Sunday, August 4, 2013

Concrete Concubine

I am a kept woman, 
concubine to the King of Concrete. 
Do I amuse? 
Draw you in? 
Closer now, come in, come in. 
I am a collector of men. 
See how the land you pick through lies, 
I have been told that I surprise... 

I have been told 
  in flashed winks 
and smiles of anticipation 
in rooms where I am merely decoration 
that I unsettle. 

Do you dare? 
I handmaiden of high-rise 
dwell in air and there lies 
a paradise 
many flatly strain to reach.

On Chesapeake

The sun teases the waves 
like a matador teases a bull 
with a red that registers 
slow, violent reaction. 

The Hour of the Lamplighter

Brown leaves cling tenatively 
as the hedge sneezes sidewalk chalk. 

Red bycicle and lamplight wait. 
I, six years tenative 
take little note. 

My tounge sticks out... 
Snowflakes twirl in twilight

The Basement of Lost Fathers

In the household of the odd god 
there is a basment for lost fathers. 
Inside it smells dark and green; 
like pipes and crackling leather. 

The heat defeats. 
It is bare, like a lightbulb. 
Iron rails 
stare at creaking fans. 


Loose cannon do you still cry 
when someone doubts 
there's a monster in your closet 
or claw beneath your bed? 
Is your head 
still stuffed with muffled screams 
and toy soldiers? 
What smolders 
in your corner of rusting sighs? 

Your eyes are canyons sometimes 
when light is right. 
They frighten me 
the way that monster in your closet 
frightens you. 
Stuffed gargoyle smile while 
you grew I remembered.  

Times Square at Midnight

Of time.


I think and find 
I wouldnn't mind 
not doing anything at all 
if it were you 
I was not 
doing anything at all