Some Turbid Night

Staregazing

2012-02-05T22:39:00.000-05:00

Across this galaxy,
the multitude of light between –
a star shot ‘cross the sky!

The twinkle in your eye
ignites the ruddy brown in mine:
our galaxies collide –

Emboldened, bravely stare:
too curious to look away,
too startled to persist.

I want to be that doll
residing in that fiery eye;
I want to dwell in you,

the way you live in me:
illuminated in the sacred halls
of cross-stitched memory;

Oh, tell me – are you cold?
This blazing brilliance, upon
a skewed trajectory?

Or is this distant fire
a stare to set alight my hopes,
and do you burn for me!

Becoming: Immortal

2012-02-01T14:16:00.000-05:00

Dare I say it?
Applauding, simpering,
fawning –
is This what It is?
I am disappointed.

Awards and recognition,
laurels, plaques, and accolades:
ah, to think –
this once meant something.

I have waded out too far:
the land I see is
seen by none;
I wander with the dead
in silent Purgatory.

To have died before a death:
to watch one’s body
trampled
while alive;
to be dissected, analyzed,
interpreted – to see this
failure to
“understand” –

It is not death in life we crave for
but quite the opposite.
Do not forget me –
but in life, let me be.

The grave is silent:
I cannot hear your
desecrations
there.

I like to party

2012-01-27T20:48:00.000-05:00

I like to party.
The alleys of the mind
ignite,
corridors crammed with
Cirque de Soleil.
Dancers set ablaze
the brainstem;
Acrobats paint
this Carnival.

I like to party:
as do you;
together, we in fantasies
could speak in tongues,
but you:
in banal stupor,
drenched in booze
and music BLARING
escape
in your own prosaic
way:

but – I rather think,
I fly higher:
the trapeze is not enough for
me –

Special Note: This origins of this poem has a unique and strange origin. I am a biomedical science student, forced to take a non-specialist English course for an elective. The irony is that I actively write poetry on a daily to weekly basis. Our professor introduced us to poetry on Monday, asking everyone to write a line of poetry on a scrap piece of paper. He asked selected individuals to read their lines...my fellow classmates came up with the predicted horrendous things, such as: "Roses are red, violets are blue", "I am not good at poetry", etc. The line that stuck with our professor turned out to be the seemingly silly "I like to party." He sent us an e-mail later that night, claiming to give someone a cash prize for transforming the first line "I like to party" into a poem. Was it cheating that I accept? Undeniably, yes. Hence...I wrote this poem on Tuesday and e-mailed it to him. On Wednesday's class, he noted that someone went "above and beyond" his expectations and that from now on, whenever this person was seen, they were to be referred to as "the first winner of the first annual English 1--- poetry competition". He put a print-out of my e-mail on the document camera and it blew it up on two ginormous screens in front of the entire class. To my horror, he then proceeded to spend a full 30 minutes of our 50 minute class praising and analyzing the poem word for word in front of the entire class. And at the end of the dissection, the entire class applauded and I sank into my chair, exhilarated and thrilled, but mostly emotionally exhausted, thoroughly embarrassed, and overwhelmed. The entire time I felt cold and I was shaking involuntarily...it was the strangest thing, like watching people trampling over my dead body or witnessing a live dissection of myself while still alive...fascinating, and really weird. This is the first time, really, that my poetry was taken out from my personal quarters and disseminated with the real, living, breathing "public" - face to face (instead of through the impersonal Internet). By the end of the class, I had the feeling that no one had read the poem the way I intended it to be read, but that it had taken on a new immortal life of its own, running rampant in a thousand different directions...I think the strangest thing is that I have never experienced any of the things mentioned in the poem - booze, parties, Cirque de Soleil, etc. And now everyone thinks I'm some schizophrenic alcoholic.

Houseplant

2012-01-22T20:45:00.001-05:00

I am watering you enough,
I think.
But you keep dying -
your leaves are crispy
and golden,
falling to the
ground.

You are unhappy here.
I play you Bach,
but I don't think you like it.
People say
it will help you
grow.

Is it too much sun?

I rotate you,
by degrees
everyday,
hoping some slant of light
will eventually feed you right.

