Brand New

Every dress she wore

had a hole in it. She used to sew

but they always came apart,

she was never as good as

her grandmother. Now it is

a stand she takes

to break down

the hold he has on her waist

on her tight fitting dress,

she refuses to make it

brand new

preferring the tattered one

for it is the perfect shade of black

she paid five-hundred dollars

and still has the receipt.

It never fades. Everyone knows

she loves that dress,

but his jacket covers her moles.

He could buy her more,

but having names on her ass

means nothing to her

if it is not poetry.

She believed in old hockey cards,

the ones she found in his attic,

The Rocket

close to his heart,

she competed with dead hockey players,

he competed with dead poets.

She found his hockey skates

in a crate dated 1977

an expo hat that his uncle

from Greece left behind

in a rush to get back to the olive trees.

He found nothing of hers 

ever

this pained her

this idea that he would discover her soul

in death,

this burial of all her poems

only to be unearthed by him.

If only she had driven him that night,

he would be here

reading her words

and not under the frozen earth

and she using words like

Forever

Always

and meaning them.

mental blocks

How do I flee?

tell me  how to get rid of

mental blocks

show me how to stop

the voices

trust me when i say

i want you

to curse me

prepare my will

for all these walls

keep me locked inside

myself.

every time i want to escape from you

you bring me back

clean the snow off my car

let go of the facade

and i can complain

about mental blocks

come here, you say, i’ll show you

exactly how to get rid of them…

but you never realize that

these blocks keep me sane

to stop the intruders

from sucking my soul

and fucking up my brain.

June second

the lights are red, but i want to go up

into the sky. drive right through

the pink and purple all night long.

this is my porn. you text me

your naughty, i’ll dream

in the fucking clouds. it’s june

second, two thousand and fifteen,

remember the 80’s? i relive them.

another full moon? do you

really care all that much? stop

howling. i feel it in every cell.

you’re fucked up.

I think my imagination

is so wild

even you

would run away.

but, you stay, you

make me believe

that the sunset

was a masterpiece

and the darkness

its palette.

the moon controls us

like love, we’re

helpless

to its pulling effect.

catch me tonight at

nine pm…its’ my son’s

award ceremony,

but i’ll still be falling

from the sky.

don’t forget to look up

and extend your arms,

even if you don’t see me.

unknown

In the damp night
your kiss
would take away
all the ache
of yesterday.

In the light sky
right before the sun rises
your arms
would caress the scars
which lie invisible to the eye.

In the twilight
your body would possess
mine
begin where I end in time.

In the middle of the day
your words
would make all
the mundane disappear
a smile from ear to ear.

In the time between time
your mere existence
would be all I need
to get by my blocked fence.

In the universe
I could be the clouds
and you the sun
and I would not want
it any other way
even if you argue
digress about my dress
our minds are above
each other’s
in the grips of
the unknown.

Η βιτρίνα

You can see me typing
New England landscape
awaiting fireworks
cottages
Hotels with wifi
running up tracks
sand between my lies
I can see you upset
at everything I write
Let me love you
the only way I can
I feel the pureness
in us
it is not concrete
let us never
Make it real
as touch
Keep it behind the window
Vitrine
never shatter the glass
But
shine it every day.
Polish until the next streak.