Dairy Farm

swirls blithely in the glass,
distributing itself, circular,
legs crawl itself down.

the thickness soothes somehow,
drowsy decision.
sweet in it's simplicity,
from the far pastures,
your breast,
your body.
it insinuates,
pushing it's texture.
erotic spill.
drink,
till they come home.

Tripped the Film

because sometimes we forget.
when the red and green are pushed aside
the glass is clear,
you comprehend.
how light can make his eyes seem deeper,
and the blinks can crush.
the scent of his skin, the fever,
the way his back can curve.

in another's hands, you remember.
and it's so easy,
so simple,
you forget.
and time slips,
there isn't time enough for "good-bye's".
reel it back.

Fight it as long as you can

it's been a river, hard to paddle,
these past few days, and i think it was the
way it all fell out that had me leave the boat where i did.

at a stoplight it all came back, like rushing,
didn't know what to do with it all,
and i knew that
as dark as it was,
i could go back there,
i could fall back,
slip on the path upwards.
i remembered all of it, how it felt to crush my eyes
so that i couldn't see
so that i couldn't tell any of it
apart.
the burgundys and carmel-browns that drip drip
crutched me, but kept me walking.
like that.
so, i think that you could save me,
but i can't reach you.
and in a minute i'll be spinning
and i'll lose my head again.
i'll lose my head again.

on this train, through the back-road ways, where the
stragglers fade in and out,
i glimpse it all,
i catch and recall,
in vision, technicolor-gray,
and i'll lose my head again.
i'll lose my head again.

Still see you, but in the Rear-view

in the black and white today,
found it alongside the daily buzz,
found out it was time to let it go,
that it was never really me and mine, and i
thought about it on the way to the car
and in line at the grocery,
and it was never me and mine, and i
knew it from the start.
but you had it dangling like a pin,
and before i cut you out, Lady Damocles, i understood the price
and paid it anyhow.
is that hopeful or pre-school? well,
i found the radiation to remove the constellation, and you are cut
out
but you don't remove the scars,
you never take the scars.
you don't know the might of your old scepter,
but this was never yours,
this new kingdom, this new shore.
down the traffic-line, i can see a slow-crawling car
make it's way, wearily, throught the intersection.
i think i sympathize.
i turn the music up a little, and accelerate.

Petal

one of them is brusied
and one is torn,
the others have their stories,
breaking, every one.

so i shake
and i like the way it spills,
the dewy-wet, from my body,
like sugar.
beautiful boys, beautiful you know,
and clipped at my bud.
sort of a disturbance, from my veins,
inside.
the stamen is well versed.
like gods, demi and full, the roses and the lillies,
but i know their secrets, their weaknesses,
they bleed from their leaves, and i soak it all up, hold it
and i am heavy with the knowledge.
sick.
in my garden, i'm flowering sometimes, sometimes not,
and thirsty in my way.
pluck them out, i'm used to the sting of the tear.

one of them is brusied,
and one is torn,
the others have their stories,
breaking, every one.

the frost came late.

Grey Room

i come in through the wooden door,
splintered as it was, after all those years,
the wars it has endured,
the wars.
and i walk right up to the wall on the far side,
listen with my ear pressed close.
the voices at the other end speak whispered,
i can pick up bits, i can decipher pieces,
and i hear the twist, the secret,
your deep-buried stones.
i think that i ran from there, that room,
the cold grey room, it's yawning windows inviting the
deafening light, the cruel december morning.
i ran from that room, ran from that house
at the top of Lavender Hill and i didn't look back.
i could never look back.
i find myself alone, again in a sickly grey room,
colder this time,
and there on the far wall, hangs a mirror,
and i have torn myself to shreds.
the mirror is unforgiving.
where is the door? the wooden door?

Skins

it comes off, slick
with a careful hand,
without resistance.
juice of seasons, flowered
and holding
Autumn secrets,
precious.
you are without
sin,
without a single prayer,
you have my full attention,
and i savor,
bite deep.

Time-Travel

at the table we had the twitches
and hitches of caffeine and late-hour drowsies
twisting us along, motioning for more
confused understandings.
and he says that we can move forward, believes there is
a way, and i say we are always moving forward
although we cannot jump,
the path has not been laid out,
we will only fall.
if i go back, it's only in a forward motion.
he nods his head, he nods his head
i say i understand.
we draw it out on paper, to better understand
and the pen maps nothing out for certain,
but we make-believe it helps, and so it helps.
so many things can help, if only we
make-believe it so.
he agrees with the dropping of the pen.

REM Sequence

maybe i could follow it,
this sense of distressed fever,
and this would reveal nerves, chords deeper
than i thought possible.
so i follow him,
the streets wind like ribbon-wire,
through the circus,
the dream-brigade.
the lights confuse, they saturate,
and i stumble,
lose sight of him,
and suddenly i can't pretend, i cannot
remember why i took that first step.
and from nowhere,
beside me,
he smiles.

If you do..

there is much here
that i cannot fathom
like so much of our light
you are
just a motion, viberate and glisten
in my layers
where you are.
and if you do,
i'll just flicker
out
you understand,
and if you do,
there will be nothing left,
but a name, an old photograph,
of me.
i think sometimes that i
feel
more than i should
for you,
though i hail from the coldest of stars,
(you embrace)
(you embrace)
and if you do...
don't say it at all,
i'll know.
simple constellation, in my skies.
i'll travel back.
and if you do...