alchemy.

I’m pleading to the artist
whose biggest art is always
to find the dream within concrete
to not let truth become deceit
to take what isn’t and make it so

Like alchemists we mix our symbols
take thoughts turn them to gold
take feelings and let them sizzle
let senses ex- and implode

The people now in charge
know too the art of turning
one into other
dreams into graphs
goldrocks into money

I plead to you o artist
who I know and feel her heart is
in parlay with sex and sense

I ask of you to use your weapons
of thought and rhyme and song
to paint, to weave an understanding,
not from but into gold.

October 2016

half full.

Drained of my juice
drained to but the last drop
the innocent remainder
who refused its departure
to torture by its mere presence
its mere being a drop

This is what was
don’t you forget
don’t regret the sweat it took
the hours, the nightmares,
the tensions, the fear.
Only to arrive here - at emptiness?

Once again the glass is empty
fresh start announced by vacancy.
Only pulp on the brim,
the bitter reminder of what has, what could’ve been

Judged by the smudged lip stain
I whine the glass is empty.
It was me who drank it all up
me who emptied the cup
left nothing but slush and a drop

I reach for the chalice,
ready to lift in distain.
Then remember at last:
it was me who filled it up, too.
Me, who squeezed all that juice
it was mine to drink all along.
Empty feels good, after all.

November 2016

remember.

Remember when we could fly
when yesterday didn’t define today
when tomorrow was light years away?

Remember when we could fly
when sadness didn’t linger
when fear would always pass?

Remember when we could fly
when answers didn’t matter
when anger didn’t numb?

Remember when we could fly
when shame didn’t punish
when guilt was a lie?

Remember! We could fly!

March 2016

pneumatic smolder

a flush of
the cheek, a
shivering nape, a
chin indicating;

haste gaze at
the feet
a flick of
the tongue, shy

lids and those
lashes
a nip of the
toke, lips growing

bold
a sip of the
drink, that
skittishy shoulder, one

grin, one
lick of the rim,
this
pneumatic smolder

2016

passage talk.

I let pass through
what needs to
but be so kind
a word of warning
before you screw me
up as if you knew me
I trust thee

I pass through thee
as if you knew me
want to screw you
up and absorb thee
wholly and fully
this is my warning
I lust thee

March 2017

unveil.

lift the sift of the past
of the pretend future

unveil. breath. in. out.
tidal waves of criticism.

bubbles in concrete walls
blob open and up
flairs of air
of familiarity
of stamina unknown

rusty lust shines again
shoulders sink to
let the being be
to roam at liberty
and loud and bold
to scream with open eyes
to let our gaze float free
until it hits and eye
to know you’re not alone

to seize
to snort the breeze of opportunity
to grab the dick by the nose
to linger with nails in flesh
to absorb the pain caused, consciously
to be the sunset, instead of running from it.

March 2016