Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Like Frida

differing styles of masters
should not make quarreling bastards;
so ass is chapped, face slapped,
and you think you know 'gab;'
reasons hued, misconstrued,
stories told, heads rolled.
worth keeping?
who's weeping?
siamese twins.

unfair advantages
led to sabotages,
may wade putrid carrion
seeking redemption.
seek gawain?
drink wine?
dying frenzied friends.

need night train
fast-witted hands
undelivered plans.
crucify me,
fucking kill me.
not like this.

kill me downtown
no one around
no witness

fucking tear me.
tearing me
inside out
from the core
ripping through my womb,
like Frida,
I began to die

Like Frida,
the man shined

Like Frida,
I wanted

to live

to be an artist


He taught her.

Teach me.

Do not teach me.

Cast me.

Let me cast you

in rhythmic sangre.

'nel agua de ritmo.


Did she die of the metal?

or of the cancer?

Slay me quickly.

craving for you smolders

as violently as friday night

when i gave it best i could

to the page

not half as good

as i'm gonna give it

to you

this one is what you think it is about

slowed down some

that (friday) was first time

in a long time

with you

flood no longer bursting

through concrete

but rising high



long afternoon of trading




i want you to beg



make my mouth no longer empty

god i know that you want me
and cant think of anything
except wrapping my self around
your passion
your rod of passion
stokes my inferno
and i fall
you fall
in my burning lair
somehow im there
in it with you
and we are demons
with long tongues
and fingers that
wrap around and
in every opening that
is not there

my body screams your name
in bestial lust
hellish fury
begs you to throw your fire
over me
ram your torch
in me
solder your mark on my walls
in my soul
with your satanic brand
over and
over and
until your name is all
anyone sees
until i have to be
sought with a lens
until i am
until i cry
that i cant take anymore
(but i can)
until i die
(but i wont)
until i faint
(i might--
-- i want to)


empty mouth
chokes on your


I hated that I love you
Each eye sliced off a piece of itself
for you
Internal hurricane
Black and white burst into prism
thrust hard
seared into my walls
whispered, orgasmed out my mouth
head flew back in slow motion
sun-blinded eyes could not stop
undulating for
Touching wisps of hair twisted and pulled
Our bodies tangled, wrestled
Gripped, morphed
I want your sacrament in me
I want your darkness in me
My silent tongue
touches your name a hundred times
begging for mercy
But in truth I do not want mercy


Cannot reason, think of anything in my stupor
Do not want out, only probed dragged pulled
over your post
Joyfully savagely over your solid whipping post
Up and down
I will rake you over my coals
Slamming like an angry screen door
because I am so mad at you
that I want you to feel my hurt, my anger
Let it burn
Because I want you to know
How much I want you to know
how much I want you


I want you to wish you had never met me
because you know there will never be anyone else
It will never feel like this, this damn good, ever again
No matter what, you will always know it is this good
Not because of what is out but what is in
I want you in
You want me in
I am ashamed to tell you I love you
But it fights like a possessed nymph to show itself
and consume you


Worship through the glass
Nothing nothing nothing
not even rejection
self-piteous smoke dissipated
black white cremated
blinding prism illuminated my walls
slow stunning charge melted my being
dying breath softly escaped
limp trembling wet molten glass


Abandoned in broad daylight
Wrong again
Dead wrong
I died again
Today I mourned my own death
without knowing why
I couldn't let you go
Should I?


Making love to my neural receptors
through the fastest conductors
Each line a stroke
Each angle a hold
Arches grip muscle and bone
Twists my hair
Turns my head back again
Fervent recollection
Sticks in my throat
I saw you in me and I let go


Orgasm ended
Chemically induced tears flowed
I don't know, don't know
if I'm doing it right
Turn on a light
Lest I lose you forever in the dark
I want to please you
Know what races your heart
What stings you, sucks your air
currents you to involuntary
heaves and jolts
What makes you groan and quiver
What makes you shiver
and sob like a child
to be held
to be melded
I would die to learn by doing
and watching the curves and lines on your face
and feeling your tensions and relaxations
and memorizing your soft moans
and your frenzied broken phrases


I wanted to fucking curse out loud
when I saw you fucking me and me
lowering my circle of lust around your iron


I want to buy a ticket,
go all night,
to the world's greatest
bullriding contest.
Let's play rodeo!


