The Tree

You climb the steps every day

what pray tell is different today?

As soon as I stepped

on the concrete

the cement was fresh

the sound of my feet


the sky, undeniably gray

new sod in the yard

tree was bare.

I should revel in the stark new ground

yet for all that I see

when I look around

is how you painted my deep red walls light

I should be a bird ready for flight

how the change glues me

to the pond

of my heart

of my clenched nervous hands

shaking to rise in new lands

as most bring up the past

how the trees had cancer

(it was a good thing, you say,

they surely couldn’t last)

but I like to wipe the brow of the dead

kiss foreheads, revive

recount my love stories

in various messed up beds

who can see the future

bury the ancient Queens and Kings

under the rubble

make wax heads like

Madame Tussaud

artistry out of death.

I step on the grass

dare me to talk

I will not be so crass

pretend you don’t see me

as I smile and agree

how lovely

a dead tree

can be

in the middle of my life.

The kids used to climb

my cardinal bird used to visit

so I drive to Starbucks

to save myself again

and what should come on the radio

but our song

and you could never guess

how I need my lovely mess

as I put on my new pretty dress

and forget how everything old

must be replaced

with something new

but as usual

I digress

my mind never paying attention

to the street signs.

September Poems 3.

When you are that close

I hold my breath.

I wanted to leave

a story full of poems

for your closed eyelids

my treasured gift for you

but you get so many of those

that another one gets lost in the maze.

I guess I could take so much more pain

than I ever thought possible

taking advice from a nineteen year old

while listening to Louis Armstrong

modern and ancient meet in my head

collide and inhale that rough voice

with the air

gasping and imagining

that hot sweaty jazz club

in Chicago

where we met

for the first time

during the solo.

Now all is forgotten

buried in tarnished boxes

but suddenly the scene switches

to the Modern fucking world

and Neko Case

is singing Furnace Room Lullaby

and I hide

away from that part in the song

that can destroy every part of me

easier than your words can ever do.

It is alright though

my books of poetry

will probably never get done

I will hold them adrift

through my apartment

where I’m not so high in the sky

but I could run up the stairs like a teenager

above the squirrels

hiding always hiding

but I hear them

as I hear you

in the silence.

Sometimes not even a beating heart is near me

only the heat on my face flushing me

from my mom’s chicken soup

with lots of lemon and egg whites

apparently it heals all, she says.

I’m beginning to believe in the healing of food

more than love.

Back Table

Back table
bottle of something hot
between us
burning our lungs
setting our nerves on edge

Come closer, I don’t bite, you said.

But oh, how you lie
and how you do
on all the places
I want you too.

Feel my magnetic field
you walk right into me
I yield
fearless of getting burnt
opening up your arms
you want all my pain
for you understand
I can never be that tree
you thought I would be.

Your cool stance
blows my hair in the wind
in a temporal trance
smack in the middle of the sky
I fall weak to your words
with no wings to fly.

Convince me of anything
you know you can
you have the power to fling
the words like no other man
but you use it wisely
a pro
a bro
leaving my body undone
while on a paper and pen
where we write from
sentences mingle and bend
to each other
and make love
with ease in a silent breeze
they connect and detect
a truth.

Try to catch the fucking sun
forget about the moon
and its phases
we need the heat
to make everything complete
less complicated
as you magically trace my body
with pen strokes on your fingertips
then quickly replace them
with your rough lips
and eager hands grasp my hips.

All from the dark back table
nothing again
seems stable.

Soaked in the rain

When he blocks his ears
to the questions
and tells me nothing
I want to hear,
when he thinks his answers
are the only ones
that I may fear,
these are the times
the ocean calls,
right about Anne’s age,
the moment all my falls
are storming in on my rage.
Disclosing nothing
pleading the fifth
to your assumptions on my wings
floating above the waves
hiding it under the rocks and things
that will be meaningless one day
my kids will give parts of me
to the poor
while your letters burn inside my own door,
a ray
in the shadows
for you are mine
on land, sea, and water.
In every part of my soul
in which I falter.
I am yours
but time may change
the air
age may block your stare
but a soul
continues its journey
always beware.

