I’ve always been fascinated by things I don’t understand.
Stars, and lightning, and
Staring at me with those sweet green eyes,
Lying to me softly about
telling no more lies
Then I realize:
Life’s a song and all is meter,
You may be sweet,
But I hear lead’s sweeter.

What I Thought When I

And there are no questions more painful to ask
Than the ones we know the answers to-
I felt them burning on my tongue so
I spat them out to you-

And now I remember the curls in your hair
And your eyes looking up at me.
There’s things that aren’t polite to talk about
when you’ve got someone on their knees,
But I could never quite focus on the moment,
always dancing away, maybe I’m anxious,
Maybe just hurting. I’ll never let one good thing in, and
If I thought about what you were doing,
I’d surely know catastrophe,
So I pushed it out away from me,
And tried not to twitch or scream,
And thought of-  and thought out-
Of your fingers slipping through my skin-
pushing past my ribs, reaching deep within,
and squeezing lightly on my heart,
Its racing as you finally start-
our minds conjoining with the beat,
we’d ease out of this dying meat-

And I hope something better’s waiting for us
I hope you’re singing about me as I’m
writing about you.
I hope I find something
Unhinged from instinct, because
A desire to breed isn’t much of a reason
to stay alive in this desolate season.


They say hardship is the seed of greatness;
That every pearl forms with a grain of sand
itching inside a mollusk.
But why is a pearl grander than a clam?
A pearl does not breathe. A pearl does not
filter. A pearl is good only for viewing –
a great thing aught be good for more,
and alleviate, not grow from, suffering.

Love (monitored)

A simple device can hold such complexity.
A pair of rings,  complete with delicate sensors
to monitor his heartbeat, to replicate
that pulse in her ring; and likewise.
Now, how lovers may never need feel alone,
for always the pulse of their other
is throbbing, gently stirring,
around their fingertips.
Picture  the faint twinge felt
when walking along the streets at night
her eyes catch another’s and-
Ba-bum-ba-bum, a fleeting flurry
some unwitting evidence of
something primal and unneeded.
He notices; how could he not?
And later when they are parted
And that stirring arises, extended,
what must he wonder? What
euphoric exertions is she committing?
How could she throw this all away?
And she wonders why her ring is
thumping along, rhythmic as
a flat on the highway.

Gentle ideas always lead to violence
and grief; and how easily
do our senses deceive. So too
do our extended senses;
our electronics report without understanding
And so we conclude without ever knowing.
When she steps through the doorway,
gym-tote slung behind her back,
there are no words she can spit
faster than the glob of lead.
And the ring’s pulse quickens, dithers,
and ceases. Proof of life to
proof of death,
all in a whisper’s width.

Sweet Waters – 1/18/19

Picking in the shade of the red haven trees
was my brother, and my father, and a very young me,
and we spoke of our neighbors, and Old Times, and cars,
of madness, of family, of infinite scars,
and my father decided as he plucked a ripe peach
that a loud man’s most eager to give a long speech,
and a rich man craves more than a man in a shack,
and those who take most will give the least back,
and, unhooking his crate, his last point was made
That water tastes sweetest when drunk in the shade.