Ex

Being with her was kind of like
taking a spin on my old bike
Fun at first, for maybe a day
then I remembered why I put it away

The Green Lamp

Humming of florecent the light
its buzzsaw lyrics comfort me
The sun itself is much too bright
blinding my eyes, can barely see

In this room, a tomb of sorts
perpetual day stems off night
The sun can curse, spit retorts
but in here there is only light

I could do it, get up if I felt
like leaving, taking flight
make the walls of this place melt
but that would bring only blight

Yet truth be told, filled with fright
this artificial day is comforting
fills me with courage, gives me might
the green lamp, it lets me sing

The Cardinal

Flash of red in a field of green
it hops from the lawn into a tree
does it know how wonderful
rain on an early fall day smells?
head boobing, wings twitching
free bath for the tired aviator
wisked away by the scent, gone.

55 word story

Moving up slowly, she slips into my room. Footfalls barely audible, the sparse light dances off her features. She is searching for something (aren't we all), and my slight breathing does not give me away.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
She jumps, and says, "Nothing, I was just wondering if you were awake."
"I am now."

Postmodern Paris pt III

I understand how Paris felt
when he looked upon Helen
in Menelaus' house

Did he pine for her silently
in her husband's presence?
Did their every shared touch
witnessed make his blood boil?

He probably had a companion
to plot with, to console him
all through the long nights.

Did butterflies fill his chest
as he tried to keep his cool?
Did he fear the wrath that
would be visited upon his head?

I bet they both shuddered at every
shared touch not caught by her
husband's ever watchful eye.

Run away with me, I'd say
but I know you won't
You are no Helen of Troy
and saddly, I no Paris.

Villanelle to Cerberus

Drift off to sleep my threeheaded pet
To get to her, I must go through you
Though recently parted, the sun has not set

With lyre in hand I'll weave this net
Make eyelids heavy, dreams fill your view
Drift off to sleep my threeheaded pet

Love taken from me, heart filled with regret
Again I'll kiss her lips, but first i need through
Though recently parted, the sun has not set

This lulaby will calm, make you forget
Be lax in the task you're forced to do
Drift off to sleep my threeheaded pet

Once I am passed, with her be well met
Then our love to refresh and renew
Though recently part, the sun has not set

Your eyes drooping, not quite asleep yet
Blood on the strings, I'll keep sing until you
Drift off to sleep my threeheaded pet
Though recently parted, the sun has not set

To a Wayward Muse

Staring down at the blank page
smilingly, she mock me
Yellowing, the paper begins to age

Striving so hard for an image
trying to pry lines free
Staring down at the blank page

Frustrated, mind filled with rage
over images never come to be
Yellowing, the paper begins to age

Pleading her, offering up sage
waiting for her on bent knee
Staring down at the blank page

Waiting for a line to take the stage
reach out and watch her flee
Yellowing, the paper begins to age

This knot too complex to engage
this padlock wthout a key
Staring down at the blank page
Yellowing, the paper begins to age

The Tower

The tower, filled with all I need
for the long jouney ahead
also filled with nothing I want
I opted for exile instead
I sit in this great ivory tower
built with my own two hands
Touch the walls, cold and smooth,
immune to the shifitng sands

Sitting here, want for food
but I know that none shall come
Sitting here, want for friends
but I know that none shall come

Alone, candllight plays off seams
of aged volumes long thought lost
I dare not, will not open them
protected by a layer of mildewed frost
I work up the nerve to try the door
but know my craftsmanship well
This portal shall not, cannot budge
My own fingers worked the spell

Sitting here, want for smoke
but I know that none shall come
Sitting here want for drink
but I know that none shall come

I look to the small single window
watch the grey-black clouds roll by
I could jump, the fear is too great
this tower I built too high
Unwillingly, I resign myself
back to the task at hand
Here in my ivory tower
Immune to the shifting sand

Postmodern Paris pt II

I understand how Paris felt
when he looked upon Helen
in Menelaus' house

Did her frantic ramblings
make him want to hold her?
Did her every tear burn
like acid on his flesh?

Did he feel this sneaky, this slimy
with every thought of her ivory skin
on the nape of her neck?

Was every stolen glance
worth its weight in gold?
Did every chance touch
send shivers down spines?

They probably held secret council.
She cursing her uncaring husband;
he hanging on her every word.

Run away with me, I'd say
but I know you won't.
Saddly, I am no Paris
and you no Helen of Troy.

Discussion with Selene

We watched the almost full moon come up
that chill pre-autumn night

It rose quite quickly
offhanded remark
the field was bright
the way home dark

I want to stay here forever
No cares, except for a sweater
We really do have it good here
and this night's made it better

I could too, but not right now
too much upon my plate
work to do, lines to right
and besides it's getting late

With one more smoke we were gone
leaving that once holy ground
Shed tears still stained your face
Light was pale; homeward bound

That pre-autumn chilly night
wish we'd walked 'til the sun came up

Vermont and P

Redneck fashion drop out
Eyes me from across the club
I sit alone, reading Rilke
She stumbles over to me
Gin and lipstick and sex

“You’re cute!”