Do you think
I like watching you die?
I am suffering too:
you are,
day in, day out,
reminding me
of our failed relationship,
of our vernal hopes.
Houseplant,
please live.

The Simple Golfer

2012-01-09T21:36:00.000-05:00

Your polo shirt in hunter green,
a mochachino in your hand -
relief: a gratefulness descends.
These years of callous bargaining
end here, in mute, indulgent joy.
As sunrise dawns upon the world,
you are the first - you always were -
the green before your eager arms.
And after two divorces rests
the latest conquest in your bed,
in lazy luxury, till noon.
But as you raise the primal swing,
reflect upon the bitter words,
the small regrets, the heartlessness -
but what of that? It all is past.
Oh simple golfer, full of pride,
does such completion satisfy,
this strange avoidance of the truth?
Oh, as you gaze upon the hills,
this just begins the questioning
that haunts the heart, that probes the mind;
but as your stoic, placid mind
alights upon the blazing sun
as if like foam upon your drink -
it rests, forever beckoning
yet too aloof for blinded Men -

From the Ruins

2012-01-03T15:37:00.001-05:00

The progeny of artisans
Is carefully reviewed
Before the goods are shipped before
The future's eager eyes.
Such ancient architecture bears
The toils of their craft;
The remnants were preserved with care
And visit, vividly.
Though packaged in the finest silks
The ravages of time
Prove coldly ever-damaging -
The fragments tantalize;
We die, the secret on our lips -
The guess is yours to take.
Forever coy, forever mute,
The sleeping artist smiles.

Rasputin

2012-01-01T19:36:00.001-05:00

Eyes of the strange and the solemnest
stared at me; stirred in me mystery:
wonderfully, tenderly, pensively;

Searching, imploring you silently,
mounting obsession enraptures me:
steadfastly, easily, purposely;

Cold and unseeing, discarding me,
glanced at my longing and loneliness
fleetingly, vacantly, terribly.

O magnum mysterium

2011-12-30T19:11:00.002-05:00

Spin fragrantly
in sweet oblivion:
the dancers blush
amidst the swirling bees -

In clearest day,
the lilting petals judge,
unseeing leaves
incapable to say;

Naive, demure,
assent to every whim
so pliantly,
the next the merrier:

Such faces mute
in unrequited bliss,
their secret art
an enigmatic tune -

My feeble wiles
to such a riddle fail:
Their silence is
a stronger stuff than smiles.

Dearest

2011-12-24T20:24:00.001-05:00

Tell me,
the sun – could it be thus explained
to blind men?
Scarce well-adjusted to its light,
I doubt so;
such brilliance, such vibrancy:
I fail here –

Dearest,
I cannot tell you such I know;
I shield you.
I hardly know the rules myself
but hope that –
the art transcends the feeble means
and reaches -
here:

A Moment

2011-12-20T14:28:00.000-05:00

Enveloped in some distant thought,
you turned to me;
still lost in muddled reverie
distracted blinked,
as if awakened from a dream
to dream again:
a smile whipped upon those lips –
and caught my breath;
this spontaneity, this joy -
alarmed me so,
such recognition undeserved:
it startled me,
this unrepentant chivalry –
oh! had I thought
such isolation and resolve
could save me too,
could render me immune to this?

Instead, that smile -
had pressed its ultimatum thus,
enticing, rare;
how such a small acknowledgement
could turn me mute!
and though a thousand storms of thought
so futile fought,
I - hesitant, confused – collapsed,
surrendering,
still blinking my bewildered eyes,
and unprepared
was forced to see the blinding sun
and wordless, smiled!

Superiority Complex

2011-12-07T14:05:00.001-05:00

I. Vissi d’arte

We live on
butterfly wings and moonshine;
we reside in mountains of the gods.
Immortal muses, oracles.
We cast our fatal whims
unto the course of history:
you will remember us, forever.

A delicate breed,
lighter than air:
we radiate our prophetic suns,
and you cower in your
mortal-ness.

We break easily,
but repair well.
We grow prettier with age,
features beatified until we
become our own
epitaphs.

II. Test Tube Baby

Observing and pretending,
all gathered for the harvest season.
It all is masks and mirrors –
yet all of this seems so well acted;

Though this is who they are:
an exile in familiarity,
the silent outcast sees
too clearly where the weary difference lies.

