Marble

Ivory pillars illuminated by spotlights
form two rows of columns, like some Roman architecture,
that lead to double doors of a mansion in Hollywood Hills,
scents of gourmet cuisine blend with expensive wines
as naked bodies heap together in writhing ecstasy

It’s a party that happens every night
overdose deaths never even remembered the next time,
they’ll be buried with loving phrases on marble headstones,
which no “friends” will ever even see
because it would take time away for the next orgy.

Ascending

A stroll on sky steps,
mind full of feathers,
moving upwards breathlessly
while fearing falling.

Silvery Snares

You can’t climb out of a hole
when it is the chasm in the mind
from a vacuum in self-esteem,
left feeling you are never good enough
to escape the prison in the mirror.

The lock on that cage
is made in the head
sealed by so many memories
forming bars over the image
not ever seeing who you really are,
but can’t find a way to break
their iron that was made
so many years ago,
they are the puzzle never solved
a riddle in a maze
that has no exit nor map
because it was built
over a lifetime of painful experiences,
totally keeping one prisoner
unto a view of self ,
which agrees with all the criticism received.

In the heart throbs the longing for more,
but that decreases the blood to the brain
so can’t think or imagine
ever being free this crippling restraint,
spending time watching the world spin by
sometimes crying over how much missed
and the suffering incurred,
having no one to complain to
since it is self-inflicted.
 

Drifts

July can’t thaw the snow on her soul
the drifts in icy words that froze her heart,
she can’t escape the memories
of the cruel, sadistic snowman who held her hostage
when she was still in her spring
a fragile rose waiting bloom,
but he was filled with frostbitten sayings
always blowing his blizzard over her garden
until it died and nothing would grow.

There is no summer for her life
to melt this harsh bitter air she breathes
utterly keeping her hibernating
in a mind of perpetual chill.

Tonight she slips into a freezer
the only place he can’t reach her any longer
just leaving the thermostat on her thoughts
adjusted to the cold death of January hopes.

Perhaps there is a landscape
somewhere beyond her nightmares,
beyond the icicles clinging to her insides
for they leave her numb
unable to feel or care,
it is only future she can imagine
with days spent swallowing tears
shaped like ice cubes.

Bed Bugs

Anxiety's thread talons tear at the night
they even infest the light
diffused by veils
held over eyes at sunrise
when the paradise insects in the head
keep crawling over the skin.

Vultures hide between the sheets,
vampires roam under the bedspread
as the subversive cerebral moans
of mental spells mean to alter the past,
create new plots by placebo phantoms
who slither as brain serpents
through the slumbering sands.

There’s no cure for those claws
because they grow inside,
monster when misunderstood,
but fairies hiding among the pillow pillars.

Perhaps there is a flyswatter
that can squash those nagging specs,
only they will never die
since they are fleas of inspiration,
which bite with their toxins
you either feel as visions
or the creeping urges towards darkness,
always left screaming
when you only lie on the mattress
rather that kiss the cotton
and give into the cravings.

Splash

She swims the waters of night,
softly submersed it is liquid dreams
of being in the depths
where love lurks in such tidal sensations
and she can discover
that spellbound crashing of eruption's waves
when kisses splash their crest
against bare, begging skin.

Somewhere in that sighing cerulean current,
which flows in the cravings so incredible baptizing,
there is a shark,
a hunger of the heart
who will consume and devour
her every naked need.

So she treads in the ocean of her desires
just hoping to see some fin appearance
from the one who will feast
upon her skin
and let her float to ecstasy,
utterly dipped in the pleasures
only known from trolling for predators
who make her discover
the pure, stunning encounter of satisfaction
found while riding the waves of sheets
in the arms of the one
able to navigate her flesh,
gently giving shark bites of writhing thrills.

Playing Innocent

Feigning
amnesia
over car keys,
until mother
remembers
park trip.

Lips

Innocent's kisses
pressing trust
never removed,
unless love
not returned.

One

One
second
spent soaring
crimson currents
of love's sweetest streams
gives the soul flight towards
skies where the heart surrenders
its pulse unto a greater light
until bird within finds dove above
renewing bond with eternity's plumes
kinship's feathers sailing sanguine lightning
discover eagle's nest inside mind
where life rises to heights unseen
no longer just fleshly veil
searching as a seeker
looking for needy
feeding them
with care's
seed

Swells

And the heart feels immersed
in the surfing sensation
riding the moment like a dream,
thinking the high is an endless crest
until it crashes uncontrollably
while you watch and sink with its fall.