How can you tease me like that?
Is it the build up? the suspense?
The look in your eyes
will sledge cracks in the dam.
One touch will create a deluge.
When you kiss me,
I will die
of an overdose
spontaneous combustion.


I want to pry
my way into parts of you
that none have entered,
fill you up so
that you will die without me

*Previously published. I like it tonight. ;-)

Monday, May 18, 2009

What is reality if not honesty?


____I asked you for water,
You gave me wine

________I asked you for bread,
____You brought it with meat

____________I asked you for a pillow,
________You offered your shoulder

I asked how to thank you,
____You asked me to be real

let there be
no more worms
for thee

A new day dawns in time
to reawaken,
believe in the simplicity
of caring;
hope for humanity lives
not in dreams,
but on the ground,
a solid corner stone
on which to build
a trust

Spring's first daisies
came today
I plucked one
and tucked her
behind my ear

I'm pretty

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Stronger than ever, my love for you,
surviving battles so thick
the ammo gone, bayonets left

Hearts trump spades,
and I see only diamonds in your eyes
as we lay down our mallets

Arms weary from swinging now rest
around your sore shoulders,
easing the aches, soaking in comfort

I kiss your cheek, your neck, your hair,
smelling the familiar,
tasting the known,
finding myself in you

Your sweet smile fills my heart,
and I know how lucky I am
to be this close to you,
and you let me love you

How do two people know when love is real?
How can one be sure the other is not pretending
or only believing to be in love?
Some know,
said so
in the break room.
Don't know how lucky they are.

Stoned Date

Surprised I wanted it, your kiss, after you flashed your dick at me. Don't want to see it. Not now, not like this. Rambling on about how you know people. Two young women dressed for summer walk in front of us, stop and talk unembarrassed. Think we won't listen.

"Look," you say, " She wants it, but the other chick is playing hard to get. Like you."

Thought in my head, "Better than thinking I'm pumping you for info."

The womangirls leave. You go on and on, rambling about everything and nothing. I want to leave now - but not really.

"Kiss me now before I change my mind."

For a hot millisecond, you roll your eyes as if, "Finally - Hey, she wasn't listening to me - She wants a kiss."

Lips touch first. Hands find their way to your muscle, to my softness. Lips part. You lift my hand to your lips, kissing my fingers. I pull away. I don't want to let you like me that much. I don't want to like you that much. But, oh, the kiss was nice. I expected a covered, sloppy mouth, but you were skillful, manipulative, full of intent. Glad you brushed your teeth first. I don't like overwhelming cigarettes.

Neither of us wants to be here now. To your place. Nice, clean, simple. I prefer simple houses. Get lost in the big, fancy ones, especially the ones with hidden passages and double doors.

Turn on the tv, like that is supposed to entertain me while you light a cigarette and change your clothes, half in front of me, half in the bedroom. Like Cris Angel, you disappear for a while when I thought you were right there. The glass table is interesting. I like that there are not many distractions. Except you come back and ask me what is on the tv. For the third time, I tell you that I do not watch tv often.

So you pick up your cell phone and play with it, put it down. No, I do not want soda, juice, water, nothing. I am not thirsty. I want my shoes on. You pick up my feet and take them off. You do not know that I need to be in control of my own body. The last man to take my shoes, my red tennis shoes with tiny Tweety birds all over them, he took them and threw them into the great Atlantic. I never saw them again. My pretty red shoes. I was so mad. My four year old mouth screamed profanities at him. Wanted to run at him, but I did not because I knew. And I was not in physical danger. Never started the physical violence, but even at four, I would not take it without a fight.

My shoes, black, silver, pink, running shoes sitting to the left of the glass table now. Not thrown, sitting neatly. Still, I am uncomfortable, failing to hide it. Unsure whether to move closer to me, you pick up the cell again. Play with the wires, to make it charge or something. You are sexy in your t-shirt and shorts, but your words are beginning to slur, come faster, and your eyelids are drooping, the whites of your eyes beginning to glow red. You said you didn't take anything. You might figure out your phone if you turn on a light.

