Insomniac Hours

in the insomniac
hours after midnight
we talk
esoteric to
concrete
and back
words and
understanding
gliding like
oil on skin
soothing muscles
too tense for
sleep

when words
and oils
have soothed
the bull
enough to
give Morpheus
his due,
your kiss of
menthol and
mocha
carries me
home.

I'm watching a friend (a brilliant poet) who is in her 30s battle her third bout with Cancer.  Every time it feels like she's over the worst of it, something comes along and kicks her back down.

After nearly a year of clean scans, during which she has had several bouts of pneumonia, two broken hips, etc., the doctor now tells her they see "something ( Read more... )

Some old ones while I work on some new ones:

IN YOUR ABSENCE

It's the negatives
I find myself missing most
toilet seat left up
catching me unaware

AFTERBIRTH

Sometimes I need
the words of others
to inspire
conspire
and force
the thoughts
from me....
Like a void,
I am nothing
until caressed
by syllables and
sounds and
abstract images
made concrete
when written
with ( Read more... )

 
In Lieu Of...

At your feet

I fight the urge

to offer service

in lieu of

submission

At Odds with Id

“Put a devil on the left, an angel on the right,

I'm already livin' in the middle of the fight...”

~~ Devil on the Left - Jamie O'Neal (Brave)

Id, on my shoulder

recalls lines and

scenes from stories

and taunts me

with the chant “Why not?”

Superego whispers

“Sin”

to the agnostically

atheist student

of human spirituality

and

Catholic guilt

and ( Read more... )

Did I tell you that I love you?
I'm sure I meant to
but somewhere between
the bedroom and the
back door
I tripped and stumbled
on broken vows
and over-used promises .
In the shower, you
wash my scent
from your skin
your dirty secret
cleansed in
sandalwood scented
amnesia.

Catholic mourners
collect mass cards
like
trading cards
in cardboard shoe boxes
tucked under beds
Take them out
to play
Survivor Monopoly
live longer than
your enemies.

At 3 a.m.
I wonder if you're still awake

if I show up
with a bottle
would your lights
           be out?

Could Smirnoff replace
       what we've lost between us?

alcohol infused romance

Or maybe something
simpler
     -  lower

A pelvic pretense
of the forgotten

Your voice over
wires
reminds me

deja vu

the taste of coffee
on your tongue
late night
conversations
into early mornings

Your voice
strums me like
wire -
like your tongue
strummed me
into early
mornings

And the phone
is a sorry
substitute
during late night
conversations
into early mornings.