I watch them all gather

to view the setting of the sun

but when the indigo spreads

poisoning the light

they will run away and hide

when the moon declares its hatred

of the cloying wistful night


Sainted Sun

You can scour every inch of this field

a fist in the small of your back

aching from your stooping low

but you won’t find one tormented corner unoccupied

not by beasts of burden

or food for thought

You could linger there like a criminal in alley

opportunist on a midnight stroll

or you could find some personality to shed

just hover over me instead

and wait until the glimmer leaves my sainted sight

then kiss my lips pink and warm throughout the dreaded night

for no piercing

under any Jesus rib

will dull the lust that seeds the soil

that grows the killing weed of our desire

to rupture every bloody rising  sun

and watch the stars become undone


He said I was his lucky charm

something to dangle on pensive days

in the face of fate and destiny

just in case suspicion darkened his vision

on some rare up close occasions

when he failed to rid us of the flies and maggots of our derision

the two of us would huddle under northern starry skies

and ply each other with enough schemes to plant a crop of fantasy

Oh we were good back then

in our love filled isolation

impaling our souls daily on the Steeple

at the top of the mountain

of our blissful cool demise


I have made a quantum leap

now I’m walking on the face of your moon

beneath starlight, tripping the light fantastic

shaking off rose petals and romantic poison

that cling ball and chain to my feet

but we both know with age there is reason

that insecurity always precludes the necessity of friendship

no matter the  turn of the season


The Absence

I wanted to find the perfect word

to describe the way leaves part from the trees

in their autumn of goodbye

but instead I’ll discuss my own removal

a silent shivering orphan

disappearing around hidden corners and up dead end streets

and all the ghosts I’ve ever known

Play my dirge so sweetly

their cold hands know each note by heart



The Crocus and the Daffodil

The crocus and the daffodil will poke their careless naive selves through the wall of March dirt and the big killing sun will stay suspended longer over our bowed reverent heads paying homage to our wishful thinking and all the while we keep it chained, the deep defining terror burning holes in the fabric of our best intentions and on and on, this will blow like the continuous wind of sex and passion into the gritty days and nights of August when the truth you hide will claw its way out of that tiny hole you call adoration and with it the end will say hello just as we are parting to say goodbye never to return for this or any other spring.




From butter yellow sunrises

To firecracker sunsets

I lumbered under the weight of a thousand eyes

Watching to see the cracks expand and swallow me alive


Over hills and bridges I walked in endless exhaustion

Under the radar I flew spreading my illegal wings

I dug underneath the refuse of discarded human beings

Feeling my way in the light of their darkness


In the hours between terror and cold daylight

Out of the black and blue and into the red

I watched their lips move in time to their lies

Listening for the melody of truth inside the dirty beat