Before I can say so, you tell me how much you like eating pussy, how you would eat my pussy so good. How much I am going to like it. As you talk, your eyes point at me, at the bedroom, at me again, and again. Stand up and walk to the bedroom door, telling me how all the women want you, they beg you. You never have to ask them for sex. You ask them "Are you sure you want this?" How polite of you. "And they always say 'give it to me' while they pull my hips into them." Come back, sit down, play with your phone again.

Your eyes. I barely see you now behind these stranger's eyes, looking at me. Stripping me.

"You don't seem well," I say, "You look high."

Deny. Get up. Stand over me. Lean down... Hold my face, not forceful, in your hands, and lay one on me. Tongue, lips, neck answer, but the rest is fear frozen. I know you are on something, and pull away. Back to the cell phone.

Not listening to your stoned ramble. My shoes. I don't want to leave them. If I start to put them on, you will take them. I don't want you to manhandle me again. My tae kwon do will do nothing here, just the two of us. You high. Can I find my way out? I ask you about your cell phone. You already told me what you were doing, but you don't remember that part, you are so out of it. Try to look behind me without looking behind me at the kitchen where we came in together. Sometimes I get turned around in small, simple houses, too. Shit.

You're still talking, head drooping. Cigarette dangling. I bet you would fall over if you tried to stand up too fast. How much longer till your patience runs out or you pass out? I cannot bet on that.

Single motion - grab shoes, run out the kitchen door. Look back once like Lot's wife. You sit, a pillar of life's salt with bloodshot eyes, not surprised. More like "That was a smooth move. Damn, you got one over on me."

Good, left was right. And I didn't fumble the door knob. Car's right there; he's not chasing. But my socks run anyway across the grass. Don't drop the keys. There's not enough light from the telephone pole for them to shine down in the black grass. Push the key fob. Can't believe I ever said they were a novelty. Lock the door. Drive, dammit. Don't think about it. Just drive.

My hard luck bones,
needed a home
to end the roam,
a place called "own,"
my hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones
thought they had slowed,
had found a home,
could settle some,
my hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones
for touch did moan,
louder did groan
striking the tones,
my hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones
they nearly froze,
but words found floes;
Expression flows,
and flows and flows,
and flows and flows,
and flows and flows
from hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones
are filled with holes
bored by your woes,
and by my knows,
and by your throws,
and by my lows,
and by your stones,
and by my no's,
and by your chokes,
and by my woes,
and through your holds,
my life forgoes
with hard luck bones,
bones filled with holes,
holes filled with stones
to make me whole;
Need many stones
for hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones,
hard path I chose,
and not I chose,
yet I blame none,
in life is done,
and what is done,
my bones have done,
mistakes are some,
I'm not alone,
I'm not alone,
not only one
with erring bones,
so throw your stones
at hard luck bones,
so throw your stones
at hard luck bones,
my hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones,
have dreams that grow,
to hope they hold,
for grassy knolls,
bright petals strewn,
where sunlight shone,
where hearts are wove,
and tongues are wove,
with pens are wove,
and woes are flown,
and sorrows gone,
and woes are none,
and hard luck done,
and love is come
to hard luck bones,
my beautiful bones,
my scarred bones,
my living bones,
my breathing bones,
carry the drones
few others know,
that no one knows,
Everyone knows,
has hard luck bones,
Everyone tows
some hard luck bones,
just like my bones,
my hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones
are not so old,
and they still grow,
ring louder tolls,
sound brighter tones,
happier tones,
melodious tones,
more joyous tones,
my hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones,
my bones I chose
to scribe in poems;
impatient prose,
I cannot pose,
remain disrobed
baring my bones,
their countless holes
repaired with stones,
make stronger bones,
My hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones,
to rise I chose,
bad doors I close,
and open those
where new life flows,
and bones will grow,
and grow and grow,
and grow and glow,
and glow and grow,
and walk new roads,
and peal new tolls,
follow new floes,
survive more holes,
words to be honed
with hard luck bones,
words being honed
by bones and stones,
words carved and honed
upon the stones,
words cut and honed
on hard luck bones,
my words are bones,
my hard luck bones.

