Sadness in July

I wish I had more to say of how words

destroy my sanity. I wish you knew

me then

when I had nothing to lose.

I hope to see you again

when I can walk straight.

feeling drunk on words and fights

lately, crying all night long

i suppose aging is a phase

and suddenly not caring about

your tongue in my mouth

is an outright cancerous lymph

in my pride. I meant to be wet

for you but kept on thinking about

the mundane things.

You should have fucked me drunk

I am better than the dead.

I hate myself today

and I feel like a bad mom

but she whispers  in ocd sentences

I’m the best.

I read too much

nonsense.

So I listen to silence instead.

I wish you would have known

me then. in another life

when i was such a poetic slut

now i’m too old for your games

your wolf tricks

time eats up my lines

and leaves me volatile

vulnerable

aching for less clocks

and more moments

with the dead.

I’ve done it all

my time has passed

now it is time

to feed my soul.

I run instead

or drive fast

reciting Virgina Woolf in my head

and feeling lonely in my bed.

July should be the best month

but I don’t care about jazz

or laughter

anymore.

 

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Freedom

I wrote it on the beach

while staring at the ocean

but forgot to send it

deleted it somehow

and poetry faded into

the sand under my feet.

I hear what you say

but I’m nodding at the sky

it’s talking to me

so be silent.

listen. i told you to

stare and you did,

listening to the wind

and how the earth moved

with the clouds.

You breathe deeply.

she was the one

who never got

away from your thoughts

and she was the one

that reminded you

of me. no spells

required. it was

word play. tricks

that poets perform

on cue. i trust no one

but my lover

who knows every

mole on my skin.

every beach is different

yet the same,

and every man is you

and every woman

is me.

That freedom of

saying you’re mine

or I’m yours

or other lovely phrases

that confuse the horizon

are Purolator express

packages of signed poems

I sent to Pakistan, London,

Lebanon, and other exotic

places that poets meet.

Remember how we ruled

the scene with teased hair

and duMaurier cigs

no line ups, no hash tags,

no texts, no pictures?

You just wanted to

get next to me.

That was all

that mattered.

Now everything matters.

My shoes, my hair,

my fake promises.

Yet you see nothing

but what you

have always seen

and that is one

of the myriad ways

that I love you

in every song.

Love or Lust

first it’s my eyes

then it’s your heart

pounding. your kiss

lights my soul. my

love for you empties

the darkness. what’s

left of us? you ask.

the lust. the desire.

your arms around me,

drowning my river

turning me slowly

into all you crave.

love and lust me.

my body and soul

and mind

are waiting.

as are my legs

ready to wrap them

around your waist.

Stuck between

The best part of the day

is the love you send

like flowers on a grave.

The dead know that none of this matters

as much as we hope it would. The dead

know how you can fault on your knees.

Better to not know yourself. Cry all

day under your glare. Escape in the

middle of the night and hunger for the

lustful cravings among

the banks of your shore.

I will kill your beauty, watch it

pass me by like a dead freight train.

I will add Greek olives to it as a gesture

of my hate.

Ugly me

has no will to look anyone in the eyes.

Beautiful me

will spread her legs

for you to go deep

shakes your knees

at my touchdown.

The theme escapes me daily

the words all gone again, starting

over on a new screen

to begin in another lifetime.

Twelve steps to waiting

1.

Waiting

for handwritten notes

to be gently placed

into the palm

of my tiny hand.

2.

Waiting

for your poems

like a drug addict

in the depths

of the need.

3.

Waiting

for your inspiration

to take full control

of my thoughts

and leave behind

my car

in an abandoned parking lot

to find your crumbs.

4.

Waiting

for nothing to happen

but Silence

as my mind

reads yours

through distance and time

along

graveled 1920’s train tracks.

5.

Waiting

to be divided

by a doorway

stepped on clothes

as you fling

my body across

your shoulder

and spank my naked ass.

6.

Waiting

for the breakdown

to pass

but you must know

how I can breathe

freely

underwater

like a true mermaid.

7.

Waiting

to create

sensual art

with your fingers

as brushstrokes

and my body

your blank canvas.

8.

Waiting

to be undressed

slowly

and

thoughtfully

by your picture

smooth hands

clasping the wheel.

9.

Waiting

on years

and decades

for something

so romantic

candles and ghosts

will feel.

10.