We all are meant for this –
this hyper-symmetry, these fragile means,
and all this labouring:
experiments – show nothing of oneself.

Oh, I have acted best,
becoming one such Individual,
this seamless stitch of Us,
mundane, presentable, unwavering;

But I cannot relinquish
the secret of my own creation,
for in those glassy confines,
my everlasting slavery was born.

III. Escape Artist

Construct –
an alternate
reality:
alla Donizetti.
Words hear
like arias,
glass harmonicas
intersplice
my elaborate
cadenzas –

You are all
colours.
Pursuing you,
flitting, one to another, feverish –
you must have
fled some other opera
and invaded
mine –

Numbers

2011-11-29T19:29:00.001-05:00

Curious things,
cold, soulless.
Always proving,
always searching,
never feeling,
never answering.
Barren:
spread in artificial
rows,
matrices, leading
nowhere;
[Incoherent musings
of a foreign deity.]
It is what I have chosen,
enlightenment;
strangely –
I am drifting farther,
closing into a realm
I do not
belong.

Electrons Dance

2011-11-26T15:41:00.001-05:00

For out of fear,
I stay concealed,
a little sly,
but much too shy.
Across the room,
oblivious,
you’re restless too.
I pack away
my furtive glance,
re-focussing.

You’ve seen me now:
I catch your gaze;
a startling smile
bewitches me.
I, cautious, smile;
electrons dance
and you draw near –

Le plus doux rêve

2011-11-17T21:35:00.001-05:00

You gave me something more than friendship
- so I thought,
and I, my youthful self, so foolish,
followed close -
through sunlit paths as daylight faltered,
heedlessly.
Such radiance seemed otherworldly:
in such light,
I was illuminated by you,
loved and praised.
We watched the leaves twirl, golden-dusted,
rains had danced;
the dying autumn sang its prayers.
Wrung of words,
I watched you say goodbye one final,
final time –
oh, just for one more fleeting day in friendship
such as this:
a thousand grand, exotic operas
could not know
the simple happiness you gave me,
my sweetest dream.

So sang the silence

2011-11-09T21:15:00.000-05:00

Arrested in the sun –
as photons stripe your wings:
could death be lovelier?
Unseeing eyes ablaze,
as if too undeserved
of such a masterwork.
Upon a tender branch,
the paragon of dawn:
did one such mulberry
obstruct your jeweled throat
upon the blinding sight
of lethal loveliness?;
so as you gasped, it struck –
so swiftly, fatally?
In serving such an art,
an art oneself becomes –
in still serenity
entombed in oxygen:
the sentinel of Truth
remains forever mute –

Dead Robin
by Fiona

Amor platonicus

2011-10-06T22:54:00.001-04:00

"Spring is Officially Here" by Hazel Berger

Could stand here, ages,
praising such beauty:
hair spun of gold,
eyes carved of lapis
lazuli;
wasting away,
immortalizing you into
posterity.

But you know this –

you are not
like a wildflower,

desperately beautiful,
basking in sun-charms,
unaware of
how lovely you are.

We pick flowers,
letting them die at our hands,
withering for our possessive admiration.
Instead, everywhere you go
I die a little
knowing it must just be:
this –

Georgia Wildflower by Hazel Berger

Depuis le jour

2011-10-02T12:08:00.000-04:00

Moon Over Lake Almanor (image credit)

Since the day
your beauty startled me
the sun alights more softly on the world;
the air floats sweeter on my lips.

But in the naked night,
without the tender masks of day,
the world seems emptied of such joys.
Alone amidst the mediocre oxygen,
I gaze upon the turbid skies
with fervent lonesomeness
and wonder –

Do moons, as such,
Construct oppressive scenes
Upon the soul?
or is it,
stripped of worldly follies,
bathed in chaste Veritaserum,
I feel the chilling
truth?

Fire!

2011-09-28T22:22:00.001-04:00

Autumn in forest (image credit)

Rebellious teenage girl,
quite new to life –
ignites each passing gaze.
The passers-by
gawk curiously, in awe.
Her blazing hair –
it’s redder than the birds!
August, aloof –
her parents, petrified,
stand ignorant –
she is - some foreigner –
But forests talk;
the whispers burn the air –
some bolder time
is quick approaching now:
decorum dies!

