Thursday, February 25, 2010

Pseudo-Proclamation, poem

I’ll say it—but I won’t.
I’m scared.

How stupid does that sound?

When you ask me, you’ll hear the ocean—
you’re on hold after all while I slip away

Innuendo: there’s lots
piled up between Us to which we contribute

It’s frustrating, I know,
especially when the thought (or theory) slaps my cheek,
forcing my focus on This
sickening possibility—probability?
that our dance is just a Disney

Some of it is ‘cause only a fool would
in the notion that we’ll just (together) “be”
with no bumps, scratches, scars,
on our egos and sanity
but my body wants to audition
the score anyhow.

I’ve said it but I haven’t.
and I...think the words would wither
before they touched your cognition of
What if?
for a couple of wondering wiles and bods.

I’ve said it. But I won’t.
It scares me, so I’ll Crush instead.
It’s infuriating, but at least
now you know.


can you hear the beast
(it’s breathing, hot upon my neck)—
this mask may meet with each tantalizing
tempting the
I touch up the veneer with my experienced
keeping my guise in check

before It can claw its way from my
I’ll assuage It with the promise of letting It

when the Great One wanes its icy light
illuminating the vermin we’re to
penetrating their facades
for I see
reflected in their twisted

tear off the mask
breathe in
Beast out—
a calculating Monster with flare

cue from the Moon,
it’s time to embrace my
with these Passenger’s arms
of this thrilling
Fitting In

Sunday, February 21, 2010


I want to want you,
I want to say something
so you’ll turn your head and come
to me.

I want to ask you
for affection and attention
so we could curl up together
and exhale the night away.

Yet I’m sitting here, seemingly
lost in what if’s with every step
I take, back
towards where we first saw
eye-to-eye, and foresaw
bliss in our first “tell” without the
innuendo’d “show.”

And you’re on my mind tonight
it’s a repetitive thing—like how I’ve been
chasing my tale—
a cycle of wonder, wander, want—

Then what?

That’s so feline:
wanting things—
or seeming to and all the while
I’m wanting You

Thursday, February 04, 2010

ash to Ash--poem

Let me be in the sun—
I’ll burn for the right reasons
instead of letting this blood
for an unobtainable ghost.

Let me be in the sun—
I’m gluttonous for light
in this dust-cloud
of the delusions in
my waking dreams.

Let me be in the sun—
I’ll thrive or fly to
at least I’ll be something new, something fresh
and flowering
or a soaring wraith of fire.

Let me be in the sun—
since you won’t let me be in you.
Any scalding I bear
will be gentler, dear,
than how I burned for