To What We Were

Long ago, our shoes came cheap -
the air was free,
and so were our feet.

You and I, and a long, dusty road -
the wind in my hair,
the world on your glasses...

My poems and the untamed grass.

The slowness of that winter
that fled so fast!

And your photos,
that now
take me back

take me back -

take me back ...

Let Us Autumn

Let us autumn -
shapely ripples, you and I -
let us pour upon our dreams
a callous tenderness -
life to our feet,
this deadness of leaves -
let us unearth sounds
that could mean poetry?

A wildfire, aren't we
a million untouched logs of gold -
wither, let us woe -
slip like streams, tow
our defined running into
life!

Autumn, let us,
into the nude mirrors,
hurt the starkness
with our seething blurs
of gold.

Winter Exists

Winter exists, a mole
upon your beauty -
you, who are slipped upon
by sensuality
are the soul
of a naive poem -

they want you here,
they need you there -
faith handed out
as your unsmiling limbs
attempt to rhyme.

And the world dares
to impede the mole;
obliterate it.

Chime to the time,
when you,
give yourself away to the dance -
let the mole
travel within you.

Beyond My Pounding Heart

A sepia cloud, a shapeless sound -
beyond my pounding heart
is the loud 
life of love.

I dare not open the scroll,
this length that unfolds my impotence -
I continue to perceive shivers
from the beyond that is love.
My arms inundate a chest –
A cold melody like the moon,
I attempt a spread beyond you.
Why am I still not enough?

...beyond my pounding heart
is the loud life of love.

I Know for a Reason

One day this force will fail,
and my heart will know
how not to pound.
One day I will run away;
one day I will slow down.

This that throbs within me,
will fade into silence -
one day the force will fail
and I won't be around.

All that I didn't say -
these words that meant life -
one day in death they will
astound.

I may be drifting to the dark
letters no one reads -
I know for a reason
this treasure will be found.

Snow

We give in.

The sun is only a shard of life -
and there are cracks, too many -
we're eaten dry, our longings
slipping beneath our feet
as we walk to the top -
a foggy top -
the climax of our pains.

There, where it snows,
the breath is a fume
that billows from the soul
until it is lost
to death.

As the shard falls flat,
I hail the white shroud -
between my short breaths
and the windmills of snow,
you are lost and how!

Wanting to let go
of my icy hand -
wanting to clutch
the billowing fume -
wanting to unearth the fire
that would undo doom.

You, with your feather flight,
and I, with my shackled heart,
give in to the white -
give in
too soon?

Love, a Little Curl

I kindle the pen, a cigarette -
I smoke a syringe.
Perhaps, they're right in saying
that I'm doing it wrong.

Smoke-song, I break
into little curls
as I poem the homeless love
for him.

He arches in my thoughts -
a pretty, garden bridge;
I coil, a snake,
guarding this memory.

Long time, he chimed
to the wind in my hair.

Long time, he fluttered
his lying lashes.

Long time, I held
onto his cruel, cruel ways.

Long time, he denied
me a divorce.