Model-Girl

2011-09-12T15:47:00.000-04:00

for my dearest T.D.

Each freckle sparks a new debate;
your measurements are public spectacle.
What hair and wardrobe can create
is this Immortal, some Olympian.

Removing trivial worldly flaws,
the Human sheds her life, becomes a doll,
a canvas – on which genius draws:
McQueen, Herrera, Calvin Klein.

Descended from unearthly lands,
gargantuan tresses mount the blazing skies;
ethereal gemstones kiss your hands –
the architecture wraps your limpid corpse.

One day a limp and lifeless page –
another, stepping out into the world;
you walk from paper into cage,
transforming always – modern sorceress.

Aquarius in sunny May,
you walk, each gesture stillborn works of art.
A deity in every way:
the artist breathes her truest legacy.

The Summer Dies

2011-08-29T16:19:00.000-04:00

As sunlight draws its coronets
the trees present themselves as royalty.
Unearthly twilight dyes the world
and every leaf appears as if a god.

Your face, angelic, rose to me,
enchanted, stirring in me tender love.
Illuminated in such light,
could any mortal eye be thus deceived?

Embrace

2011-08-23T23:25:00.001-04:00

A second sun dawns, though unfinished –
bequeaths some strange and limber shining:
eternal tremolos surged, rippling;
the most ephemeral of moments
returns undying happinesses,
recounting such a thousand sonnets:
my heart requited on the smitten grass –

Sustenance

2011-08-20T18:51:00.001-04:00

The fateful glimpse: your winning eyes –
a longing steals me by surprize.
And as I see you from afar,
your smile perforates my heart.
And awful pinch of jealousy
assaults upon my armoury;
but your endearing laugh erupts
and fills me once again with love.
Contriving for a glance from you,
attiring as the desperate do;
inviting conversation in
and grinning often from within –
I search, I search for your return,
but it is only I that burns.
Oblivious you stand, alone,
some perfect, unrequited stone.
I can convince myself quite well
of some odd bashfulness that dwells;
that mutely and covertly lies
eternal meaning in your sighs.
But then - abandoned and upset,
I try to foolishly forget:
your glance cannot revoke its toll,
engraved upon my injured soul.
And haunted, as I live through pain,
I – silent – trudge upon my way,
diverting my unhappy thoughts
to follies, empty and distraught;
but vain possessions cannot fill
my solitude and thwarted will.
Though as the weeks pass and the days
and hours spend themselves away,
I start to toss away the dreams,
forgetting all that could have been.
And if you one day loved me too,
would I return if it were true?
I loved you more than you could know;
to sacrifice that childish hope
would be excruciating pain;
but I would leave you all the same
and wish that you could find the one,
that you could cherish only them
as much as I have longed for you,
and grudgingly relinquished you.

Lips, Eyes, Nose

2011-08-16T16:17:00.001-04:00

lips eyes nose
charm curse craving
smile blink glimpse
face arms legs

joy pain happiness
love loss suffering
thought glance fantasy
hope hunt hug

whisper murmur silence
live lose remember
search find forget
yearn rewind recall

Modulation

2011-08-16T16:11:00.000-04:00

These clothes are not mine,
this bed is not mine.
I am in some horrific costume
but I remember all the rules.
I exist in a foreign realm;
strange centuries tattoomy arms –
they are not –
mine –

Take me away to somecorrect place
so I can say my name
and they shall know that
stars should act properly:
they should not parade in my head,
unreleased.

Little Acorn

2011-08-14T11:55:00.000-04:00

Buried in the heart of earthly pleasures:
not a whisper of your soul resounds.
Can I flee in vain forever, thusly?
Rounds of acrid laughter futile peels;
artificial saccharines grow weaker:
Great, immortal seed of sylvan love -
Germinate, and overrule the heavens!
Empty follies cannot bar your path.

Unfinished

2011-08-02T16:35:00.002-04:00

How it must be - like a little grain
to stare upon the sky

How it must be - at the funeral
to realize permanence

How it is to greet th’unseeing wind,
caressing oxygen -

Youth!