Waiting

for old poetry lines

and lovers

to burn

as others can’t

compare

to the desire

in our lair.

11.

Waiting

for the cold snap

to pass

and the heat

from within

to bring you closer

to my wanting love.

12.

Waiting

is my secret

in peace

as a comfort

to my thousand year old soul

that knows yours so well.

not really

not really prompted
by much
but you
and your lovely hearts
that speak
to me as much
as my naked hips do
to you

not really following roads
lately
only photos of stones
near deep rivers
to dwell on past
lives

not really caring about
punctuation
or sexy panties
just hustling by
changing words
in my novel
that sound the same

not really loving
the same people
but always you
how you get inside
me and out
with your drawings
grand gestures

not really caring
what others think
delving deep into
my vulnerability
and sucking up
my ego
as I lay on my bed
naked
waiting
for you.

Lovers in memory

Some madness
is at our fingertips
the most surprising
inexplicable energy
can only be felt
by lovers
when they first
stare into each other’s
eyes

even then it will be foggy
unclear to most
until years later
when the intensity grows
the storms within
rage
the windows rattle.

Time, Place, Memory
explode into darkness
while the sun rises
and the sweetness
of the skin
is what the lovers
recall
and ache
that madness
they took from the shelf
baked it
together.

Love’s phases
lust’s cravings
combined in the pot
stir it up
and take a first bite.

Yet like a film
it is played over
and memory
keeps it rolling.

Your arrival

Your words set me on fire

wake up and sleep to them

catch a bus with them on my fingertips

hold my hips firmly and kiss with them

all like a downpour of rain on my wet skin

breaking all the barriers from deep within.

It is a rush of sensations in all the right places

a blur of the faces

in front of me now.

It is how you are with me when we are together

and apart

that matters most

even when

at times I feel like a ghost

you can carry on like my host

until you open up my windowsill

and let yourself in

to cross your legs at my show

the way I bend, the way I glow

and you watch so closely I fear

that you will hate me and leave me

so I stand clear.

All my doubts piled up like laundry

all your songs inside my head’s playlist

pounding out anger with my tiny fist

letting out poems at red lights

producing thoughts like blinks

motivating strangers with cute invisible winks.

And the night it comes and goes

your melody, it grows in the Fall

you try so hard and I collapse

spin from exhaustion

dramatize my life,

examine the point of a knife.

It’s all in my head

and the stories come out in my bed

as I stare at the ceiling’s dull color

and mark my state as semi-dead

but then you arrive with a book

to steal my heart again and again

when you see me running and counting to ten.

I don’t even care what the book is

you just bring it to me

and that alone

is what sets me free.

heavy

at times I think you see me

when I am no longer there

our hearts grow heavy

you used to love me

when days were warmer

and nights were colder

odd thoughts about needles

and skin

falling into my thoughts

light raindrops in deep nights

with gaps

strong enough for me

big arms to envelop me

sweet words to whisper in my neck

your load is the perfect size

rolling inside me like thunder

it is explosive (this kind of lust)

words and beauty

truth and lies

strength and weakness

and me and you

ready to dive

into the icy waters.

Driving around the freeway

new songs

new aches

old friends

full of mistakes

sorry to break your heart

I never meant that

yet you knew

I was grasping

seeing things that were

already gone

building kitchens

and writing love songs.

You’d like me to go on forever

sit at my favorite place

and write another story in a month

imagine the lines on your face

or not

the way the words made you hot

but please leave me

I want to create my own melody

far from your eyes

under no disguise

can’t you see I’m pretty real

or unreal

or whatever the fuck you want to make me be

just never truly free.

I think too much while waiting for my coffee

When I wanted to be the greatest, you were at your worst. Then
that thought came and went
like your morning desire. My grace
was worn out, my washed out hair
needed a trim
my cat eyes magnificent without a trace of makeup
and you threw me on the bed, made me cum in thirty nine seconds.
Invincible, untouchable
the view was magnificent, rue de la Commune
shining on us as we weaved
in and out of raves,
between the alternate states
the pills, the booze, our entwined fates
facing each others’ fears, misguided words
led us here to undress each other
with our clothes on as your anger
penetrates deep within me
and I excuse myself for not trusting you
as I take my morning shower
thinking of your voice
whispering dirty words
in my ear
and it’s all for art
all for the masses
all for you
and
all for me.