Drive

I like the dark, slippery roads
Cornering tight and fast
Flirting with the threshold
Enticing danger’s brink

There’s as moment,
Where the tires start to skate
And hazard overpowers me
With an intake of breath

And it could all go awry
With my brow demolishing glass
And my blood spilled like wine
On the dash light glow.

But my faith in traction
Has served me again.
And this treacherous arousal
Is sated for a while.

Thief

You stole the covers,
Walked them out the door.
Now I lay, insomniatic,
In dawn’s light,
And frigid skin.

You pilfered my identity,
Discarding bits on the floor.
Tossed a title out the window,
Washed a definition down the drain.

You purloined my future.
Put it on EBay.
And sold it to the lowest bidder,
To show me how little
You thought it worth.

It’s all right.
I kept the good stuff to myself,
Because I recognized a crook.
And I’ve got a safe,
That you’ll never crack.

Sequential Fixation

They’ve escaped me again.
Fugitive minutes.
The little devils are hiding.
Under the carpet maybe,
Or under the bed.

I can hear them scamper
On the outskirts of my psyche.
They taunt me in undertones.
They jeer at me sideways.
I hate them.
I keep them safe.

I could recapture
These impish moments,
Dig beneath the laundry piles,
Sift through the cupboards,
Entice them with sweets
And reminiscence.

Of course then I’d have to face them
And they have ugly faces.
So I’ll slink into the present,
And hide myself instead.

Desperation

Don’t go.
I’d chain you with words
With expressions
Made metal by despair
If only you weren’t impervious
To sentiment.

I’d bind you here
Sinking my claws
Beneath your muscle,
Impaling you with zeal,
If I could just clutch you.

I’d shackle you
In the insatiability
Of my craving
For your proximity
If that could give me purchase.

But you’re a slippery bugger.
Well oiled with apathy.
Glistening with vacillation.
And though I can sometimes enfold you
You are just far too slick.

Scarf

I knit my love for you
In silver, and platinum
And jet.

The needles were slick
With my blood
And bloody devotion.

I worked out the kinks
With patience
And therapy.

It was 9 years long,
And beautiful.
It suited your eyes.

And you took it,
Without a shiver of remorse,
And gave it to her.

Inner Child

I think it's pretty funny
That you consider yourself
Dangerous

What have you got?
An army guy,
Machine gun noises,
And a squinty face
A tantrum red.

But you know,
I'm pretty sure
That my Barbie
Can knock GI Joe's
Dick in the dirt.

Of course,
It'd be kind of hard
To test that,
Because like you,
He's got no balls.

There's No Place

The path is alien and ugly,
Paved a cowardly hue.
And it’s swarming with little men
With serious faces
And candy in their hands.

But still I follow it
Mindlessly, ruthlessly
Towards the city
Which glows the same color
As her jealous hide.

I’ve got to get out of here
Cause she’s tracking me.
With opiates and primates,
And cleaning supplies.

But I’m too breathless
To be baffled by her methods.
And too afraid,
And brain fried,
And broken hearted.

And I’m not getting far,
Because these shoes are pretty,
But they hurt like fuck.

Rekindled

I embraced the fire
To reclaim my spirit,
Which had been lost
Or rather, stolen
When I was very young.

I embraced the fire
To rediscover my heart
Which had become a stranger,
With passions foreign
And wild.

I embraced the fire,
Though I feared pain,
And ruin.
And the destruction
Of my residual self.

But what I feared more
Was to deny the blaze
And remain as I was.
Damaged and incomplete

I embraced the fire
To recover myself,
But what I found instead,
Was you.

And though my body was
Besieged by flames,
I did not blister,
Or burn.

Vile Lamplight

The lamp’s vile light
Dispels the shadows
Where I hide,
Huddled near the earthen floor.

I hate its putrid illumination.
I hate you more for finding me here.
Bathed in it.
Revealed by it.

Your eyes graze my contorted body,
Then scrape the floor,
Where my secrets lay scattered,
Slick and shiny and onyx black.

They are not for your scrutiny.
I dig a hole.
I bury them deep.

Apple

The witch took a bite
To tempt me
With its fragrance.
The scent, a sweet melody
Playing about in my mind.

Of course I knew nothing
Of her sorcery.
She looked so innocent.
Delicate even.
Harmless.

And I was mad with hunger.
Those evil little men
Had left me crumbs again.
And a scrub brush.
And fingers rubbed raw.

So I took the other apple
From her innocuous hand.
And even as the poison
Dribbled deliciously down my chin,
I smiled.

Water

It tastes like liquid nothing.
The sense of it is there,
Cool and moist
But it doesn’t engage
A single taste bud.

I don’t drink enough of it.
I desire something
With a little more flavor.
A little more drama.

Though I would drink it
Through my pores
If I could.
I prefer it to exhilarate me
From the outside in.

I long for gills and sleek skin
That wouldn’t wrinkle and pucker
After hours, days submerged.
Hair mad, and ever shifting
From one stroke to the next.

Just don’t make me drink it.
Oral hydration isn’t something
That my fluid body
Can easily abide.

Death Rattle

The air is so dry it chaps our bones,
As we lay festering on this dune.
Straddling death’s threshold.
We are beyond perspiration, you and I.

A shame really,
Because I would bequeath you
Every drop of my sweat
If it would keep your heart beating
Next to my faltering flesh.

And with this thought,
Drifting out of my head
And into the sweltering sky,
You turn to me, sweet as pain
And tell me "we’re through".

I pause blankly for a while.
A little stunned.
A little startled at the timing.
A little baffled by the inappropriateness
Of a breakup at this awkward moment.