2011-07-31T14:36:00.001-04:00

You are always belittling me
with the damning epithets of youth.
"I am not your dear", I'd like to say.
But would you listen?
Laugh, perhaps.

But there will be a day
when even
the most endearing smile
has creases and crinkles
'round the edges.
The lips
pale and shrivel.

I will have
the coarsest, grayest hair to comb,
if any at all.
My slender arms, by gravity sustained
unto limper means,
drip and droop.

To you - what am I?
Doll with raven hair, silken;
lips of ruby red -
skin of flaxen gold.

I am always trying to re-label this,
projecting some stranger image.
But this is all I have,
and all I ever will -
so as I treasure it,
I use it as my vendetta,
hopelessly ensnaring you.

Mélisande

2011-07-30T19:15:00.000-04:00

She reaches out – an arm outstretched –
the mid-day sun igniting her.
A ring belies the fatal bond,
malicious in its innocence.

They played as children play their games:
unwary of the time or place.
But as the fountain sang its charms,
the moment held its memory.

And as the sun was smiling too
she clambers out an inch too far.
Then with a final, fateful throw,
she heralds the denouement.

But even in this horrid hour
she has no grand remorse to grieve,
no haunting aria erupts
beyond those startled, slender lips –

As if her star-crossed, transient life
is happier than mine, for she –
this Mélisande – grows lovelier,
reborn: each night, each matinee.

A Spectacle

2011-07-29T20:22:00.002-04:00

Tribal markings circulate,
denoting where the knife shall graze.
Orb-like suns float, unseeing;
fluttering hands prepare.
Blue jellyfish heads dance -
bowing, waiting: solemnly.
The victim lays unconscious -
tongue sprawled out, eyes withdrawn.
These final moments hang in silence,
dangling on the trapeze wire.
As the violence starts -
sacrifice begins.

We view our limits

2011-07-26T22:03:00.000-04:00

Reality is a poor substitute for fairy tales:
I am always laughing,
in the same red shirt,
as if I was always cast to play the same victim,
Over, over, over.

Crueller to mourn the unknown,
not having a body to bury.
It’s a luxury to grieve –
but I cry for my unborn, my unrequited –

Spiders do not have the time
to remember
before they are
massacred.

There is no ending
but I – must be thankful.
Thankful for having met you,
for having let you go,
for carrying on with this
hapless play,
for living.

Remembering San Diego

2011-07-22T19:08:00.000-04:00

Beneath the breathless, weary stars,
Acknowledged by the phantom breeze,
We rode at day’s end side by side,
unwinding in the crowded cart.

In silence sat the docile night,
But we were not as well-behaved.
The infants wailed and adults cooed;
Momentos could not pacify.

Exhausted by the lurid day
And whistling in the lukewarm wind,
The palm trees, finally satisfied,
Were gossiping along the way.

There are no flashing coloured lights
That dance upon this final eve;
No cheery costumed characters
Are quickly looming into sight -

But as we stop upon our start,
A strange relief begins to dawn.
And as those rising, bright balloons
Float, twinkling near the moon-kissed stars:

There was no greater grand enchantment
That filled our hearts that midnight hour;
As moonflecks shone upon our arms,
The journey really’d - just begun.

Wedding Day

2011-07-17T22:39:00.000-04:00

Lanterns floating overhead,
Bubbles dancing in our path,
This is the first night –
Sparkling laughter, sparkling champagne –
Sweat glistening; darkness dawns.

I am happy for them,
but I am removed from their joy, their love.
It is not that I am resentful –

Trees whisper, some indescribable perfume lifts,
Mingled smiles embalm the honeyed air –
Perhaps it is in their exuberant youth
and hapless grace
That I so clearly see the distance grow –
My lonesome self, twisted by the cynicism of time,
growing weary –
having only celebrated the joy
of others.

Tiger Lillies

2011-07-15T21:15:00.009-04:00

Orange Tiger Lilies by Marilyn

You are the most resilient flower,

Rising before the others and
Retiring late,
Model employee of the
Emerald fields.

Nearly as tall as the fence,
Slicing the wind with astringent orange -
Parodies of Renaissance virgins
With hoods of modest luridness.

Lascivious yet benign,
Sailing the low-lying zephyrs,
I do not know the
Suitors you attract.