Suddenly drowning in the truth
of how fortune’s tide never lasts,
so to surf is to cherish the time
without worshipping the swell.

Because when it expands the head
with the current of pride
you always fall victim to force
that moves through time’s sea.

Surviving is the challenge
to not think a given cresting second
is your blessing for reward,
it is understanding
how each wave comes
unto many swimmers
just find a way to celebrate
what joy comes from being on top
while also finding the means
for embracing when it crashes.

Scissors

Little snips slice deep into the mind
they create the image of cookie cutter lives
expected to always be like a paper doll,
one dimensional and so fragile,
never able to think or feel
other than by some pattern.

How those tailors only follow
the lines they want
and if some part of you
doesn’t fit inside,
it’s trimmed away without care
so you lost part of yourself
in order to appear
as they want you shaped.

Toss away the scissors they offer
I can make my own design,
one that won’t kill my identity
make it sliced, diced and in pieces.

Would that there were no cutters at all
and no blueprints for being
someone always dictated as necessary.

So sometimes we just have to dwell
beyond those razors and blades,
where we can craft who we really are
from what we see within
instead of what others view without.


 

Resurrected

She prayed for a spell of scorn
unto dark forces for their help
to end the pain of being violated
before drinking that glass of cyanide.

From the grave at midnight with a full moon,
her corpse came alive again,
possessed of incredible strength
so she clawed her way out beyond the wood
dug through the soil and worm,
finally her rotting cadaverous flesh
broke through to the surface
where the moonlight touched her flesh
transforming her into hell’s whore
with her emaciated gray face growing fangs.

But inside she burned with a demon’s lust,
while she moved to fine the man
who had butchered her heart and trust.

She found him in a motel with a hooker,
her teeth biting the woman’s juggler
those red eyes flaring with such rage
before she drank all that bitch’s blood
then ripped and mangled her body
carved up her breasts
and mutilated her love nest.

It all froze her former male lover with fear,
his naked body sitting on all fours upon the bed,
mouth gaping in pure horror
when he got a whiff of her decaying flesh’s stench,
only unable to move as she stepped his way.

He screamed before she stuffed the gal’s tattered dress
through his lips and silenced his protest,
forcing him to lied down on his back,
eyes so wide and terrified
since her powers had rendered him unable to move.
First she gave him a long wet kiss
through that fabric
then managed to bite off his tongue and eat it,
his convulsing body reacting to the shock.

Sucking and kissing his body,
taking out chunks along the way and consuming them,
his blood pouring out over the bed.

Slowly moving down to his manhood,
moans of fear included the shaking of his head
as her mouth engulfed his throbbing manhood,
snorts and grunts come from his throat
incredibly able to ignore his pain and wounds.

Suddenly she spreads her legs and gets on top
takes him fully deep inside,
hips moving back and forth
his mind so wild from the incredible pleasure,
but then the fog lifts as he cums
with her howl from her own explosion.
At last realizing the fact she had died
while her body turns so hideous
that he eventually vomits both his stomach juices
along with that rag of a dress.

Something inside of him clings to a strange peace
for he knows he’s about to die,
which will eventually end this nightmare.

Only that is the end he never experiences
because when you violate the daughter of darkness
it is forever you must pay,
kept alive in his coffin forever
in between times she opens the lid
making him satisfy her again.

 

Quiet Elegance

Her eyes stare with a light of confidence
though never tainted by arrogance.
They are full of love and pride so radiant
who has stood calmly through many storms
with a courage to face trials and not quit.

Through every tear and test
how her heart seldom loses
the exquisite composure of quiet elegance.
For in poverty or prosperity
she moves in a grace that resides inside.
It is a silent lace of dignity and refinement
so she walks through life
always composed and adorned
by a feel and appreciation
of what is artistic and expressive in life.

Because her mind can totally know each morning,
can embrace with brilliance and passion
every moment of the day that comes,
totally sensing what makes it magical.

