I awoke with your name
yearning between
my once-restless legs
A surge, pulsing,
shuddering
Wanting me to want
you Tasting your distance
Calling for you
These lips suffused with desire
calling for you November 4, 2009
these whispers heat November 3, 2009
drawing in blood
I trace outlines of a future
(imagine)
how these whispers
heat a cold november morning
this sky ribbed and
endless
(freedom)
how my heart navigates undulating
shadows and light
(faith)
how these wings unfurl within
this divine embrace
mock me with November 2, 2009
The sheets are cold
The pillows mock me
with their softness
The bed is vast and vacuous
Without you
a makeshift heart November 1, 2009
An entire life dedicated
to a makeshift heart
to holding the idea of this love still.
And hold, it did, through storms of fallen debris
from the mighty gods of wind and wrath above,
through long, cold winters of barren fields
and cynics, through the incorrigible heat
of summers run wild; lustful and lost.
When, one day, the image of Hope Remembered arrives
on a city block corner at seven p.m.
and the all of everything becomes manifest,
Red threads that tie you to me
in just one look.
It was a Wednesday.
forget pain, afire October 29, 2009
fuse with my heart in a gesture of forsaken pasts
my body urging to forget pain,
afire with the hope I dug out of fallow fields
just this once October 28, 2009
morning frost on vintage windows
hide my seeking
keep from me the epitaph
of this love
just this once
or just for now
the acid aftermath October 27, 2009
Stand
Alone in the darkness of
a steel world,
sharp edges piercing the
heart you long to keep soft
in the cold dark of winter’s day.
Raw
Scrubbed to flesh
that stings in the acid aftermath
of your broken dreams,
this Eden failing at every turn.
No fig leaves generous enough
to hide your mortal shame.
are strong enough October 25, 2009
We, the fairer sex.
Softening the edges of the pictures they take of you,
picking up where you leave off,
knowing that our supple hearts are strong enough
to bend you into love.
the mortal heart October 25, 2009
As a poet there are so few modern places to shine
We are usually most popular after our untimely deaths
And with those whom never felt our true affections, while
Our lovers are deep, dejected, desolate. We animate love’s
grace through the pen in
stolen observations and tinted
memories of the senses
Never do we hold else higher than
love, and in so doing, we
allow a kind of devaluing
of our craft—as if words that
stir the mortal heart are
cheap and plentiful.
Lo, I know these words are
more rare even than the
love of which they speak, which
at this point is some kind
of unannounced miracle.
Fallen from the starry night sky
mistaken for sin October 19, 2009
Your holiness
mistaken for gratuitous sin
I summon the whispers of yesterday
to break you;
Shattered
swept up into the wholeness you seek
