light and Night

See that clearing up ahead?

Its eye as wide as light?

TASTE space as the tide, unfed

by those who RIDE the night,

By those who RIDE the night.

Day Break

In a room
A gilded toom
in which the luster fades
Time made weary
of this query

To an ear which sound evades

Filled with matter
Charming clatter
rattles empty

At the glass

Your head laying

Eased in praying

for the day

has come

At LAST

My Love

My Love,
You slip right through me,
A ghost that will not leave.

Act as if you hardly knew me,
before one thought can grieve.

My love,
You are not mine.
You belong to another:
A place that despair cannot find
and hope will not discover.

My Love,
You masquerade as truth
each time my skin dares near you.
This flesh that lied to know your name,
became the flesh that fears you.

My Love,
I hear your haunting voice
A vulture of my soul:
Eats the dark vein of a tortured heart
that refuses to be whole.

My Love,
I met you in my dreams
your body wandered , lost.
Searching for a place to feel
despite life's wretched cost.

Perhaps you'll settle down and see
that I could never know you:
A thing that died inside of me
my only hope to show you:

That while you leave me more each day
I give my life to need you
and grieve for what I gave away
while waiting to receive you.

Cubicle Conundrum

I need to find salvation
from the drab and drones
need to find myself inside
the mess
when i'm alone
Need to find the peaceful
existing in the wrong
Need to love the people
who spew deceitful song
Need to leave a life
that the world regards as right
Need to flee from screaching dawn

This action breeds tonight!

Love Stinks

Peculiar how the ways of lust
break into contempt
A once dream of my body's must
pleads to be exempt
The curried taste of lover's lamb
recedes into despair
once the sheath of garnished thought
leaves life cold and bare
Strange how once a tickled grin
only means to scowl
Upon the sight of sweet mistrust:
Curdled, damp and fowl
How could the heart vein's former ache
turn so quick to sore?
And open up to wreak the hate
of lost love's stale rapport.

Sky Spy

Patch of Sky between the threshold
and the partly opened door

wide abrite with promise
that a small patch becomes more

staring through a spy glass
looking for a sign

that life within be boundless


A window to the sky

Birth Mark

This short hair grew out of my neck one night
It was there and knew I could not fight
The wanting to pick it out of the mark.
It is very dark each time that it grows
Almost as if it knows what I enjoy
In order to employ my simple woes
Each time it grows, I quietly wait still
maybe to create a will to perform
that which I ask the norm to provide me
it is perhaps the dark hair which decides
me: Should I confide in time or reason?
for now is the season of desire
a lesion on my neck forms from picking
sticking to my plan has made me weary
this most unhopeful query for today
I say as I am passing without knowing
That all my daemons showing and staring
Glaring through a suspectful wound I made
And gave to this another sense, not pain.
Soon, I am very certain that this hair
Could be the curtain of my own despair
A name perhaps to travel soo far out
Yet a healthy path could not be paved grout
And if one night the hair does not grow dark
I will then search the light for other marks.