And even when life falls into some hole
this doesn’t kill her serenity or enthusiasm.
Within there is such a spirit of pure obsession,
which will not spend a breath
in a way that lets it exhale
lacking any awareness of all it possessed.

Thus she strolls ever alive and vital
always with a glow that is so infectious.
Refusing to surrendered to accepting
less than her dreams as her existence.
 

Pass The Ketchup

It comes to me in strange flashbacks
this short trip to the twisted land
of pain killer induced visions
that I had when recovering from pneumonia.

Now it becomes like an old sitcom rerun
as it keeps replaying in my head
over and over on a regular basis.

What is the fabulous, bizarre dream,
something other than peaceful perhaps,
at least I can recall to share.

There I was lying in my bed,
my first night home from three weeks
spent in the hospital.
Suddenly this yellow
and red striped circus tent
appears at the end of my bed.
I know it is impossible,
yet it still seems so real.
Then it gets really peculiar
because out of the opening
a line of penguins begins walking
towards the hall.
Each is wearing a white apron
while carrying a silver plate
on which are located a huge hamburger.

If it hadn’t been for the sound of calliope music
plus I swear I could smell those burgers
perhaps I could have treated it as possible
instead of the consequence of taking Vicodin!

The Ways Of The Crab

Each quality mentioned is there in my heart,
It rings out of my soul in throbbing chants,
I feel them deeply, stroked by their presence,
but it is all trapped in my shell
the dome of distance where I hide,
where I retreat to reflect on life
or twist reality into a twine of thought.

Inside I bleed at a word,
nearly die from any criticism,
have skin so incredible sensitive
to the slightest prick of my being.

It drives me to want more for others,
thought I get wounded so deeply in the process
then when I hurt I can’t forget,
just move outward and away from the enemy,
no capacity to deal with those
who stab me at any point.

I will hold onto those I love forever,
give them every ounce of my spirit,
not ask anything in return,
yet weep alone when they don’t say thanks.

This is the way of the crab
hard on the outside
far to soft within,
never unwilling to help another heal,
even though I will not broadcast it
from the haven of my shelled existence.

 

The Doors Of Night

Darkness never smothers a dream
for the eyes can see so far beyond a tear,
can drift and float and hover
where the body is trapped in the shadows.

And inside there are the keys
to open every door of night
that often hides in the ebony space,
just waiting for the mind to locate
each place that offers escape
out of the sorrow’s cumbersome cage.

Yet they are there,
always able to be found
if one hears the keys jingle
with the ears of the heart
for they speak to our deepest need,
tell us of what we’ve lost and crave,
what we truly want to bring joy again.

So in the times of midnight’s rule,
to pause and search inside
will take this time of murmurs and echoes
and let it have its own way to light.

Just pausing in the sadness
totally reaching outside its realm,
allows laughter to hint of its presence
behind some nearby door.

 

Whirlwinds

I saw the whirlwind in your eyes
when my heart was a twister of passions
and blew us both into love’s sky
like being caught up in cyclone,
heads spinning and feeling so dizzy
from the beautiful touch of its power.

Together we held each
until our sighs and kisses
took us upon a hot air balloon ride
so totally aloft on that amazing airy encounter
all because we were totally in love.

Before was a sky filled with clouds
of every dreamy night we could imagine,
blissfully stripped of every care
except how long a kiss would last.

It’s heaven we never want to leave
that incredible sensation of happiness
far from the earth where problems rule.

What else comes before us
for this sweet time of soar
we know the magical drift of our embrace
as it lifts our hearts so high
beyond what burdens.

The Seductive Spill Of Fall Spells

Limbs of isolated woods
sway in the wind and release their leaves
in a shower of rust hues creations
falling, ever falling towards the earth,
but it is the wisp who shakes the trees
of October’s celebration and haunting,
which reach into the brain and seduce
with visions of goblin figments
so the hearing suddenly gets attuned
to listen unto the incanting whispers of witches.

It’s more than the fall of the year
because it grows in the heart with its array
from the emblems of magic
until we are easily induced to ride that imagined wind
let it take us beyond the boundaries of a day,
walk among the pumpkins and hay
where we slip in the dim glow of jack-o-lanterns
while they dance in the mind
as we are sure they are held by ghosts.