My hard luck bones,
my poems are home
for hard luck bones,
my poems they own
my bones they own,
a place called "home,"
my hard luck bones
have found a home,
a home to own,
my poems are home,
my hard luck bones.

Each breath thereafter was painted
The color of life saved, though tainted. ("by _____" --you fill in the blank.)
With life owed each in every step,
Forever to carry their debt,
Unspoken debt for redemption.
Respect, trust allowed an exemption.
Marks carved upon each others' bones,
Cut with honor by blunted stones.
A humble vow, a shared disgrace,
They descended a lowly place.
But then they shared a sacred toll,
Courage to lift each others' soul.

I want the waves to have something of me to take back when the tide comes. -Lluvia

What is cannot be not

anymore than thoughts can be unthought

or hard lessons be untaught

than evening shadows uncast, startling discoveries unfound

truths unveiled remasked, pivotal moments rewound

sacred oaths unsworn, first kisses unsavored

children unborn, selfless acts unlabored,

blessed infants unchristened, false fortunes untold

new moons unrisen, desperate souls unsold

bewitching charms unconjured, pendulums unswayed

blazing touches unfelt, broken hearts unbetrayed

stories unimagined, Shakespeare's sonnets unsung

ideas unfashioned, Hemingway's tolls unrung

timid glances unstolen, ardent lusts unsimmered

familiar bodies unbeholden, shameful secrets unwhispered

brisk mornings unbroken, past days rehoured

regretful words unspoken, virtuous maidens reflowered

doors reopened, fruits untasted

lives relived, lives unwasted

rains undropped

ends of lives unstopped...

Un día

La Ría

quizá esculpa un círculo

al arroyo de que fluyó.

En este momento quiere desembocarse

en el océano.

One day

The River

may sculpt a circle

to the stream from which she flowed.

For now, she seeks to flow

into the ocean.

*La poeta añadió (-se) al verbo 'desembocar' personificar La Ría.

*In Spanish, 'the river' is usually masculine, but I changed it to feminine as I did La Cuerpa (The Body) in In The Tomb . It is more difficult to feminize nouns in English without adding too many undesired words.

I want you to feel

the burn of me

even after

your scars I leave

are no longer visible.

Vacillate, tropical nube de Lluvia,


condensed beyond capacity,

avoided not

overwhelming warm front.

Rained NaCl with H2O.

Sueño de ser* en Chile

con mi corazón divino,

de compartir poemas

y besos rojos de vino;

Aprendemos la cueca

y nos amamos sin duda

en el país de poetas,

de Mistral y Neruda;

Me da empanadas

con tus dedos cariñosos,

la boca te disfruta,

te doy uvas de mis labios;

En las olas verdes

de amor, nos perdemos;

En las arenas de oro,

nos descubrimos;

En confianzas azules,

nos protegemos;

De los acantilados

de nosotros, nos caemos.

Sueñes de mi esta noche,


Sueño de ti,

mi salvación.

*Yo escogí usar el verbo 'ser' en vez de 'estar' poner énfasis en el sentido de ser uno con mi amante.

Blue crystals are born in the mist
from warm intermittent gusts
of dampness from pouting caves

Hills fall three times as quickly
as they rise

Caressing deciboas slither
through cotton fields and denim deserts

pausing to tantalizingly squeeze

the hind's rear limbs
with just enough pressure
to escalate the pulse rate
and trigger a jolt

Burning baobab blaze ascends
to the heaving hills, descends
to cratered ponds filled with heptane isomers

Tribal drums pound a narcotic rhythm
to April's goddess

Urgent anxiety for the moored
sacrifice abandoned

while the sanguinous lion whetted
his voracious appetite and perused
each leaf and frond
on his growling ramble to the shrine

Weary sojourner slept just before dawn.

