082808

I stare into the mirror peering
face into a phantom leering
who the fuck is this woman?

Sunken eyes, a face the shell-
the hallowed exoskeleton tell
me what the hell are you looking at?

You drone around here vacant eyed
darkened with detachment tried
the sting of denied emotion;

I hate you with your glass blown stare
the mask that's always, always there
cheekbones to hide expression.

Behind your down-turned smile eyes
Your oxygen comprised of lies
I hate you with your character.

Your freckles analytical
your mouth awake and always full
of lines rehearsed and spoken

A broken dozen roles you play
your daily life a matinée
I hate you with your DNA.
I hate you with your logic.

Quote.

"Passion enslaves
no matter how willingly
we wear it's shackles."

For Liz.

You wrote nonsense on the inside of my ears
and it swirled in an atmospheric pressure.
You looked into my ambiance like
first dates and ice cream cones
and erotica shoved under the bed.

You were gold and tangerine sofabeds
slipped in the corner of the bedroom.

I was mirrors on the ceiling
and cast-iron bed posts.
I wanted you like face flushed in firelight
though your lips are small like mine.

You spoke the passion of jet fuel
into the faces of breathless lovers
and I wanted to crawl inside of your bones.

You bled black opals into an ocean made of jasmine
and I wanted to light you like incense-
burn you long in ribbons
that curl around my flesh-
let you satiate my brain
as bubbles in tonic.

You stretched naked onto midnight quicksand
and allowed me to cover
your arteries in kisses;
but they were too sweet and

I wanted to bury you in the earth,
bathe your body in maternity,
and then devour the fruits
of my labor slowly- like fine chocolate.

You wrote nonsense on the inside of my skin
and it pulsed into my lymph-nodes
beaded out of my pores, onto my flesh,
transforming my epidermis into ecstasy.

You laid your self out on my hands
and gave me vulnerability and
the trust of your first time
with your first lover,
although this is not the first time
and we are not lovers.

Ghazal written with Wendy.

This breeze is a tyrant of possibilities.
I let out my heat and move every leaf in the clearing.

The chill cyclone swallows my skin.
Each pore aroused and pulsing into night.

On the rolling backside of the bay.
Starlight churns up from the ocean.

Feet numbing against the husks of summer
hips thrust in a pulsing ambition.

My body breaks the wind down to it's owl screech center
and it pulls me in deep midnight ricochet.

Naked in the mouth of wind
I am lust on the sea of my dreams.

082508

Our bittersweet battle is Jersey-knit cotton.
Our bittersweet battle is empty bookshelves.
Our bittersweet battle is my cast-iron innocence.
Our bittersweet battle is a hidden cage.

Our bittersweet battle is citric on cracked lips.
Our bittersweet battle is dried flowers.
Our bittersweet battle is your soup in my cupboard.
Our bittersweet battle is unhealed scars.

Our bittersweet battle is my childhood regression.
Our bittersweet battle is disappointment.
Our bittersweet battle is divided expression.
Our bittersweet battle is translusive.

082408- Campfire Starlight

You make me ache in the pit of my soul.
And you go to my head like smoke.
And you drive me crazy like boogy-woogie-oogie.
And I'll kiss your face like tangerine.

And the clouds will devour us all.
And you could steal my sliver.
Fuck syllables. Fuck salivac.
Saliva flowing five-seven-five.
This myth is sex on fireworks.

Capture a moment in the simplest form,
and I just want to live.
And that is what it really boils down to.

082408- Heard poem.

That's mine!
It's like the size of Texas
and we fuckin' mixed it.

There's phosphorescences.
And guitar.
And music.
And melody.
And is this my notebook?
Yes, this is my notebook.

And 11:47 is moonrise.
And, Riley,
this is what it's all about.
And I'm gonna play poetry music
for you to write to.

You write to Poodle-Muffin,
who should not be fighting.
And we lost Joe.
Off the bench we lost her.

Play me a song.
I'd like to save it
and keep the memories.