Oh blended before us in this time of change
are a bounty of what we suppressed at other times
while nature slowly strips away
the living ornaments of summer,
but in the shorter days and deep rich colors
how we ourselves descend into a trace of creativity,
allowing the cool, soft layers of what was reaped
a chance to move and entice with such charmed possibilities.

What heart isn’t subtly caressed by the dark kiss
Halloween brings with its festive suggestive lips?
Beneath the waxing gibbous moon
can we truly ignore those urges to unleash the monster inside,
yet to ever just dangle on the fringe of reality
apart the staleness of any morning
in hopes that perhaps we'll stumble into a liaison
offered by some mystical creature
who will take us to a bedroom visit of trick or treat.

It all prances through the head
during the call from fields so fertile in what is reaped
that we always secretly wish are possessed by some entity
able to turn midnight into a writhing feast,
cringing or creeping have we dreamt
between the lulls of autumn mysteries
just leave us shuddering in excitement
about what might eventually rise out of graveyards
or exist behind a face that is really a mask.

 

Candles

Waxy elations melting under a flame
heat inspiring a tease to the mind,
wish glows inside by the spark
phantoms appear in the light.

But I’d rather have that fire
even though it fades
for in its shine I am radiant,
sunrise flickers its new rays.

Whirlwinds

I saw the whirlwind in your eyes
when my heart was a twister of passions
and blew us both into love’s sky
like being caught up in cyclone,
heads spinning and feeling so dizzy
from the beautiful touch of its power.

Together we held each
until our sighs and kisses
took us upon a hot air balloon ride
so totally aloft on that amazing airy encounter
all because we were totally in love.

Before was a sky filled with clouds
of every dreamy night we could imagine,
blissfully stripped of every care
except how long a kiss would last.

It’s heaven we never want to leave
that incredible sensation of happiness
far from the earth where problems rule.

What else comes before us
for this sweet time of soar
we know the magical drift of our embrace
as it lifts our hearts so high
beyond what burdens.

Shopping

Legions gathered in the heart,
hemorrhaging the dream plasma
spilled over the skin as a garment
making you feel every sensation
of a surreal sky’s veiled secrets
as imagined by the eyes
stinging from the blood letting
which awakens the vision
to the sea of possibilities
and all the mariner wishes
hidden in the mind.

Sitting on the edge of sanity
and burying the clone
you were on the inside
from the tyrants feared,
where it is cold and rainy,
but it stops hurting
because there is a sail on the horizon
it will arrive soon enough
then on that vessel of fantasy
across the acid waters of doubts
will be sailed to the a harbor
buying a white robe of peace
to replace this stained garment
with one that doesn’t hurt.

Sublime Snacks Of Succulent Zesty Seductions

What moment of ecstasy epitome
when a single wedge of cheese layered ambrosia
avails itself upon a tortilla core.

And in the whim, the inevitable truth
the heart fills with salsa,
an exquisite spicy impulse,
then we bonded to the reality,
one precious moment craves its focus
its power and passion
as we travel the lairs of condescending
until finding a liberty to devour.

It is an oasis of mouthwatering flow,
a second in true inner harmony
where the animal inside is release
while a chip becomes like a diamond,
one of many gems silently lusted.

That bite is so bewitching,
so beguiling in its hot, steamy seduction,
for once the smile doesn’t have to veil
what hunger rules inside.

Oh victory is the tarnished inclination
of subtle nuances that get to bite
upon the frail fruit of deeper groans.

 

My Own Place

I had so many dreams
about how I would
decorate my own place.

Had catalogues and magazines
with all the perfect suggestions,
only it was so much work
to repair all that was broken,
walls and plumbing needed fixing
and there was something else
that always ended up
being so much more important.

Oh I kept marking on the calendar
the day I would finally start
it would be so perfect,
a palace to behold,
such an eloquent utopia,
one all would forever admire.

Yet my hands never touched the foundation,
my mind simply was trapped
only seeing it in my sleep.

It eventually become condemned
and was torn down,
forced to move into a location
owned by somebody else.

Wasn’t ever the same as my freedom before,
but at least everything worked.

Some days I walk by that old spot,
it is now a castle,
truly is amazing,
can’t stop wondering
how it would have looked
if I had done more
than talk about construction.

