fidelity

the hand of a god
intervened
to squash what was
believed to be inevitable

perhaps there is
withinity.
perhaps a saintly
core.

in this case, the heart does not lie.
fortune favors the agonized.

felicity

your air, your breath, your
held-high head on your helpless heart :
despite the view of others
i know whats underneath.
i've seen that bare earth,
that fertile soil

why is it
that I've run a marathon
after every encounter?
these spots behind my eyes don't lie.
try to shake it away
and your image
is scalded into the skin.
my teeth ache, wanting
to bite into your
crisp fruit,
and hear that
snap of the peel.

serendipity

a pleasing twist of fate
my long-lost twin!
or star-crossed lover
but sometimes it's not what's intended...
that....

magnetism!
we listen to love songs under the stars
fifty miles in the same patch of
night-dew

who knew? so close
can be so
far.

earthquakes leave no where to stand

trivia takes precedence
and I begin
(if only for a moment)
to move on

my clinging fingers
tire of the strain
you pull too hard -
I shame myself

internal snowstorms turn my face to stone
but when he is no longer by-and-my
the tears flow freely

I know it, I know it
what you'll always say
but what you say is not
always(ever)
what you show

it's that itching ache
that aching itch
that twinge under my heavy coat
futile to try to ease the
minute suffering
the tiny tragedy

on death, and appearances.

Americana exotica :
pin me down
just
to watch me struggle
and your laugh-lines
crease
as I beat my wings.

that blue luster
that
iridescent sheen
will fade
as your poisoned tack
works through my
helpless -hapless- shell.

as I lay diminishing
my laugh-lines
will be last
for the glass
may hold in my beauty,
my life,
but my spirit soars above


Rosa 'American Beauty' :
scented on the surface,
a pale pink touch,
a silken brush,
a million interwoven pieces.

but rot underneath.
the roots that
nourish my seemly bud
are cold
and dank
stripping minerals
from the earth
and depleting it as I grow tall
and tall
and tall.

but little do I know
that as I rob the
soil
of its blood
- - -
I rob myself
of my only source.

my greed
causes my demise.

what a fitting end to
beauty of the face.

Equus caballus :
that's right,
rope me to this sullen
pen.
I gain my food from a rusty bucket
no longer from the rich
green fields.
I go only as
you please.

but, unbeknownst,
my young man steals me away
some nights.
when the moon is full
he takes me to glittering pastures.

his fingers tickle over my sweaty coat,
his practiced
hands
soothe me
and
his deep, deep moans,
coming from the part
most men have not,
fill the
midnight air.

chain me
but this boy
sets me free.

lust

well isn't this
a regular
jaw-breaker of a confession?:

you're that pin-point
but but but
(and as much as I loathe)
I look around and those
fairy lights
catch my eye.

perhaps if you could spoon-feed
me
but it's not in your nature

and it's decidedly
(and time-tested)
not in mine
to speak
or share
enough to be
the tangible

I thought we could live
in a world of inward
but
my leaping feline
requires elsewhere

and snags its prey
through my winking eye

yaw

my fingers tingle through your mane and let me laugh with you!
let me be the one!
let's get simplistic here, and see where we stand:
you here, me here, both of us far removed from what is deemed "congruent"

look at the moon:
its surface is pocked with craters
but they write poems about it

what is life?
without its million pieces
a puzzle is but a
cardboard cut-out
a pixel of an image
nothing by itself

and so it shall be!

oh, hell, I love you
and you know I do

and inconsistency is a strong point of mine
and my circuitous nature is a strong point of mine
and my love for you weakens me
but gives me hair on my chest



what say you?
let's do this?

not-uh!

make note!
I'd do it in blood
if it didn't get sticky
and start to smell.

my words are odious enough.
expression, compression.

and for those who notice that my veins
are dripdripdripping on the
pearl-white page:

I cloak my morose (more or less)
with a grimy,
black-flecked smirk
of ashes and dust

a twisted thing, my beauty.
a sneaking demon, my thanks.


insides
aren't meant to be
transient

brain-seeds will not flourish
in unfamiliar
turf.

proph-s

ho-shit.
so you're feeling poetic?
well, baby, me too.

say it to the world while we grin despite our hate!
slip that mask on your face
grease it good so it's nice and smooth

soothe my soul with those words you
don't mean
and turn and walk when the going
gets going

the red glare of sirens
is bouncing around, bouncing around
but you put on some cheap
plastic
sunglasses
and hide from it
hide, hide, hide

and here I stand
alone on my feet

this stool's getting cold
and the air's turning to ice
stinging my throat as I breathe
in and in and in

so I wonder:
if you feel so poetic?

poetic, poetic, poetic.
don't be poetic.
be true
to me
be true
to you