Gold and Poinsettias

i fell asleep somewhere between here and there,
and the resonance of tears
flutterin around my ears
like celestial thrumps.

i dont want to know
what the giant hides behind his back;
just tell me where you
keep my secrets.
i will put all the flowers in your hair
if you'll only give them back --
each one dressed with
a kiss.

i woke up somewhere far and near
and all that was left was guilt.
hold my head and tell
me
"December the 6th, exactly"
i promise to know what you mean.
gold. more gold.
all the gold.
and poinsettias;
champagne, too.
hair: red and yellow.
lips: red and lonely.
eyes: blue violet and green, depending on the
         silence.
skin: cold and warm
mind: radiant.
heart: perfect.

A Portrait of a Rainy Night

Fearing the sound of rain,
as the city lingers
in the form of
hallways, highways, parkways,
side-streets, parking lots, empty lots,
stores, bars, cafes, theaters,
and shadows (oh, the shadows)
of where we got to know each other,
of where we came,
of where we came to like each other,
of where we grew to love one another,

I sit and wait.

An Anecdotal Dinner Party

"where did i leave the mona lisa?
how about dali's moustache? is it in the car?"
"why did the violins start on time?"
"don't they know you can't be bother'd?"
"where did you park the minutes i gave you,
i was sure you'd hold on to them
until they matured and became hours -- no matter."
"i'll dress you up, and serve you up on a platter
to welldressed and wellmannered versions of myself
with cavier and mustard." "bring out the
champagne."
"make me delirious"
"give me your maladies."
"i wish to be sick with you."
"hide in my veins; tickle me under my skin.
come here with your throat,
and let me hold it between my hands."
"more violins!"
"more champagne!"
"come here with your whispers
and let me hold them between my lips."
"give me your womb
and i'll hold on to it for safekeeping."
"let me give you the time;
i have no use for it."

"where did i leave the mona lisa?
and the venus de milo" -- "no matter,"
"give me your arms, and stand still."

re: a conversation

1.
svelte subdued tenacity, vibrant eloquent womb
precarious subliminal intimacy, depravity indulged innocence
you give me your hand, i give you cement

the new orchids of starving alligators;
mere repression attacking your nerves -- don't resist

whereever you go, i'll be drowning myself in bestial
sentimentality in hopes of

killing whatever (part of me that) keeps you alive.

spectral divinities of infirm'd saints,
    give me the pantheon of celestial imbeciles
    and pay me alimony give me your tithe
    dream me up some more fucking wine.

2.
wake up in the arms of the one you now hate
because you once loved;
think of the respiratory dandelions,
holding no grudges, showing no vanity.
    where were you when the hunger set in
    and dismemberment was the nationalistic scent
    of fortified troops called "The Whallops"
    as they fought the flower'd wars?

unhold;unwish;unrepent;

design a didactic gospel, veil'd in lubricity
in turpentine
in elastic motives
that leaves unfurnished skin to

[welcome those who come back.]

rest on your grandfather's laurel'd armchair,
thick with illusions.
can you hear the symphonic tenacity?

do you see the vibrancy with which i promise tomorrow?

A Study in the Absence of Reasons

somewhere along
the
      way

i lost sight
of what

but then further
along

the way

i lost sight of
who

and only
just now

did i lose
sight

of why.

now i can start over.

Lost at the end of the day

She came. She saw. She conquered.
& at the end of the day, nobody was there.

The burden of arrogance sprinkled with an ice cold lemonade of disintegrated desires and passion for
Semi-forgotten hard-ons and everyone was gone.

Follow me, October whispers
into the ear of babed loneliness, holding on to the arm of
a quaffed and
Well-groomed innocence.

Dress me in your forgottens, in your remembers,
In your perhapses, and your I guesses.

Nobody is home when the lights are on.
Everyoness out and

youre
too busy growing old to notice.

A Good Old College Try

O tumultuous nature of disillusion,
where is the thirst for life,
for love
for desire
for unabashed passion
for delirious contempt of traditionalism
for desirous mid-afternoon cravings

where is it all hiding?

Open up your wings, your legs,
your lips, your thoughts, your very (fucking) soul!

Wake me up from this fatigue.
Wake me up from this catatonic slumber which has persist'd for the better half of the last decade.
Wake me up! For the hours are long and life is short and that very contradiction can only be solved with your cunt against my mouth and my tongue half way to your lungs.

Destroy me with your truth!
Tell me what makes you tick, what turns you on, what pervades in your subconscious. Open yourself up to me!

Drown me in your dreams. Drown me in your illusions. Drown me in what your perfect tomorrow looks like. Drown me with your juice!

For fuck's sake -- look here, kid: the future is already written, let's imagine something different, and fuck it all up.

I can sit here and pretend that it's all okay, but you said "wait!"