Weighty curtains dropped like trailer doors

en la calle de perdición a Paseo Colón;

dreams of a melancholy whore

danced fluidly on sparkling, tawny sand,

flirted playfully with teasing waves,

nimbly avoided pink-lavender tentacles

reaching through el sueño's haze...

Dream visitor left a gift-- a smile,

suave voz tranquilo me susurró una cosa,

a thing nearest peace in a long while.

Hoy, no me siento triste puta sola.

*Inspiration for the title comes from Memoria de Mis Putas Tristes/Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The city of Paseo Colón is where the narrator (of the story) lives.

*I used my poetic license to make "voz" masculine for my vision.

Saturday, May 16, 2009


este día,

tu poción poderosa me encanta,

con mi razón confundida juega,

me da un flor de esperanza,

y mi cisterna de soledad llena.

Tu juicio tomar,

tu fruta comer,

es a mi invitar

tu ruta aprender.

Mi alma leal no tiene miedo

de tus manos, de ojos fervientes;

me promete el profundo cielo

de nuestros cuerpos celestes.

Me voy contigo, mi amante, hoy,

con alegre y entusiada corazón;

propias promesas extasiadas te doy,

te doy con apasionada devoción.


Take my hand.

Let me lure you down

the path of sin

where you have been--


--try to avoid thinking,

pondering, wishing, yearning for dusk

to throw stone

colored shadows

over your

footprints, your

tire tracks, your


Come to me here

in my cave forbidden

full of wonder hidden

beneath thick, lush

vines that have not been parted

since God knows when.

Taste the sweet water

from the sacred fount that flows within.

Feel the walls smooth as silk

under the fingertips.

Breathe the perfume

of strawberry blossoms,

of the red-pink fruit flesh,

ripe to touch

to taste

to savor.

Take your time.

Relish the virtuous fruits

of temptation

for I may never

offer them again.

Tempting strawberry

ripens at room temperature;

her luscious fragrance

evokes wetness.

Craving fingers

pull back velvet leaves

to wrap lips around

vibrant, pink-red fruit-flesh.

Engorged naga

glides slowly but eagerly

over tiny seed bumps.

Ivory wedges

savor the initial resistance,

relish her juices

as her flesh pushes open

then closes around them.

Desire consumes

the entire sweet berry,

all the way up to the velvet.

Taste my fruits,

_______ripe, fresh, sweet

Drink my juice,

________on your knees

Kiss my thighs,

________a thousand times

Fill my bowl,

_______fill my soul

My fondue is all lit up.
Why couldn't you be here to share?
I dip my finger for a small sup.
Mmmm, I suck, leave it there.
Sticky, sweet on my lips.
Berries or bananas, what's my choice?
Going for the fruit, swaying hips,
long wood pokes, berry juice!
I'll come again for the long yellow,
but now the berries call my name.
Too bad you missed this, silly fellow.
Maybe next time you can light my flame.

Last night I dreamed of you
and smiled

Song birds each calling to
the other

This morning sounds of Spring
greet me

I send to you on soaring wings
a kiss

To warm you until our feathers
may touch

these things i miss

more than a kiss

on the lips

hands on hips

curvy, swaying hips

is a kiss on the mind

a truth to find

a know to share

a quest to dare

is a thrill of the soul

that makes me whole

that gives me peace

like no other release

but i still like to do it

so let's get to it

where is the one

can there be only one

who can handle it

When that many can justify
watching another human
suffer, agonize, waste,

for the sake of a game


come preach to me.

Until then

Do not talk to me of oneness
and worldliness.

Do not invite me to church,
speak to me of Buddha,
greet me with Shalom.


Now I understand
the anger, the disgust
in the upturned
money tables.

It's not that you did
what you did,
but you made it
more important than
your professed beliefs.

For the one who told me
to grow up,

Get some religion.

Down by the river
where we danced,

my breasts quivered
in your hands,

my body shivered
at your command,

down by the river...
let's go again.

