Once and for All

He got lost in her body,

Swimming in fragrant hair that lay with chocolate symmetry.

He explored her mountains and valleys,

gently pondering every inch.

She cast out her scented lure,

he dove like a hungry hawk.

The hook was seated and off she went,

wrapping his heart in lies.

Her heart was a stamp she shared readily,

a discriminating eye watched not.

Blinded by burgundy lust,

she never failed to let him down.

She danced down an intermittent path,

with purple pretenses in her wake.

Claiming her spirit free,

she often danced blind and naked.

He sold his soul and donated his limbs,

eager to show he was true.

But often times she wasn't there,

consumed with vanity.

A young man shattered just past the skin,

an implosion nobody sees.

Awoke to find he'd wasted time,

and lost friends along the way.

Broke down deep like San Andreas,

his facade was had long since cracked.

Only time for a one last resort,

a pistol and final sleep.

Was it the quest for love or simple lust,

that drove him to the edge?

Nobody can tell a dead man heart,

Safe to say he died with it open.

Bitter Mourning

He covers his eyes to the pain that love brings,

waiting for the callous to form.

Chokes back tears as the thorn gently stings,

providing shelter from the storm.

Caught in time standing on line,

suddenly unable to swallow.

Feels so good to do what he should,

though it makes him so hollow.

Suddenly awoke by time he finds,

a wrinkle has started to form.

No ringed finger, no tie that binds,

only solitude is the norm.

He carries no regrets, no apologies,

cannot bare any extra weight.

Surrendering carnal desire with ease,

dying dreams are left on his plate.

Contemplating his mortality,

he questions how to go on.

Not buying in to a reality,

where all faith and hope are gone.

Puerto de agua

I like talking Spanish with the old man,

experiencing some form of dementia.

Floating on a cloud of indifference,

awareness chipped at like a pillar of marble.

Puerto de agua! Puerto de agua! said he.

it was the fountain at his feet of which he spoke,

water flowed in giggling sheets.

"Door of water", exact translation.

Every word he spoke was poetry,

The words fell from his mouth like boulders gathering speed.

"Dios mio! conesta hente"

I know, these guys are too much.

He spoke with paternal warmth.

He tells the song of the sparrow,

speaks to the invisibles.

A grandfather, a husband, a son, a friend,

a pleasant man, a lyrical master.

Mind slowly dissolving,

final years no recognition,

of family, of friends, of life itself.

Thank you my friend,

I will remember.

who is Lazarus.. ( a film )

Quiet emotional images,

breezy laughter, sushine in color,

desperation distress in shades of gray

then I begin to speak.

A three minute narrative,

of the crooked road I traveled,

graven shots in black.

And white will be used as contrast,

my joys and sorrows will be implied.

My journey into the unknown, willingly,

I travel blind-folded and silent.

Dimly lit blood pressure,

overexposed rejoicing,

my light falling down, down,

into oblivion.

Buster (the affliction)

When Buster came into my life I wasn't even paying attention,

was it day or was it night, I don't remember.

Such a life changing event and I missed it, sort of figures though,

I was always kind of slow and gullible.

I was busy hiding from the storm, licking old wounds,

stuck in time applying band aids to a dam wall in the rain.

Incredibly needy while not feeling particularly needed,

looking for that one thing that would make everything alright.

But Buster would change all of that,

Now, I would hemorrhage self esteem behind nefarious escape attempts,

and weep torrential downpours over a desert of denial.

Buster was an unwanted house guest who rearranges your furniture,

then dismisses your loved ones and pets.

Friendly kisses and casual hugs now a memory,

I search for comfort from the latex talons of paranoia.

The well intentioned ones slice blindly to the bone,

with jagged words wrapped like pleasantries.

with sweetest fruit held up too high,

on my knees I fall harder still.

Why I still have this lust for life?

it's just a measure of my pesky will.

inner divinity

Always searching for some guidance, some beacon,

some spot of light to guide my way,

I began to notice that a faint whisper preempted each decision I made,

and that little voice always had my best interest at heart.

It took many, many years to finally hear this voice,

and I only wish that I had slowed down earlier enough to hear her.

Spent a lot of time chasing bliss, many shining ones lead me astray,

all the while this pillar of light was residing inside me.

I want to be closer, to know how she moves,

to not make anymore bad decisions.

I want swim the perfection of her current,

after all I am only human, this voice is clearly divine.

Sometimes I don't want to listen, wish I could block her out,

and sometimes she's plain inconvenient.

Nevertheless in the end it's my decision, I will go my own way,

but I know that if I take her direction I can't go wrong.

My ZZZZz

As a child I would try to stay awake at night as long as I could,

as if some thing would happen at a certain hour.

As a young adult I thought I could adjust to life without sleep,

and that lead me down a very dark, tiring road.

Now, I use sleep as the ultimate escape

when I feel I need to get away and no place on Earth is far enough,

when what I really need is to leave my body,

I put my head on a pillow and drift away like a feather.

First there's thought, bouncing like a ping pong ball through my mind,

then I focus on the darkness before my eyes, slowly drifting,

thoughts fade, darkness envelopes me and finally,

the wonderful, blissful feeling of mid sleep.

The period of, not quite asleep,

lucid dreaming, thoughts not quite dead yet,

where I can dream with intent,

I am swimming with the current of subconscious.

I try to prolong this time, to keep my head afloat,

so I might remain conscious of the difficulties resolved,

or see anything behind the scenes.

But mostly simply to appreciate the divine experience of living,

Marissa

I met my 8 month old niece today,

and felt the warmth of new life in my arms

I wrapped them around her like a trusty sailors knot.

I had the feeling of wanting to introduce her,

to birds, to kittens, to airplanes, to the world.

all she wanted was my ice cream cone.

But I needed to make contact.

Eye contact.

So I stood her up on my thighs,

feeling her legs bare the weight of her body,

and she looked behind me, to the side of me,

But there was a moment, one sweet moment,

when she looked directly into my eyes

Hi sweetheart, hello Marrisa,

I humbly offer myself to her,

I am your uncle and will love you always.

She takes a shot at my ice cream.

Ex Girlfriend

No I cannot talk to you on the phone. I text her.

Because you left foot prints on my heart and it feels kinda good when they're filled.

Yeah I lied when I said that I had a girlfriend because I was scared.

You said that you want to hug me.

I want to be surrounded by the scent of your hair.

And dive into the curve of your neck blowing kisses all the way.

You are my past.

It was really a blast, I'm glad it was with you.

I don't want to go running from the thing that made me who I am.

Instead I hold it close and wipe the dust from it's eyes.

Its my reference point after all.

It taught me lessons....sometimes more than once. I'm hard headed.

I learned that from it too.

So I am now calling her, I want to talk.

And I left a message.

If she calls back I might tell her that the past is the past.

Lets let it be, how are you getting along today.

No sentences starting with, "Remember when..."

Its all about right now. New memories.

Let us make them happy.

Abstinence

I do not know if I want the soft hand of intimacy to touch me again

It might burn as before,

Tears I would surely shed,

And then dissolve into a pool on the ground,

To bury myself in another,

To have that permission,

To give that permission,

To meld with another body,

So sweet but so new,

Again.