her, I

Spiraling to soil in deep, concentric circles,Yesterday's words seem to bloom asDaffodils or Sunflowers- Roses left unattended,Neatly kept under glass hoods, waiting patiently for years;Every new syllable seems to drip with intoxicating sensualityYes, a soft whisper for two: felt and never heard

Thoughts on Death

When I die, I will See a door, The hinges connected to… strange… The knob is a deep rustic brass and I grab, The ticks beneath the slow turn tell me that it's been some time since anyone has opened it; I don't fiddle, although time feels both to be speeding around and oozing slowly … Continue reading Thoughts on Death

Re: her

For what will have happened Reciprocation bends her thinly plumaged swan neck and Every pore starts to pulse with the anticipation of well earned sweat;Loving kindness, manifested through honest Hazel eyes;One piece of ethereal folded soul, slowly and surely reaching out to the Completion of itself, where glances and tones cross and criss-cross, thenAlabaster and earth … Continue reading Re: her

Self Portrait 1

Sitting still in the quiet of the snoring deep back ex-study,purpled sky double down and pockedSnow packed and drifty as dreams on the tongueSqueachy rubbersoled double-knot weatherproof winterboots ooze their trekked tale slowly into the carpets ear;looking for, no, sifting through the... stop.rummaging around between folds of grey matter, electricity, somewhere between there seems to be … Continue reading Self Portrait 1

Twenty-four (or “Twenty-three Revisited”)

Twenty-four. Twenty-three. He's the age of the pendulum. Adding slowly to the pile of years, he counts. Looking up from dusty cities with lamb-path streets, and following lonely roads to ice-coated highways and cities locked in pride of place. Twenty-three looks for the stupidity in his "wisdom," he looks for the peace in his "rage," … Continue reading Twenty-four (or “Twenty-three Revisited”)