But I suppose you always did like best,
To stab me while I already bled.
So I’ll just have to spite you,
And live.

Ambivalent Skin

Your face is made of stone today.
Beautiful, cold, expressionless.
A countenance of marble
That lets me admire you,
But not understand.

I need to shrink in size,
Grab a pick and headlamp
And dig through that hard,
Ambivalent skin.

Tunnel to your brain,
Excavate the pertinent nerve endings,
And dust off and study
Your thoughts.

Because I cant tell,
Behind that statue of a gaze,
If you still love me.

Midnight

A blanket of ether
Veils the moon from the sky.
But I can feel her.
Nearly at her peak.

She awakens a restlessness in me.
A desire to shift out of my skin.
To linger in the darkened stairwell
As a specter.

The warm light of the street lamp
Would bleed through
The diaphanous form I posses.
And I would be free.

I would float unseen
Through a lunar world
Exchanging atoms with the breeze
A part of the Everything once more.

This autonomy is leaving me bone weary.
These bones are driving me mad.
Here at midnight
My soul should be adrift.

Practical Distance

Her ceiling is a garden of dead roses.
A faint draft
Steals under the door.
Sets them swaying.

Laying on her floor,
She looks up at these floral corpses,
And inverts her world.
She is an underworld goddess
Reigning over the casualties
Of love gone bad.

And hovering in her carpeted sky,
She can see that the petals have gone hard.
Like her heart.
Hardened, yet somehow more fragile.

And like those petals,
Hanging from their plaster ground,
She is ready to fall.
Though she tries to ground herself with rage.
And thumbtacks.
And twine.

"A bit of practical distance,"
She lies aloud,
"May do me some good."

Temporal Deceit

I am shifting through time again.
Misplacing moments.
Remaking them in my mind.

I've been telling myself
Beautiful lies about yesterday.
Forming stories for tomorrow.
Creating new memories
And manufacturing a better right now.


I was close to convincing myself
That I could hold back
The granules of my hour glass.
But my feet have shifted
And the weight is dragging me down.

So let me mislay the sand,
In a closet
Or an empty drawer.
And I'll step into nevermore
For a little while.

Dark Inclinings

She lingered after hours
To stalk through midnight alleyways
On her way home
From insomniatic revelries.

She loved the smells
Seeping from those grimy corners.
She loved the small creatures,
Which shared her nocturnal inclinations.


She ran her fingers across a greasy doorknob,
A damp stone wall,
A rusty trashcan.
Collecting bits of mildew and funk.

Delicate and beautiful as she was,
These granules of the underside
Made a warrior of her.
An unconquerable force.

A cascade of soulful streetlight
Tried to catch her in its grip.
But she danced out of its reach,
And strode farther into the night.

Battle

Our gazes align
Sharp with enmity.
His eye shadowed and cruel.
Mine bright and ready.


His intentions are clear
Clear as the spring air.
The misguided spring air,
That swirls around our still frames.

I can taste the blade in my hand.
The tang of chrome and steel
Licked by my fingers,
Anticipation my tongue.

He savors my fear,
A predatory joy.
Paints a smile on his lips
And aims for my scars.

But I am bright and ready.
Potent and shrewd.
He won’t find me
Easy prey today.

Sensual Epiphany

Sitting here,
So close I can feel
The hair on your arms,

I want to crawl inside your sweater
And share your space.
I want to take off my shoes
And slip in between your socks and your toes.

I want to feel your eyelashes on my neck,
Your breath on my spine.
My cold fingers
Cocooned in your warm fingers.

And this desire,
This sensual epiphany,
Overwhelms my good senses.
And I lean in to brush against those hairs.

I catch my breath,
Shake indecency from my thoughts,
And lean the other way.

Solar Infidelity

The villainous sunset left me cold,
clad as I was in melancholy.

She slipped beyond the horizon.
To wed the West.
To explore the other side.
To bring her heat,
her fire,
to someone new.

I was always aware of her wanderings.
Her compulsion to stray.
And yet I had hoped to be the one
to break this cycle.

Even now I can not abandon this hope,
as she has abandoned me.
I turn around.
Face the East.
And pray that she'll return.

Time

I have never made friends with time.
Time is false,
a pretender.
Made malleable by the mind.

Yet too strict and unyeilding
for my free spirit.
It is a law I'd like to break.

I have left a trail of busted clocks
and broken watches
in my perpetually tardy wake.

Or am I the liar?
I am a lover of the moon.
I follow her waxings and wanings.
The ebbs and flows of her tide
govern my blood.

I worship the turning of the seasons.
That reassuring cycle
that promises that death follows life,
but life follows death again.

I suppose I find nature's time piece friendlier
than those mockeries made by man.

Sacrilegious Storm

The storm thrust itself
Against the convent walls
With all the powers of God.

Lecherous sheets of rain
Doused young women in white
To see the flesh underneath,
While the ravenous wind,
Raging and lustful,
Tried to unclothe them.

The cold delighted in running its fingertips
Up long skirts,
Long legs,
Shuddering breasts,
And hardened nipples.

The tempest cared nothing
For the sanctity of this place,
As it chased virgins round the courtyard.

But at last its passion peaked
And was spent,
Leaving the ravaged maidens
To catch their breath.

Gravity

My body craves a little less gravity.
Then perhaps,
I wouldn't feel so low.
So weighed down.

I dream of bouncing,
Of near weightlessness.
I am electified by the fluidity,
Unencumbered by my full mass.
My particles have more elbow room.

I am feather light and invincible.
A moon maiden,
But doused in oxygen
And surrounded by trees and city blocks.
City smells and pine.

I would be more spirit than flesh,
With just a little less gravity.