“Yeah, thanks.”

My eyes return to the page
But she hovers, click click,
Jaw moving, Big Red
My eyes return to her
As she lights a smoke

“What’s your name?”

“John Galt.”

And back to the page
Still she buzzes around me
A fly obsessed with a rotten peach
Once again, I look up
Her eyes have changed

“You’re weird.”

“I know.”

She plods back to her friend
Defeat visible in fallen shoulders
I just smile across the table
At the girl in white, face aglow
She whispers me these lines

Waxwing Confession

You always did warn me
about flying too close
to the sun

These wings are made of wax
Your every touch seems to melt
Reminding me that you
are forever out of reach

I flew too high
tried to taste the sun
my lips got singed
my wings merely feathers
held on by a layer of wax
that drips from my arms as I dare
to embrace your firey form

Covered in wax
you pull from me
I slowly soar down
forever earthbound
by that one glorious night
I was burnt by the sun

Pursuit

She runs through the wilds
Branches scratch the skin
Forehead shimmers
Her eyes wide
Fear written in her lips
She stumbles and almost falls
Her hand is torn open
As the oak catches her fall
She peers behind her
Is he still there?

The beast ever present
The god whose heart she stole
He chases, is relentless
Knowing the chase will kill her
The fool keeps coming
And she still runs

Her heart is racing
She can hear him coming
Breaking branches
Kicking up rocks
His panting carries
In the cold night
She finds her footing
And is off once more

The trees seem to want
To hinder, to hold back
She fights, rips, defaces
The wall of trees immobile
Any type of penetration
Almost impossible
Then, she finds a hole
And the woods break open

Her feet touch water
She stops, the glade impassable
No where to run, her head tilts up
Crescent moon dancing in her eyes
For a moment she is calm
Then the echo of pursuit
Reaches her ears
And her feet take root
Skin turns to bark
Fingers form branches
Hair becomes leaves
"Thank you," she whispers
And the river replies
"You are safe now, my daughter"
And slowly, she bends into a laurel

Heat Death

Is it warm in here,
or is it just me?
This place is a heap,
no room in my room.
This blanket’s too much;
hot breath on my ear.
Thighs burn to the touch,
her heat to consume
my will as I sleep.
Doesn’t bother me,
I’ve no need to fear.
It’s what I asked for,
what I need most:
to bathe in your smoke.
It’s like heaven here,
this red dwarf sick joke:
flesh made whipping post.
I want to feel more,
shed boiling tears.
Her body like coal,
steam rises off skin;
ghosts of smoke appear.
They choke on the sin,
vice making them whole.
They taunt, speak sincere,
tongues burning like fire;
tell me, ‘disappear
in funeral pyre.’
I would, but I fear
her spell keeps me here.

Eurydice's Song

Don't look back
Whatever you do
Don't look back
know she's behind you

Standing before a god,
plying my trade;
her life in the balance,
A simple song I played.
His eyes teared up,
a river on his cheek.
Now he knows humanity
so frail, so weak.

Don't look back
whatever you do
Don't look back
know she's behind you

He released her from
the chains that bind
saying, "Be on your way,
but don't look behind."
The path is dark,
hear her feet on the stone?
Pining to see her;
so close, so alone.

Don't look back
whatever you do
Don't look back
know she's behind you

A light shines ahead
this journey almost complete.
Exit the underworld together
and blissfully fall at her feet.
The sun touches my flesh,
my immortal soul aches,
temptation overwhelming;
I turn and my heart breaks.

Don't look back
he told you no to
Don't look back
whatever you do

For a second I see her
in mourning clothes clad,
her heel still in shadow;
so beautiful, so sad.
And she melts away,
his forever to keep;
taken back to the dark
while desparatly, I weep.

Don't look back
he told you no to
Don't look back
whatever you do

She disappears, fades away;
I continue to weep.
Taken back to the dark,
cross the waters so deep.
With lyre in hand
I sing this simple song
for the woman I lost;
for whom I still long.

Postmodern Paris

I understand how Paris felt
when he looked upon Helen
in Menelaus' house

Did her eyes entrap him
like yours caught me?
Did her every move, word, sigh
pull the net tight?

They probably exchanged
glances filled with passion;
both hurting and alone.

Did her eyes plead him
to set her free?
Did her every tear, shudder, cry
keep him awake at night?

As they ran away together,
did the joy of freedom
run through their veins?

Run away with me, I'd say
but I know you won't.
You are no Helen of Troy;
and I no Paris.