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 


I said goodbye 
to your sleepy face 
and you were gone. 

Now memory crawls 
down the wall; 
with a slow-steeping chill. 

It lands with a thud 
and leaves a sorrow-black bruise. 

You And I

Time nails the dust 
of rusting sighs to the wall. 

They fall 
in disappointed fits 
to sharred, fragmented bits 
of expectancy. 

Remembrance skips 
a record broken 
to sharred, fragmented bits. 

They fall like a rusting sighs; 
in disappointed fits.


I try to touch you. 
You disappear, 
slip into the end of summer air 
as though my fingers melted you. 

Time sucks in it's breath 
slows it's measure 
from polka to waltz. 

Rain echoes hollowly.

3am Love Song

I threw out all your letters, 
tossed them into might have been wind 
trying to forget 
that the only me left 
you kept when you left. 

At 3am in Richmond rain 
you came. 
You weren't the same. 

So I threw out all your letters. 
Tossed them into been wind 
trying to forget 
that the only me left you kept. 

Moral: Never desire slippery fishes for their wishes. 

Gray Morning

In the morning flung with gray 
sparrows kiss the puckering day. 

You are gone. 

I remember 
your eyes smiled too. 
The morning then was blue, 
when I kissed the puckering you.


Now you dance on your head 
as if you wanted the world 
to take notice of you. 

You've little more motive 
than exhebitionism. 

You, moving like that, 
as though 
the world were your mirror. 

The balance 
is thrown off. 

You are so alone.


I was just going to say goodbye. 
It has to be done. 
It's just as much my fault, 
I wanted to come. 
I knew it a long time ago 
looking at you 
but what happened? 

Being with you 
was like being kept alive 
by a medicine dropper. 

Now, the morning 
is in the midst of dawn 
and I knew it long 
I have to go. 
I was just going to say goodbye.

Drizzle on Drainpipes

You enter softly, like drizzle on a drain-pipe. 
I feel the press of your hand on my wrist 
long after you're gone.

Shut Up Drawers

In shut up drawers I keep memories of you; 
like some keep letters and other hidden things, 
they open rawly like bone and other white things. 

Cigarettes, loose pearls an old kid glove, I browse 
through them when I feel most alone; 
feel raw like bone, 
like Christmas and snow in Virginia 
and other white things. 

In shut up drawers I keep memories of you; 
like some keep letters and other hidden things. 
In every one it is Christmas 
with an enormous tree and a thousand lights 
like snow in Virginia 
lightly sprinkled over moss. 
I browse through them when I feel most alone; 
feel raw like bone, 
like Christmas and snow in Virginia 
and other white things. 

Where You Were

Cold, soft, floating dream of you... 
You took the sun with you. 
There is stillness where you were 
and quiet falling across stillness.


Rain spatters like salt, 
pours from blue black night 
onto the abstract dramas 
of cats and children. 
The vain sun is gone. 
It's unforgiving orange 
and gregarious red 
are muffled music now. 
Children demand stars. 
The agressive shots of light 
spatter like salt.

The Silence of You

I remember you still, 
how I preferred the silence of you 
to any music. 
I think and wish in whispers 
to not know you half so well.


Strange to be with you now 
that love has passed. 
Sidelong glances cast 
mask tears. 
You cried once too 
as though you knew. 

Strange to be with you now. 
that love has passed, still stranger.


Sometimes we forget 
to mark the box 'fragile' 
or storm through warnings. 

You run your tounge across your teeth. 
Your mouth full of doubt, you taste the twang 
of hunched disappointment.


The air hangs heavy 
like a sigh.
Black sorrow moving 
you surround me. 
Slow steeping chill 
you fall with night like memory. 
The air hangs heavy like a sigh. 
Rooms whisper a soft goodbye.

Room For You

Frigid, remote, unfeeling walls, 
without character or definition; 
so much like you.

I Will Miss You

Your skin reflects the sun. 
You snore. 
I laugh and drift back into unconciousness. 

Tonight I will miss you 
like the sky will miss the sun.

Thinking of You

I think of you often 
when there's nothing else to think of. 
are the only person I could ever love 
if you were the last person on earth

Slow Sizzle Burn

Sticky pink pucker 
I'm pulled into your heat. 
Your slow sizzle burn hisssssss 
is like water on neon. 

Fragile light bulb shard, 
naughty grin, 
wax paper skin, 
I have you. 

Midnight at the Underground

The sad, sad strangeness of you lingers. 
I feel your little fingers. 
They quieted this crevice of the sidewalk; 
quieted the din of spit out songs 
and the sinking clinking of our drinking. 

Here's your unfinished drink 
and a cigarette you rolled 
looking like nothing so much 
as an angel lost in a Warhol film. 

Lucky glass; 
how unfair 
something unaware 
kissed you goodbye. 

The sad, sad strangeness of you lingers, 
returns though you do not.

Last Night in June

flash back past