Flow with me

____along the stream

_________floating drifting

________________endless dream

Flow with me

____along the shore

__________throw your worries


Flow with me

____along the tide

_________salty sparkling

________________side by side

Flow with me

____along the waves

_________ the spirit each toss

__________________frees and saves

Flow with me

____along the breeze

____________holding hands

__________________we sail as leaves

Flow with me

____along the wind

__________high in the clouds

________________like birds ascend

Flow with me

____along the space

___________gently melting

___________________hand to face

Flow with me

____along the time

__________endless healing

__________________love sublime

Flow with me

_____along the feel

__________souls entwined

_________________a kiss to seal

Falling, but not down
Falling into you

Fall with me

In a field of daisies and sweet grass

Nibble my strawberry lips

Immerse your neck in my warm breath

Cherish me to sleep with affectionate whispers

Wake me again with your sorcerer's wand

Disrobe me with your eyes full of naughtiness

Falling is not so frightening...

I want to dance

with you

across the miles

Your sweet left hand,

my waist,

guides to an isle

deserted, filled with sands

of joy...

We spin a while

'Til we can't stand,

fall down


not landing,


yes, grounded,


from cliffs into

Acapulco blue.


dance with me

across the miles.

I want

to touch you,

kiss you,

make you smile.

The moon rose.
I dream of you across the miles.
Still awake?

I hope you think of me,
and smile.

Here's a vision...
Tired bodies reach for comfort,
healing touch,
someone who knows where it goes.

In the dark,
hands follow familiar paths,
needing no light to be cast.

From deep wells in fatigued souls,
a lucid river of restoration flows,
a confluence of tributaries,
wholeness, rain to ocean marries
two, remain two, are one sharing, healing,
without seeing, only feeling.

Dream of me as you
lie in bed across the miles.
I want to flow.
Does that make you smile?

The sun rose.
I think of you across the miles.
Still sleeping?

I hope you dream of me
And smile.

Here's a thought...
Lazy arms reach for each other.
A careless bump,
Soft laughter under the cover.

Up close now,
Laughter grows softer, fades.
Our eyes lock in a steady gaze.

The drum of our hearts beating
Sets the rhythm of our bodies meeting.
We dance slowly as the bedroom sways.
Let's take our time, we have all day
To practice the familiar steps we know,
To perfect our lovers' tango.

Think of me
As you lie in bed across the miles.
I want to dance.
Does that make you smile?

A kiss for you in the morning

The slightest brush of my lips
against yours

Your eyes become butterflies, opening
their dewy wings for the first time

A smile for you in the morning

The first thing you see is joy
that I am yours

Your face begins to beam, filling me
with warmth and passion, like the sunrise

A longer kiss for you in the morning

You pull me close now
in your arms

Your arms, your legs, they wrap around me
like the earth still sleepy and sublime

A sweet embrace we share in the morning

You fill my cup and I
fill yours

Pouring till both are overflowing,
In one river, our two streams unite

My passion for you lies dormant
in a glowing ember.

When I am alone,
Thoughts of you ignite a slow burn
in my core.

Downward it spreads
to flaming petals moistened
with flowing nectar made warm
by the intensity of the slow burn.

Legs too weak to stand,
too restless to be still.

Upward it spreads,
A slow, hypnotic dizziness
from the sudden rush
leaves me stoned.

Ishtar's potent narcotics
and drown my reason.

Everything becomes electric
underneath stroking,
fluttering fingers.

Only one thought,
One focus...

Stoke the slow burn.

Here I go again... thinking about
something I shouldn't, playing with matches
when the lights are not even out.

Even if I did need the light,
I have no need of matches
when there are two flashlights

in the second drawer from the top;
I still don't need matches
(extra batteries in case the others flop).

Where did I put the box,
the red white, and blue box of matches?
Rummage in the basket where I drop

things I don't really need,
like a box of matches,
things I don't always know why I keep.

But I like them,
even silly matches.
Hey, I think I see them.

Yes, my fingers recognize
the cardboard of the box of matches.
Interesting, it's smaller in size

than I remembered, but maybe not.
Maybe my idea of matches
grew in my mind as I thought

of striking a match,
though I have no need of a match,
a match, the match, the lovely match.

Top and bottom smooth to touch.
That brings back memories of matches.
Bumpy sides, mmmm, rough.