Baking

Trust's oven
baking innocent's soufflé,
served to lips
claiming craving
one's desserts.

Adding love's icing,
dreaming
of wedding cake appetite,
but empty plate
of broken promise's crumbs
left at altar.

Her Parasol

Clothed in
claret passions.
Her valentine lips
offer love's candy.

Memory's parasol
shades
from fingers
craving sugar,
but never hearts.

Oh For A Working Pump!

Our company fleet of white vans and trucks
stood ready to serve our delivery needs,
but they were always thirsty and had to be fed,
and how those moments of pumping gas
over at our own private pumps
inspired so many to wish for some option
to sitting and waiting for the gas to get done
for it was to us a haunted pump
sometimes wouldn’t work at all
drove us nuts when vehicles were on empty
where not a drop would get dispensed
because our stupid computer monitor
was having a fit again.

Oh the ways some tried to get gas
once that occasion took place,
what extremes it inspired
since so many assumed
after our building being haunted
that the pumps also had spirits.

Now the suggestions abound
in a plethora of possibilities
from sacrificing a life chicken,
prayers to any kind of deity
even using Voodoo dolls
shaped like a pump
with some bizarre conjured words
in hopes the stupid machine would work.

None of those brilliant plans
summons a drop of fuel
still it did make for entertainment
when some driver was standing by them
waving his hands in the air,
screaming some insane words
before jumping up and down.

Those Little Secrets

Smirks that suppress their truths,
eyes looking away to deny their snickers
from those little secrets
nobody bothers to admit,
when someone enjoys seeing you look like a clown
because they decided to give into
a very twisted inspiration.

So you sit in the midst of a crowd
some mark left by a sabotaged seduction,
and everyone has a reason to enjoy the show
while you are left the jester
who never knows the joke
until the mirror reveals the truth.

Then comes the silent war of vengeance
as you only know the winner
after that other person
gets suckered into the same trick.

Oh how the laughs of prankster plots
make the day pass at work,
each time someone asks
what’s so funny
you always know
it is a question that has an answer,
once again you can’t hide
from being a buffoon.

Which is why when those grins begin
the wise one rushes to the bathroom
with lips restrained,
quickly looking
for the trickster’s stain!

I Understand

They echo of the lips in mindless meaning,
eyes stare off into space in silent emptiness,
mind is trapped in a closet that it can’t escape,
but the words still drip like molasses,
slow and almost slurred as if it gives more drama.

But the heart is dipped in a paralytic fudge sauce,
sweet and succulent in sensing life’s honey
unable to taste vinegar or bitterness
as it spills in pain from another’s cry.

Today the impoverished soul that lies in anguish
will toss that form parchment on the desk
of that supposed source for relief,
it will be stained with tears
like a grief stricken poem pen in deepest suffering.

After reading that artistry of agony
rich in the cold gray tints of despair,
the minion of entitlements who decrees
if this life deserves assistance
will utter the two words, I understand,
before stamping the paper,
declined.

Duly Noted

Oh magnificent pearl of poignant poetry
this five year occasion has sired such light,
a drift through the chasm of surreal thought
to the abyss of reverie’s night and flares.

Now to commemorate this occasion
we have conjured the finest in bureaucratic assemblies
so you might be endowed with the gold
of legislative’s pens in their profound purpose.

For you shall be graced
the wondrous feel of being aptly admired
with throngs of those who suitably discern
the exquisite brilliance of your talent.

These are the sentinels of democracy
who will give you the attention ,
which mirrors the honor they give so many
that you could feel anointed by fame’s diadem
in a way that lets it radiance shimmer so stunningly
upon all you chose to do with your life.

So here is one of those devoted civil servants
spending time prepared your award of acclaim
you can stand with pride flowing in your chest
because once this effort is done
then you shall feel as adorned of attention
as countless others that have been served,
naturally you name was added to their special list,
the one marked audit by the IRS!

 

Brittle

My feathers drained of wind in the heart
like a dying leaf’s last fall to the earth,
only silence to blanket my ebbing throbs
thinking life would descend only to dark demise.

But in the sunken abyss of morbid dreams
instead of landing upon the bitter soil
I reached a place with meadow silence
and clutched at the beauty of softness felt.