Poets sleep awake

Photo by @dan_cretu from Instagram

 

I need my naps

I am a modern poet

in semi-deep sleep

never fully awake

dreaming about pre-raphaelites and the Rosettis

still thinking

in all the colors

you left behind.

I hug you close

yet you disappear

into orange clouds

and sunset lawns.

I want to forget

the long trails

to your heart

and climb up

your mountain

to kiss your eyes

to sleep.

Alas, I slumber awake.

Awake, yet not.

Sixteen

There was a time in the 80’s when I was sixteen

and Michael was my everything

while I was his nothing. And even years

later every time I’d see him he pretended

i was nothing. from nothing to something.

from something to nothing. i call him an asshole

now. even my daughter knows his name. it’s not

a fucking secret how i loved him. you probably never

get over a love. and when i left or you left or whatever

happened because it’s all a blur, for the second or third

or fourth time and i ran into you on the street and you told

me to stop my car. you always wanted me back

every time I ran you ran faster. you married me

we had kids

i had red roses and an Alfred Sung gown.

Once I met a man, it was brief, maybe twenty minutes

or so, once he told me how my beauty

marked him. another time a man wrote

a book for me, he wanted my blood

as his pen. sucked me dry out of my silence.

created some Greek fucking muse of abuse

and left me with ashes on my cheeks.

It’s true that you never forget a love.

It’s true that you love your wife.

It’s morality to want it all and smoke in the hall.

i’ve lived it. you have no idea how I live.

I’m an artist and he supports my locked up frustrations.

my midnight madness

even if he isn’t one, he loves my crazy.

But you, you get all of me

in a brown package

delivered straight to your heart

and soul.

and you open me up gently.

just be sure

to not mix me up

with your other soul mates

and i will do the same.

my eyes and hair haven’t changed much

everyone says i look the same. IMG_7644

every love

is you.

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.

Eating words

rip me apart into tiny pieces

\\

put me back together

am I not your human puzzle?

obscure \\ imagine my skin

concrete\\ touch my skin

or did you bury me

left me to die

when I told you to do so.

\\

you know how to put me underground

I spit out dirt

my hands unbound

addicted to you

like all the drugs hidden in cement

while I read all the poets

published or unpublished

poets or so-called poets

self-fulfilled prophecies

running from themselves

\\

I took poetry like accountants

study numbers

it is an art

to love words

and soak in them

feel them on your tongue

and along the chambers of your heart

it is the soul

\\

that reads

\\

it came to this

so I could come to you

with words cracked on my lips

syllables forgotten in steamed pots

\\

arrive at my window with tiny pebbles

tap tap tap

in this mad world

into my long forgotten poems

requiring your eyes

to give them life

\\

I tried to let you go

but Muse is telling

me it’s madness

and swallowing me whole

\\

breathing and eating words

to write you a love poem

if this could be called that

not so sure

anymore

of what a love poem

is

\\

or why I am using symbols

to show you my love

and how I think of you

every time you don’t.

\\

I can go on like this forever

loving you

writing for you.

Long after you have forgotten

all about me.

Vitamin Man

The sun hasn’t set yet

a slight yellow light

is reflected on your face

with dark tinted frames

you suck the bottle

of vitamins

to zen yourself

from the madness

and weekend chores.

Don’t look back

drive safe

and watch that inflated

ego

stare back at my

lovely fucking mess.

You are such a

charming daring

young man

too young for my old soul

that has seen many tainted

loves wave by me.

You look like I could

love you

subtly

then madly.

All this talk talk talk

with no bed in sight

all this need need need

with no friction.

Pass me the pills

the vitamin juice

the jazz in your pockets

and I will push it above me

on top of me

your head on my hips

your sighs on my lips.

We will make the devil

jealous

and no time

is perfect

no distance

too far

no cold

too frozen

for this heat.

Your vitamins are what

I need.

