perfect skin

her skin would be perfect

i’m sure of it

her lips would be ready

and so slightly parted

she would breathe unevenly

she would try to keep calm

but it would catch her

smash her in a sudden grasp

her eyes would widen

i’m sure that her hair

would fall into tangles

across her pretty face and

  she wouldn’t care

her arms would fall limp

then contract for a purpose

then fall limp again

her waist would squirm

her skin would be perfect

her mouth would open up

and her tongue would inflate

then flatten then curl

her eyes would look at me

then into me

then grab me

and i would run with them

as her doors slammed shut

her flood gates would open

her perfect skin constricted

her lips clenched upon me

and her hair in wild tangles

i would be an amalgamate

of love and lust on

her perfect skin as

her doors slammed shut

reduction

the wind is getting

aggressive

but the walls are

holding steady

i extend a hand

to help a neighbor

only to have it

slapped away

its time to

reduce my living;

  i prefer a peaceful calm,

  a fallen feather’s float

its time to open up the

interior doors

and give in to the

secluded silence

pleasing the muse

midnight whispers

the alluring songs

of sleep

but words commingle,

from here and there

they join

the beginnings of

a poem shout the

whispering away

i take to the task

and please the muse

  who wryly smiles

  at the abuse

promise to an old poem

an old poem,

  a dying body

suffering the inevitable

coming of its time

these cancerous flecks

these silver streaks

and colors of life

fading from every word

lines that have

served their purpose

but have not aged well,

  they too succumb

you will not leave here

forgotten

my precious friend,

i am here as savior

to write you anew

a poem in night’s

  wasteful lull

a poem in lust’s

  eager confession

a poem for the faults

  and merits of men

  and women,

poems of reason

  or excuse

in these to come

you will live on,

i promise you this

in earnest

lest you disappear

from that page

without knowing

guardrails

safety in your arms

  when traffic is

  heavy in the head

  and all lanes are

  merging, clogging

safety in your arms

  when thoughts are

  erratic, frenzied

  out of control

  and crashing

safety in your arms

  drifting in directions

  headed for trouble

  blinded by darkness

  or distraction

safety in your arms

  pulling me aside

  holding me close

  providing respite from

  ever changing chaos

senses forbidden / exist as blend / naught made climax 

love...

love... 

  sunset in liquid

  choir in cavern

  first bite of ripest fruit

  oceanic undulation

love...

  sunrise of blending

  aria in dialogue

  participant of mergence

  continuance of flesh

blackness

love, O love

O my dear

my sweetheart

this is not another poem about you

no

this is without you

this is darkness

there is not another word from

this pen to unite us

not another mirage that

i run towards with hope

i am blackness

deaf to melodies

void of proclivities

i am blackness

i am without you

  my sweetest

  my dear

this is without you

( blackness )

O love...

(My photo)

she dreams of (for ashleigh kay masichuk)

she dreams of dancing at 2am

as the last spilled beer is

absorbed into the bar towel

and three wrinkled dollars are

shoved into the glass tip jar

she’s a pretty girl in a pretty dress

not this exhausted mess at the

end of another double shift with

a t-shirt baring the company logo

and khaki shorts with bleach spots

it’s wine and jazz, sax and piano

but her head is numb from hours of

heavy grunge and guitar feedback

and that fucking singer that screamed

every fucking word he fucking sang

she dreams of love in the arms of a lover

while the stage lights come on and

the bouncers escort the last wobbler

out the door, she reaches for a 

cigarette but the pack is empty

midnight in the garden

midnight

changing flowers in the garden

this one never looked like you anyway

uprooted

mangled and cut

there is solace in degradation’s scent

i’m turning the soil

preparing these grounds for a better bloom

something wild

something i dont have to tend to

something crazy

midnight

and the garden is empty

just worms in the dirt

and scattered petals

somewhere

love is a seed,

somewhere close by,

I just haven’t found it yet

apologies to the fly

my apologies to 

the fly tonight

for the casual disorder

of the human mind

and the hand that

got away from me

provoked by its happy

flits and flutters

for some reason

for no reason

the fly tonight

no longer flies

i feel as either

a made man

or

something just as dead

traveler

the day begs to be with you

by wind it bends towards you

but you bend away

hollow in the center

  without root you up and leave

you’re not one for any garden

not the work of gardener’s hands

nor the upright bold of stone

nor the surrounding gate

  nor the path within

those you’ve known call you a traveler

the distance dreamed of by an idle eye

pretty by mistake

a mirage of intentions

  here for the moment that never stays

impossible to forget

when all i do is remember

i place restrictions on my heart

so i never have to hurt again 

in tones of Spring

whisper to me

in tones of Spring,

guide me from

the travails of Winter

be gentle,

my body’s still

quivering in transit

be warm,

my heart’s still

shivering in thaw

be true,

my mind is

adjusting to clarity

be pure,

my spirit needs

a virtuous pursuit

assemblage

i don't think of you in

fractions or fragments

you’re not the climb of a vine

or the support that it clings to

you’re an entirety

an assemblage

a complete saturation

the feeling of entwinement

entanglement

a mutual whole

 

(5-7-5)

grey drizzle morning

clouds dulling the rising sun

still, i wake and breathe

out there

out there somewhere

  is the

Love, She, You

of all my poems

the subject of verse

  of tripped up words

  of microblatherings

  of rambling prose

if only i knew

i would jump there in a second

exigent love would bloom

from a release of desperation

for now

i etch my words into these

feathered formats

should she see them

  love

  you

know i am longing to somehow

be there

the birth of change

 

, i am

concrete of a city floor, i am

steel bones of a high rise, i am

soils of a vacant field, i am

the trunk of a mighty oak

sewer streams in gutters, i am

flickering neon lights, i am

viscous trails of slugs, i am

feathered flights of hawks

moonrise on the ocean, i am

silvered blue and grey, i am

midday desert sunlight, i am

crimson burn and char

the gardens are all around me, i am

planted here and thrive, i am

just as grown as anything, i am

yet to be revealed