Dust Motes

Clad in a white robe
Standing before me
Nothing was between us
But dust motes
Floating in a shaft of
Morning sun.

Only I
Had knowledge of you
To see the faintest
Turn of a smile
Upon your lips
As you let the robe fall.

I might have moved
Toward you
Might have taken you
In my arms
Except dancing dust motes
Captured my attention
Taunting me
Suggesting it’s
The faint things
I fail to notice
That divides the hubris in me
From the passion in you.

Brilliant sunlight
Etching the pores of your skin
In bright relief
Aroused me
Though I am a frequent explorer
Of your terrain.

But dust motes
Transfixed me
Mesmerized me
Pirouetting in streams of light
Drawing me through its galaxy
To establish
My constant orbit around you.

Time Wolf

I never considered time
A process
A natural sequencing
Of events
That either ties
Or separates us
One from another.

From this perspective
My lack of understanding is
Catastrophic
A failure of massive proportion.

When I was with her
Time was nothing
But a theory
Better left in textbooks
And dry addresses
By preachers and professors.

Lying with her
There
Was
No
Time.

There was nothing but
The sweetness of her breath
Softness of her body
The intoxication
Of her arms.

Ask me now and I will tell you
Time is a wolf
Relentlessly pursuing
The prey of memory
Wrestling it to the hard
Cold soil
Savagely reducing it to
White bone and cartilage
Stripped of warm flesh
And drained of blood
That once was love.

No Trouble

I have built castles in the air
And I have built castles in the sand.
I have no trouble building castles
Except castles on the land.

I have dreams as large as oceans
And I have dreams as big as sky.
I have no trouble with dreaming
And I guess I'll be a dreamer 'til I die.

I am a man as large as a fly speck
And I'm no bigger than a minute.
I have no trouble with my biology
Except there's not much glory in it.

Soon

She offered me tea from Persia
And soup from Saigon.
She gave me bedding from Egypt
And sang to me all night long.

She presented me coffee from Arabia
And oils from the Chinese coast.
She whispered to me softly
Like I'm one who may boast.

She lay beside my anxious body
And loved me, with passion and heat
Then slept, head on my chest
Yet I should have slept at her feet.

She remained at my side
Through the brightness of the moon.
She promised, one night to return
And please, God make it soon!

Parchment

She cuts.
She slices deeply into her
Flesh.

Her young body has become
Parchment for her pain.

Her scarlet life's stream has become
Ink for her wordless tale.

She sits in her florescent
Prison of expression
And she cuts.

Tomorrow
In the halls of learning
Her tormentors will laugh.

So, she will race home
To her florescent prison
And she will cut.

The Invisible Tiger*

I awoke this morning
To its familiar
Insistent
Guttural growl.
The invisible tiger
Lay heavily across
My lower body
Wanting me to feel
Its voracious appetite.
The first move
On my part
Would be countered
With brutal savagery.

I remained still.

The invisible tiger
Chewed on my
Lower right arm
Slowly
Deliberately
Wantonly.

I remained still.

The invisible tiger
Lay a heavy paw
On my sternum
Making it difficult
To breathe.

I moved slowly
Painfully
Trailing misery
Like great streams
Of oily blood.

The invisible tiger
Smiled.
How he loves the game.

I swung my legs
Over the edge of my bed.
The invisible tiger
Sunk its teeth
Into my right side.

I dragged the beast
To my medicine chest.
I fired into it using
Large caliber
Full metal jackets
Of pain killers.

The invisible tiger grinned.
I’ll be here
He said.
I will always be here.

And I will be hungry
Said the invisible tiger.


* This is how I spent last weekend. Pain is an amazing, brutal  companion.

Spin Cycle

It’s easy to fall in love
In this little piano bar
Her smoky voice worrying over
Till There Was You
Nursing a gin and tonic
Long, black tresses swept to one side
Like a tent flap
Open to her secret places.

Harder to find love
At the All-Nite Laundromat
Drums spinning
Soap and bleach stinging the moist air
Coat hangers tangled
Rattling in wire carts
Florescent lights pushing back the night. 

At the piano bar
I’d freshen her drink
Put on a crooked smile
Like a rumpled shirt.
Look at those long legs
Stretching like divided highways
Into the dark tunnel of that red skirt.
I’d ask her name
And she’d say
Call me what you want to, baby.

Her name’s Roxy
Her drink’s just fine
And those long legs have walked on
Better men than me.

But there’s no room for piano bars
At the All-Nite Laundromat
Where I have a date
With two weeks of laundry
And both my shirts and heart
Are on spin cycle.

All Hat

I watched him
Lean against a post.
I heard him lie
Brag and boast.

He chews toothpicks
And smokes see-gars.
Says he rides horses
Not cars.

He wears shirts
With pearl snaps.
Follows the stars
And not maps.

He stands tall
And walks straight
But he’s just
Catfish bait.

He’s all hat
And no cattle
All chaps
And no saddle.

The Weight of Absence *

It is her presence
I miss most.
I loved the weight
Of the air
When she was in the room.
The soft exhalation
Of her breath
Punctuated the passing
Of time.

She moved effortlessly
Through the day
As gentle and as quiet
As a butterfly
Dancing from blade to bloom.

It is remarkable 
That absence becomes a presence.
In strange ways
The memory of her
Casts more shadow
Than did her being in the room.

And thus will it ever be.


* For my Monarch, my Anam Cara

Observation....

Pain is the ink of the poet.

~ James