For I am soaked at the park
in the rain
or maybe not
for the lies
should remain
the truths
equally mysterious
so do not ask me
when I write
or why
just stand way back
and watch me in my jeans
as I make a Greek cup of coffee
and all the rest
will never matter.
You will avoid my best
and cease to jest
as I cry on your shoulder
and you place my strand of hair behind my ear.

Bath time

The bath reveals secrets
in its playlist
and sound.
It can soothe me
distract the duties
as I examine unclean walls
no motivation to change you
or my reasons
for leaving you as distant
as you truly are.

The poor men that hush
I felt the tension
and ran upstairs
to my apartment
shut the door
so fast
my daughter saying
that was awkward Ma
I agreed.

They probably talked about
all the ways they’d like
to fuck me
but none of them
could look me in the eye
their eyes on every part of me
except my eyes.

No wonder I run
from whom I live with
and who wants my mindfuck.

And age means nothing
in the context
it never did.

And money is just an afterthought
because any restaurant will do
as long as I’m sitting across from you.

And cars are mere jewels
I can ride a bus.

And this Indie playlist
is fucking around with my head
as music tends to do.

And this calgon scrub
smells like vanilla
making my skin silky.

And floral is my scent.

The water is still warm.
My phone still in my hands.
The distant closer.

ten seconds

As you roar
bark, write, taunt
please the masses
years turn into decades
lines across the forehead
funerals become weddings.
In time,
you told me how you fell for me
in ten seconds
how you watched me walk
around the room
watched me dance
entered the dance floor
like a thief.
if I close my eyes
count to ten
I know how long you tried
and I was subtle
putty in your hands
entrapped in that aqua blue
taking off my shoes
ripping off my clothes
writing my number with black eyeliner
I had to have you
mostly because you tried
you came after me
you wanted me
I felt it
that desire alone
creates tulips in my spring
hence I wanted you
I fell into your arms
I want to remember this
and nothing else.
And these are the reasons
you have me
where you want me.

Paul R.

When we were in grade six
my friend and I would
hide inside cement holes
atop trees
bottom of slides
at the park
where Paul R. played.
One time at a party on Mill Road
I kissed him in the dark closet
seven minutes in heaven
as his soft lips found mine
it felt like heaven
after that we became acquaintances
he would wink, smile,
look at me
then in high school
he was some what of an Anglo saxon God
among the girls.
At Foufounes he wore this cowboy hat
and ran across the dance floor
to say hello
we chatted
and I still was not in love
his looks could kill you, I thought.
My friend loved him
and nudged me
but I knew Paul R.
was one to never have
or his David Bowie obsession
would become yours
his acting dream
would make you move to New York.
So I didn’t succumb to those winks
his eyes were not for me
but when we say his name
there’a a silence
his aura, his attitude
could weaken your No
and now I never run into him.
But that look of his
was entrapping
I had eyes for
only one
foolish me.
Some things never change.


The more you reveal of yourself
the more I want to see
hair untangled
fully dressed
you read me without words
meanings flushed away
don’t confront them now
perhaps lying in bed
was not where you thought
you’d find me
should be cooking those
delicious Greek dishes
but I honestly suck at it
and you know I do
I wish I was more like them
hence the smile for you
sometimes you need to stop
and stare at the flowers
forget the traffic
worry about which perfume to wear
but that was never the case with me
from the starting sunset
till my last breath
I wonder about where you went
and why you told me so much
why I understood
how the temperature in my bedroom
as you drew near.

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
all for me.


Don’t garden my moods
don’t put up my sex for sale
don’t swim in empty pools
walk with me in the city forest
see the branches on the buildings
hate all tv
and urban words
slam me with old English
and forget the poetic slang
you cannot possibly know
or do this for me
don’t do it for me
don’t make me out a liar.
Don’t woo me.
Just forget my language
my art has many muses.
You are too nice
under that roughness
and I am too rough
under my niceties.

Bloom in silence
Please don’t describe
the color of your soul
so perfectly.