What lucky gentlebee shall
Peek between these coy petticoats,
Painting brighter vermilion
On your sun-baked
Cheeks?

Morning Glory

2011-07-09T17:53:00.003-04:00

the burnt honey brightly trickles,
drops of fragrant translucent liquid
plummet to the jugs below:
Columbian, chocolate macaroon, crème brûlée

aromas fill the darkened hall,
nasal cavities resound with waking sense
(and now we wait, stuffing the trays
like horizontal Christmas stockings)

I am alone for these first shaded moments
crouching in the darkness, thinking;
behind the metal lattice things prepare themselves,
waiting until the moment they shine

it is almost therapeutic,
these exotic beans -
tickling the senses,
emboldening the eyes

A Love Letter

2011-07-08T20:39:00.000-04:00

There is something about your haughty attitude
that makes me loathe each fibre of you.
Sardonic, domineering - oh, infernal grin.
How I wish to tear you limb from limb!

Then why must I be so foolish,
Exuberant, wary, hurt by turns?
How many times has an "innocent" twinkle
deceived me to no end?

I have become my own mother,
chiding myself to
no avail.

Sarcophagus

2011-07-07T22:33:00.001-04:00

Proud,
I stare out at these moons,
Orbiting me, curiosity my
Gravitational pull.

I am Ra the Sun,
Agleam in priceless gold leaf,
Layers of slaughtered trees
Nestled like matryoshka dolls.
Scarabs and cryptic hieroglyphics
Ignite my painted arms,
Sapphires addorn my funeral mask.

I am not a reincarnated horror movie -
In my gruesome regal present,
You pass by, imagining
Just how powerful I was,
How battles I won, how many
Slaves bowed to my whims.

It is beyond your mortal estimation
For I transcend man.
My organs eerily preserved in
Dislocated canopic jars,
Crocodiles, falcons, cats,
Undying -

I am immortal, staring forever
From these bandages,
Sunken eyes staring out, eternally ancient,
Mysterious, enigmatic,
Proud. I am
the Son of Horus.

The Upset

2011-07-04T22:12:00.000-04:00

So many broken dishes,
broken glasses too;
shards upon the floor –
irrevocable damage?

Clay cups and earthenware,
tumblers and vessels
can be glued together,
replaced.

Hurt feelings, ingrown jealousies;
distrust, misdirected malignance –

fester: growing like a fissure,
starting small,
growing larger,
seeping through the heart,
ripping, tearing
until the trust dies
and enmity remains,
sparkling as only
malevolently glinting
glass does.

Farewell, Stones

2011-07-02T17:42:00.002-04:00

Discarded pebbles,
ground up by the Scylla and Charybdis
of Ontario:
remnants lay
upon the eternal patch of ground rock
beneath our feet.

White shards roast,
smooth and benevolent,
worn by the seas.
Whatever dangers lied in the broken bottles
evoke no harm,
tamed by unseeing hands,
sultry amber in the
glinting sun.

Shaven bits sift through the toes
as effortlessly as water, though
erosion shall soon make sure
that even those grains of sun-baked rice
will cease to circulate
amongst the naked
toes.
Farewell, stones.

Gunshots explode in the sky

2011-06-30T23:45:00.001-04:00

as the initial crystals
combust into themselves,
demons and dragons
igniting the night into flames
of quartz, like Christmas presents
imploding into strange galaxies
and feats of aerial architecture
in thunderous booms like the
skies were suddenly falling
and comets were raining from the
ground up
accompanied by whistling snakes
calling out like maddened birds
flaring into the storm of
sparkling starbursts
and fireflies twisting about
only to end in unknown curlicues,
trajectory
undefined

as if we have not enough
Vesuviuses and hurricanes
that we must stuff them into our pockets
and set the night on fire
for beauty, for pleasure
for the sheer
fireworks

Ne me touchez pas

2011-06-29T15:21:00.000-04:00

Vases

one would think, invincible
with their armoured surfaces
sprawling with pink arabesques
high – upon the mantel
or a table
far away

though in a corridor I have many
it is suddenly in this group
and on the floor
that they become so vulnerable
that if a herd of elephants, perhaps
came charging through
picking them up with their
impossible trunks
and carelessly flinging them about

no finer china
or more refined design
could stop the onslaught
of beauty, of vases.

