I want my lover to be the
way I eat his poetry,
like a delicacy, sweet to the bone
of his fingers,
salivating
and
taking me places
I've never been before
rendezvous-ing with untoward
lucid metaphor
naked in crisp white-ironed
summer-flowered sheets
of
possession and
unhinged imagination

Old timer, what debate do you pose on truth
The one I know freezes passion’s fire
Leaving behind demons that bathe in holy water

Old timer, quit selling those well told lies
Don’t talk about honesty, when yours was tainted
You speak of strength as if you were her child
We both know that you are the son of weakness

Rather than showing scars, you hide them well
In the comfort of walls you built, you cry another’s tears
Oh, old timer quit your war stories, they are of no use

Never did he take your hand,
He left you alone,
Lying there,
Letting that last one fall.

Never did you believe,
Because you were smarter than that,
He was the one,
But somehow he changed.

He asked for your hand,
You dove in blindly,
And he never knew,
Why you ran away.

Now alone he keeps himself,
No one knows who he is,
A shadow on the wall,
You were always his whole world.

CRY NOT

Cry not my love, cry not, though owls hoot in your chimney,
black with soot, their wooden wails, debilitated secret voices
of your mind, its wisdom dissipated by disease, ill at ease;
the curtain of days drawn shadows now turned to stone,

congealed, concealed your heart, yet within the granite
lie those feldspar crystals, quartz and precious gems,
the colours as the iris of your eye describes the beauty
you still hold; caught in the web of your own net,

Let me hear your laughing voice
each night before I go to bed
and see the shadow of your form
elegant as the day we wed

I like to brush that hair aside
which tends to drop and hide your eyes
and saying something off the cuff
which catches you by pure surprise

And frowning at your puzzle book
on the couch as I sit here and write
in your old tee shirt and stained sweat pants
beneath the floor lamp's cozy light

You are the spring of life
and I

the autumn
spread like wild leaves
across the meadows

and

distant horizon…

as you’re the rising sun
to smear a few rays perhaps
at a leaf maybe just one…

thanks for passing by
you make an autumn leaf
in me
fly sky high!

He was the good son
and brother, as well;

with a hunger for living
he couldn't quite quell;

his life was his family
'til he sent them, away;

my friend Red, cannot come out to play.

~

Quite tortured in life
Red still wore a smile,

inspiring awe
but, that was Red's style;

a sponsor, a mentor,
a student of the day;

Red's hope began slipping away.

~

What I remember of Red is,
he'd never condone,

If I could give something of mine away
I would not hesitate to take
My brain out…wrap it up in soft gauze
Pack it up in an old brown box
And in red ink…in block letters…
Scribble ‘FRAGILE’ on all six faces
…
If I could ask a favour from the most high
I’d say this prayer with a sigh;
‘O Lord, as a gift I need your mercy
I need you to take away my memory
Take the anger…take the bitterness
They leave me tired...they leave me stressed
…
Tonight it's just gray thoughts

WHEN ALL YOUR WALLS COME TUMBLING DWN

Who gave me a heart
that breaks so easily
and a soul
by the only name I know
that bleeds too deeply
in a body now frail
and old.

Who gave me eyes
that see too clearly
and a mind
blind to its own deceptions

And what does it take
to keep a heart from dying
when all your walls
come tumbling down.

vestige vernacular
theres an itch smouldering
like a tricky ditch number
etched on the sketch
the nicotine sucked
fingers

growl "Lifes a bitch"

your a packet rack
stitched in jacked up
couture

leg slink climb from
heels to help get you
through the weathers
tell me your name
"You can call me Heather"

Boot Heel King walks on
with the flame of neon
flickering in slits