From November, 2018

Poem #77

Originally posted on Luna:
You are one sin, one vice short to be perfect. Can I be one of those for you tonight? If you have a wonderful flaw it will make you seem so much more real. Let me show you the wild side of this night filled with stars. Grab a bottle from the bar, it should be enough. Dance, yell, kiss me like we are alone. Don’t think about tomorrow, don’t hold yourself back. I’m by your side, the night will hide us in its arms.


I Lurk Late, Futon Dreams

And so the raven peers perched atop my head into my perception, bores with its beak a bolt– hole through my eyes   and the hands descend fanning out behind my skull, each enladen with an eye in the palm   and it all fell into place when I traversed the hallway of consciousness, looking down that corridor of books, realizing just how much I’d gotten myself into.   So now I recount this dream on the backs of poems while my three black cats sit idly by– one of them now jumping for the paper hanging from the nail…


When the Pretentious are Confused

the people sit in circles eating small meals while recounting what came before   when they open their mouths they speak as if they’ve got “it” all figured out and direct their limbs so elegantly one might mistake them for some prominent conductor or maybe even an old Greek statue — how they hold their arms outstretched — their fingertips extensions of their minds   but then the moment passes and they’re no longer paused because they don’t know anymore than anyone else does, lost just the same, mesmerized by freedom’s haunt

strengths weaknesses opportunities threats

this expiration date not yet decided. this system not yet subverted.   this lover not yet acclimated. this tension not yet resolved…   …twenty one years ignorant …twenty one years liberated   I struggle with accountability. I free myself through language.   I push through silence, I’d carry your cross…


Pas Encore…

Nous Voici. Nous y revoila, se balancant a travers les saisons mon ami. Donc Nous Voici, Nous y revoila, Comptant Nos benedictions seul dans le silence que se couche dessous nos sentiments… alors seul, maintenant seul, seul alors même pendant que nous rêvons de l’autre… Nous allons donc pas l’accent sur le reste. Juste nous permettre a fleur ces merveilleux choses grandissant entre toi et moi: Un Amour Mûri, Une Passion intacte et pure, Un Amour épanoui… Un Amour issu de respect mutuel, Un Amour non reconnu… Pas tout de suite… Pas tout de suite.

Not Yet

Here We Are Here We Are Again   Swinging Ourselves through The Seasons My Friend   So Here We Are Here We Are Again   Counting Our Blessings Alone in the Stillness That Lies Beneath   Lonely Now Lonely Then Lonely Even as We Think of Each Other   So Let’s Not Stress the Rest Just Allow it to Blossom These Lovely Fruits Grown from Our Chests:   A Love Matured A Love Untarnished and Pure A Love Flourished   A Love Born from Mutual Respect A Love Not Recognized   Not Just Yet…   Not Just Yet.