intimacy

We rose up slowly
As if
We didn´t belong to the outside world
Any more
like swimmers in the shadowy dream
we didn´t need to breethe

i missed you before i ever knew you
i would think about you during the nights when i wasn’t alone
but i was lonely
i'd reach over and feel the body that shared a bed with me
i knew the patterns
the way to move
and where to touch
but my mind was a blank canvas
and you had the brushes
i didn’t know it
but i wanted you to paint me then
and i want you to paint me now
now that i am alone
but not lonely
i am ready for you to fill up my mind
with every colour you imagine

ballast hums its vibrato
spinning its wavelengths
picture a fly dying spinning
on its back round and round
in the sterile white of the bowl
sink...the chrome polished
sharp like a scalpels gleam
escaping through a dream
the cold wash of light
drips as dependent as
a faucets bleeding impatience
drop by noisy drop
A television throws its
puppet show grin
on walls a ghost
dance
medicated sedated
lying on the floor
give up
don't stand up
a phone unbridled

Cursed

Written by: Mario Vitale
A heart can bleed an evil deed

Yet in nature lie dormant after the fall
A return to fear after all
The climatic edge toward their own demise
Still a word to the wise

Cursed
A sin will always find you out
This ought to give the sinner something to bitch & pout
To light a flame in shouts of anguish after the fall

I dabble into the void
To be as nonexistent
As what's not seen yet pretend I'm omniscient
Not recognizing the difference
I'm ego driven.....

THROUGH A WINDOW

acacia and red ixora bleeding
under the mid day sun, couched in velvet green,
a mimosa tree sensually swaying
In an ocean breeze… these I see
in frames horizontal through open
slats of mahogany.
like Tantalus I long to drink the cool waters
before me, but I too am crucified
to a stone not of my own making.

Maybe I see
What no one else can
Dreaming an everlasting dream
Believing in everlasting lies
Hoping to be someone
To somebody, when everyone
Is nobody special

What is it that you see
Every time you look straight
Through me, past everything
Staring into the darkness

So ugly that the
Reflection of me is
Repulsive
Hating to love, loving to hate
It's pointless, useless

No kids live here,
only the occasional Eastern Grey Squirrel,
and the black squirrels I saw for the first time
five years ago in Canton.

I've not seen a child 'round these parts,
save for once or twice;
once or twice my own,
or the children of one of my neighbors,
while visiting.

And it's not that it's an unfriendly place;
it's pleasant enough, in fact.
But this place,
where the lawn is mowed,
is a transition more than a home.

Visionaries deem
That vaunted National Dream
Has run out of steam