First Dates

somewhere along the rotting hydrangeas you claim belonged to your mother, you held tight on to a pearl necklace. fidgety. as if the cold of the pearls was too much and you felt like blaming it on me.

a couple of bottles of wine later you were telling me 'bout laughter and how it doesn't "go" with anything you own, and because of that you feel you are owed a new pair of shoes, and for the love of god, can i please shut up?

a couple more bottles of wine: the atmosphere is changing and apparently i have changed too, because now you reproach me in the tone you reproach your father, and the lingering sentiment of thyme and cinnamon is calling me back to the kitchen, where the chef would like to stick the meat cleaver into my back, and i will gladly accept if only to get away from your unreserved and unapologetic interrogation.

more wine. more birds.
less this.

i am currently sitting in the middle of my bed; pillows and condoms and rosarys and blankets thrown about the room. i am redecorating: what do you think?

Ruminations

Sitting in a white room,
Undisturbed by windows and doors,
I close my eyes,
& I can sense your silhouette;
Your warmth, lingering all over the
walls,
And my teeth are falling out one by one,
and there, next to the floor,
I see your arm, peeking in through
the silence, and the infinite
density of all is sinking in,
deep -- right to the wick of
my bones, right into the atmosphere
of my longing.
this white room is not my prison;
it is my delirium. All nothing
and yet, everything is there.
Present.
Total.

Abruptly, everything crumbles into a disenchanted fog of clarity.
Tear me limb from limb with the
web of hair you left
under my nails.
Tear me into a whole piece,
united by the strings and the very fabric of what I was.
Disentangle the cobweb that lingers
on my eyelashes.
Tell me you want more
with the breath of your lips,
with the scent of your morals.

What is there to live for
except love?

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.