Squished Caterpillars

2011-06-25T20:51:00.001-04:00

Upon the red-brown cobblestones,
All sprayed across the ground –
The crushed intestines roast away
Beneath a heartless sun.

In almost lovely yellow seas
The ants are interspliced –
The spotted skin resilient,
A boat beneath the waves.

Unwary of the earth they tread,
yet mindful of the way –
The time flits far too fast to note
The banquets underneath.

In torrid minutes, crisp and brown –
The bowel-juices fry;
The blood is soaked into the stone
As recognition – fades.

On Eating Sand

2011-06-24T21:02:00.000-04:00

Why must it be
boxes of sand?

I would rather it be
pails or shovel-fuls
or if I was daring
I would sprinkle it up
to the sky
and watch it
rain down
or draw a circle around me
and pretend that I endorse
witchcraft

or even eat it

but I detest these
boxes of sand
because they accomplish nothing
with their
boxiness

First Incision

2011-06-21T23:01:00.000-04:00

Cheesecake:
pouring cherry-red, livid –
delectable, shining liquid,
almost delicious

Peaking out
from beneath the demure surface,
off-white cream and mousse
perhaps delectable?

Beneath a certain knife
lies a prize
if not for tongues,
then for our hungry eyes

Christmas in June

2011-06-19T18:15:00.001-04:00

Misplaced by degrees,
this ornament will catch your eye
at certain angles –
this stuffed reindeer’s eye
will glint in such a way –

So even if you were not before
you will now

despite the misplacement of
our Christmas in June.
These trinkets, baubles, toys –
will light some sympathy in you

and you will come examine
these exotic fish-out-of-water
and hesitate

but after a few more visits
cannot resist –
succumbing, melting inside –
until the coins pass from
your hands
to ours
and seal
the deal.

It’s – Forgivable

2011-06-11T16:46:00.000-04:00

You are not impressed by much – are you?
Stand there gab,
gab
gabbling away –
with that haughty air of distaste.

You’ve seen that, done this –
you know it all – are so self-righteous.

Yet are a victim,
of society – of everyone.
And you’re so caring
and so supportive
and understanding too –

But you make me so damn mad
with your insidious lies
of supposed conquests

Though you’re kinda cute
standing there
so I’ll stand here
and laugh away the hours
at all your
precious
jokes

Uncertainty

2011-06-07T10:36:00.001-04:00

contained in the infinite eve of Choice,
hovering in the great stillness of Night –
reflecting the world in one glassy Eye,
succumbing to the inevitable pull of – Gravity?

Amygdala

2011-05-13T20:21:00.005-04:00

It is like a selective camera
which only captures certain
things

as if you were the only thing
in this entire world
and that your sunbathed face
and disarming smile
were all that I could recall

as if they could run obsessively
in loops, forever -

and if you could ask any detail of those days
I could not remember any other
than your sparkling eyes
which will haunt me forever –
as if those cruel and taunting stars
were worth more than any other recollection,
than any other
dream

And tomorrow

2011-04-24T20:59:00.004-04:00

And when I reflect on the yesterdays,
I cling stubbornly to each memory of you
as if each one would bring you close to me.
And stubbornly I tell myself
that I am a distant memory in your mind
and that my foolish hope was
a lost cause.

And when I faced my denial and
told myself that you didn’t care for me
[half as much as a frog]
I couldn’t stand the loneliness
and regretted facing the truth.

But it is better than pretending that you love me too
and better than letting fancy fallacies
become my false reality.
And so I look to my tomorrows
in which you feature less and less
and hope that one day
you will fade into the corridors
of crinkled memories
like the rest,
forgotten.

Tornerai

2011-04-18T22:59:00.004-04:00

Return to me, return to me
my cherished, cherished memory –
when sunset etched your pearly face
in everlasting, autumn grace

And dancing in the fall-time air,
immortalized in sweet despair
return to me, oh hopeless love,
return to me, my dearest love

And in the emptiness, and in the pause,
bereft I stood –
eternities in our final steps

and with that casual wave
dismissed me to the common world

and there I stood,
and here I rest,
remembering

and only memories
return.