changed me for, walked away from, grew to hate My lost men. Who are they? Jitters arise for their attention I long for their excitement Mourning when they find another better Satisfied when they laugh it out Inevitably expecting A reaction. Why them? Why me? Who were we until now? Old flames in transformation Merge and part And...

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Clear Roads
A bit empty, Vacant, Unreachable as clouds. Detached, At the edge of boredom, Unimaginative, Disengaged, The blurred background, A minimalist painting, My canvas almost bare, And all could be. That a bird might traverse my crystalized space, A plane might soar into the deepest blue, Caressing the mist, That wings might spread, New things could appear.

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Strange Riches
These strange riches given, Stand crumbling on the sullen street of times past. Grandma's house with its ceiling planks bent, A violent crack runs wild, the length of the dining room wall, Shut doors, melded to frames, Of childhoods past, stories kept, Flooded memories. But Scheherezade still waits inside Arabian Nights, Bound in real leather, tightly fit in the carved Italian bookcase. Framed maps of antique parchment rest about the entrance hall, Leaning on the walls, waiting for something, Maybe...

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Brother’s Soul Recap
He sits with a purpose, stays without strain, Concise as a butterfly, a star self guided. Perspires soil, but his heart might bring rain, Trickling down, Streaming along clefts. He practices the main performance, Won't strive for more than a moment's perfection, Repetition his prayer, delivers good. I do believe, His life might be a river, an intricately woven quilt, Sewn-in careful observation, Of each and every infant stitch. And his mind might be open country, sown in neat rows,...

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Ballet Examination
In this room of light diffused Planks beaten by plies and tendus No leeway is given for pretense In space consecrated. Hands reach for the barre Religiously No piece of attire to cover misalignment Any lack in the labors of time. Soon, toe shoes rub in the rosin And left are minuscule splinters Shimmering in the grain. Breath keeps sheltered In the powerhouse chamber Near the heart While gracile turn out of legs extends in synchrony. No false jumps are possible...

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Springs
That hope springs eternal It has been said Sarcasm or bliss But what if hope be the mesh? Sifting, Dread of sharp gravel Impoverished thought disgraced Pictures torn and mended Voiced disarray Chimes hardened to rust No message conveyed. And if hope be the finest Might she be formed by air Flickers of matter Mysterious substance Prowess of light? That nothing could touch her Yet power belied Such fabric confected by hands beyond mind To withstand our sorrows Doubts and...

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Unapologetic
Today Marianne's jeans fit tight. Reflected on the bedroom mirror Her rounded face announces A waxing moon Her swollen figure rising waters Plump transmutation of phases Compels time for curves Unapologetic Aphrodite above Smiles like cotton candy Remembering the soft babble Of Marianne's natal baby talk A young brook in her throat When Taurus in the horizon Oceans will wash over generous Convex skin to be embellished In foamy fur From thighs to hips Up the buxom breast Around a...

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Home Element
His hands should feel like home Familiar as fresh morning coffee Otherwise I couldn't even imagine Steaming cups terrenal Espresso lust and mocha, Dribbling down the corners of our lips. And if our grounds were too alien I'd lose my way to such skin Because when a calm moons linger silent In his stoic eyes constricted His old beam permeates my phantom clouds Troubled from vapors Imprisoned in my mind. We may be two versions of the same As he...

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