When Dawn Came (Revisited) [poetry]

It was here one night,
among white blossoms and junipers,
that we lay and were touched
while the rest of the world snored
in their small beds.

We breathed frost words to breezes on branches,
breathing deeply in the deep woods
with no earthly destination,
hidden behind the pulse of dawn
throbbing on a trigger’s touch.

You were delicate incense I lit alone.

In silence,
my fingers found the sweep of stars on bare skin—
a house-warmth murmur of Christmas gold when you breathed.

You were a bird
whose only cry came in color in the company of starlight,
whistling up the violets
in a garden wilderness of morning delight,
flowering into streaming pink and gold,
and fleshed with last night’s rose petals when dawn came to us.

Poet [poetry]

The boy who lost his mother gnarled like a bear—
tough bear he.

But away from the bestial,
he had softness in his eyes—
they laughed even when he and his words were sharp
and sometimes ambiguous.

He showed the plumpness of his belly to his closest friends
and grunted like a pig and poet,
laughing behind his scars
with eagerness to taste color from afar.

He took from the sunglow like an artist hunched at his easel
and painted everyone—
even the ones who had no power to imagine.

He painted deaf-mutes with love that ran down his breast,
ripping chords from the constellations
and opening creation’s ingenious blindness
to music that volleyed beyond his art that transcended ages
and volleys still
in us all.

When Dawn Came To Us [poetry]

It was here one night among white blossoms
that we lay and were touched
while the rest of the world snored
in their small beds.

We breathed frost words on branches
breathing deeply in the deep woods
with no earthly destination,
hidden behind the pulse of dawn
throbbing upon a trigger’s touch.

You were delicate incense I lit alone.
In silence,
my fingers found the sweep of stars on bare skin,
house-warmth murmur like gold when you breathed.

You were a bird
whose only cry came in color in the company of starlight
that whistled up the violets
on a garden-full wilderness of new-day light,
the yellow flowering into streaming pinks
and fleshed with rose petals when dawn came to us.

Car Hysteria (Seduction Revisited) [poetry]

Earlier today,
shopkeepers seduced pot-bellied old men
with sleek,
fast,
brand-new cars
that rubbed and kissed their trousers
and guaranteed to stop lonesomeness.

Erstwhile minds backpedaled on leather seats
where stale memories surfaced and breathed new air,
striking deals in brown cubicles
under the breath of fresh coffee.

What she feared most,
kicked and scratched
and wanted to grow big enough to crawl
from the backseat of a yellow Pantera
and seduce her all over again,
while her husband and she waited
for his father to sign the lease
as wordy as Shakespeare but lacking any color.

She stayed away from the thing of her past—
Some memories are the turmoil
of a soul knotted like hair in vomit,
where forlornness and tumultuousness sting.