A Sermon on Forgetfulness

A sparrow was found
hovering mid-air,
its wings sagging
and the tail
like a teardrop,
just at the brink
of being sacrificed.

Bound
nowhere.
Found mid-air.

Eyes dragging
vision out of the jail;
it forgets to look
at the moon stale.
Forgets to blink,
chirp, hop;
its tail like a teardrop.

Forgets, forgets to fly...
Bound nowhere,
the sparrow forgets to die.

Window To Despair

No air to take me 'there';
my breath's caught in a snare.
I look through a window
that has me 'fair and square'.
I look and I swallow
my one silent prayer;
I hear my tomorrow,
wailing, full of sorrow:
"All knowledge is despair."

To Love With One's Teeth

This consummation that is
denied us;
this dream that has
belied us -
we seek now to love
with our teeth.

Love not,
each other;
love not,
any further -
all we seek now is
to bleed.

To give ourselves away;
to tear them apart...
we seek not to love
and not with our heart.

The flames have been soaring;
the skies seethe -
and here we choose to love
only with our teeth.

Our Simple Reasons

Because I
dreamed of you,
I know you have been
needing me.

Because I
wept for you,
I know you have been
bleeding me.

Because I
walked to you,
I know you have been
leading me.

Because I
wrote for you,
I know you have been
reading me.

Between Us

His eyes claw
at her golden arm -
my evening's the coquette
he's fallen for.

Half kept from me
this new secret -
I lose him to
the wanton hour.

Silence trickling down
his breath -
I hear him talk
to her.

Shackled in his embrace,
I wait...
I wait for the gilded eyes
of the night
to scrape the black on him.

Shackled,
I wait for him.

Defeating the Beat

The beat-
it nibbles at your feet;
you're turning into dust.

Look, if you must-
you're a whirlpool
when you dance.

You tempt it so;
yes, music knows of lust.
It drinks you neat.

Twice did you swirl,
once did it halt-
Time's unjust.

Dance, defeat the beat!
Let music teach you-
what it knows of lust.

Riddles

Goldilocks and a teddy bear-
love's impotence is just too clear.

He raised a clock tower in my heart-
it beat and sang; it played its part.

That thing about his voice, I say,
makes me drift everyday.

A handful of art, nothing more-
what's there to a sea but the shore?

Riddles one too many, my dear-
love's impotence is just too clear.