Muse me

Uploading photos to freeze time

sitting on Santa’s lap

to release laughs

singing songs to remember

the way it was. The time

we all spent Christmas together

in one home. When he woke

me with pancakes and smiles

and all the traditions really did

matter. Now I stare at

the ceiling while I should be

sleeping

instead of dreaming

about you and your made

up fantasies. I can be just

as creative while staring hard

at darkness. True artists

need the night more than

the day. I know I do.

Thinking is best done

while pumping heart and soul

into a poem. Guts and all.

Fright and the fall. Duck

and be gone.

Stoned at a party

drinking green cognac

how we hold onto

our youth while clutching

plastic cups in suburbanite

dynamite. I listen to the silence

and wait in the darkness.

How did you write a book?

How do you answer a question

with a question. That’s been

my biggest problem. Never want

to answer with truths so made

up stories of chapter sessions in

late night bars. I chase it hard.

I live hard. Surrounded by the love

that limits me, that wrecks me,

that adores me, that complicates me,

digging deep withing the bottles

to find the recipe

to nothing at all

but existentialism.

Open up The Little Prince

and see once again

the importance of Living.

Everything else I can watch burn

in a fire. Except You.

fate

you said to leave it to fate
don’t make a date
the time “who cares”
the meeting
well, who dares.
Ain’t it funny how
time knocks us down now
how New York
was a daunting force
to carry me like a running horse
to your steps
in the cab in Brooklyn
we giggled and cried and this losing win
you get in my head
for a second
you get in my bed
and I would reckon
God would be hated
we would be jaded.
Even Aphrodite agrees
and Apollo he decrees
that lovers like us
make great statues
cupid & psyche
writing the blues.
I did dance at The W
with a good-looking crew
smoking on the street
I thought I saw you
but my heart didn’t skip a beat
in Times Square
and fuck I thought
“Life is not fair.”
And another week rolls by
and more tears I will surely cry
for you know you’ll always be the one
I don’t play dumb.
Third time is never a charm
it’s bullshit, causing more harm
better to go see Andy Warhol alone
sit on the steps you call home
and feel your presence
in your absence.

you think

you may think you’re all cool

and chic with your light curls

and words of pearls

but so many poets

come and go from here

with empty carts and fear

loaded in their back seat

as they head for New York

and follow the endless beat.

you may think you have it all planned out

in your lined books instant rhymes

but did you realize you’d bump into

so many poets and musicians that would

unfurl the desires of your youth

with one guitar riff

and still you write those awful poems

that I can’t read

you go on Facebook and have thousands

that follow the Christian way

the right path

so you think you’re someone

with more than just a shady past.

you think you should follow

more artists

as you pretend to be one.

I see through you

and run the other way

from girls like you

who turn into women

with fangs

and midnight pangs

to have all the men

under your wing

for all the wrong reasons.

you keep on thinking

you’re above

while the Virgo in me

walks on the ground.

Naked

Naked before you with my tight jeans
snug top
cleavage
blue high heeled sandals
words between us like sand
in an ocean
and you say I make you crazy
while I breakdown
have mid-life breakdown
waiting for sundown
to run into the night
naked
embrace the demons
talk to them
comfort them
control and lose control of them
While you watch my bra strap
come undone
and you stay so close
you never run
to my other side
but you want my bedside
my naked soul
to devour
not just the skin
the game of lose or win
is long gone
play the same song
to feel my heartbeat
my retreat
Into you and your essence.

to be a poet

to be a poet you have to dig deep

with a shovel

have a ciggie

drink some booze

and let the pain explode

you have to show your wounds

and French kiss

up against a wall

break your heart

hold it in your hands

and watch the blood

drip down

write till your eyes can’t see

words anymore

listen to your favorite song

over and over again

speak the truth

that other can’t

and wave it around

in front of the ocean

where you skinny dip

till your skin freezes

and watch the sunrise

waiting for your muse

to arrive

so you could handcuff

it to your bed.