My fingers are getting quite a thrill
stroking the box-- I want a match.
One finger pushes, open... the smell!

The smell of fiery temptation
to light a single match.
One little match isn't damnation.

Close the box and push through
the drawer full of matches.
In the other end I view

not just the long, yellow shafts, ridged,
sultry wooden matches,
the round, red heads, potential flame hid.

Not going to touch it... quietly gaze
upon the powerful match heads
waiting to be struck, to ignite, to blaze.

Sighing, longing to pick one up.
One of the sweet, sturdy matches,
Comparing. One of them is different from

the rest. That is the one I will hold
above all the other matches.
They can stay in the box, in the cold.

This match is my match for now,
but it won't take long for the match
to burn bright. Then the flame will go out.

I do not light but tease, strokes long,
up and down the sides, the head, the match,
twirling in my fingers, wondering if I'm wrong

to light the match if I don't need
to. If only I did not want to light the match,
the match, this hot little match that's got me--

Reason not to strike:
That is a wasted match.
But there are plenty more inside.

Reasons to strike, more than "not," but few:
The smell, the red and yellow flame of the match.
The heat. And I have nothing to lose...

...except the match.

For your kiss, my secrets I tell,
My body respondes to your sinful spell.
Part my lips with your gentle swell,
I become your wicked Jezebel.

Splintered shards, my inhibitions fall,
Your determined hands break down each wall,
Purposeful deconstruction, intent to enthrall.
You want it all, please take it all.

Too long since you last plunged my well,
Haunted by memories of my smell.
With or without me, which is hell?
But for this moment, your soul you sell.

Every day you hoped I would call.
I call, but you cruelly tease and stall.
At first I stand, but then I crawl,
Weakened by our temptuous brawl.

We both have fears, those we quell,
And relent to the lusts that compel,
Captured, entangled in each others' spell
For this moment--

Pixels on a screen
begging to be seen.
For what reasons do I care?

Tentative crescent,
aching, reticent.
For longing, I click and stare.

A moment and then
the sadness descends,
soft, smoky indigo cloud.

Cool, misty drops grow,
land on words below,
rain the desires not allowed.

One click more, closed file
in folder of denial.
Cannot make myself delete.

Pixels, only dots,
they care for me not.
Without them, I'm incomplete.

Pixels on a screen
begging to be seen.
For what reasons do I care?

Tentative crescent,
aching, reticent.
For longing, I click and stare.

A moment and then
the sadness descends,
soft, smoky indigo cloud.

Cool, misty drops grow,
land on words below,
rain the desires not allowed.

One click more, closed file
in folder of denial.
Cannot make myself delete.

Pixels, only dots,
they care for me not.
Without them, I'm incomplete.


Tawny lions and crimson dragons
claw and slash their way
across the horizon.
Their reign is short-lived
as the Goddess unfurls
silken veils of black pearl
smocked with
the dust of oyster shells,
wet and sparkling,
wave upon layer
as the grain of sand
looks over its shoulder
toward the ever deepening
onyx ocean above
until all life is submerged
in her depths

I'm the biggest loser on the planet.

*I can't tell you why, but it has nothing to do with blogging, or my divorce.

I am getting somewhere

closer to finding out.

Blurs of hints in the air

pass by on wings of doubt.

I always felt the noise,

compared bells' common tolls.

Try to ignore the voice.

Patient. La Verdad unfolds.

The head, the heart agree--

two voices, they are one

that speaks, calls me as rain

would travel to the ocean.

The truth suspected, what

I would submit to learn

the reason doors slam shut

leaving me alone to burn.

Truth suspected is sand.

All but few sweet grains slip,

remain cupped in my hand.

Hand trembles, afraid to grip.

Note: La Verdad Sospechosa, or The Truth Suspected, is also the title of a Spanish Golden Age play. The characters hide their true identities and pretend to be someone else for various personal gains.

Truth is white.

Truth can blind
with its white light.

I can remove
colors I don't like.

I can alter the
hues for my
version of right.

The image I create
may be easier
to face,

but the more I
the less

the vision.

I can look at
less white without
shielding my eyes

and enjoy my

of lies.