Now That You Smoke

Come spring
And sweep the streets
With my ankles
In the gutter
And knees stuck thick
In fresh wet cement.
I don't pray,
But I'll beg
Until I bleed
In front of the house
You abandoned just
Twelve weeks ago.

But why not look pathetic
And sick drunk
With this infection,
Spreading quickly from
My blushing hands
That brushed your waist
As we walked in the cold.
You are young
And I am old oak
That splits in summer's breeze,
And falls to mark
The trail that leads
Us both away from home.

That Something Is Me

Something will break you.
Bulge and split
Forking clean
Any foundation for
Hearth and home,
Something will end you.
And the simple ending
Is sought by the
Weak skinned lepers,
With hearts to break
The stone
Your god naively built
On another.

Moments of Love (Apathy)

My pulse could rip
These tracks
From the earth
Tearing my skin
Like the train
De-railed
In this tunnel;
I'm weightless
Still in your
Parting eyes.

And I would
Meet you anywhere,
At any length
Of terror subsided,
In the fountain
Of your breath
That washed me
In comfort
Unexpectedly clean.

So fear give me
Nothing
And future be damned,
I'll be late
For the first time
And dwell in the pain.

They Are Gods Compared To Us

What giant dreams
Stretch thin in red
Streams and needle
The surface of a
Pale winter blue.

Your god is weak
And shakes the wind
In fear at the sounds
Of mountains in the
Steps of one man.

Still forgiveness
For the cowering savior
Will come from
The heart thick bones
of this wondrous soul.

Heights Of Ignorance

I'm pornographic
Sunday sitting ducks
That find their way
With only one eye
To the left side,
And pointing wings
In all directions.

And monday comes
With fearful relief
As we cook
So slowly
In our own
Summer sweat,
Reliving flights
And heights of ignorance
Blessed before
We take the fall.

I'll Never See The Alps

We were thick brush

And shedding needles

As our bed spread

Out and down

The mountain,

Floods savory rushing

Into the valleys 

Of our eyes.

Well-armed at nature's

Passive glance

That makes the bear

With foreign brown eyes,

Run and the hunter

Will never be spared.

You are far

And far is sacred

On the edge of rolling hills,

Towering over with

Arms that close

On the bay.