Myself

I feel myself winding down

an empty play ground, the children

shouting toward their classrooms

their energy still present and exhausting.

I feel myself worried that the pain is less sharp.

Your back to me, your shoulders hunched

and not enough courage to turn and say

enough.

When you turn I am gone, have been for awhile.

I feel myself warming to the cold, and my stride

less quick and my hands listless at my sides.

Old men in cardboard boxes, stuffed newspaper in their

rotting shoes.

I perhaps do not belong here under viaducts and such

but I’d rather no one find me

feeling constantly less.

High and Forgotten

At last I have reached the precipice without the dread and fear that kept me away from the edge.

I’ve met at last the towering and dizzying height with an intake of breath that cannot reach my lungs

But I’m not afraid.

Relieved.

Yes relieved.

Is there a face in the crowd?

Someone with whom I can speak to while dying?

Perhaps

But even that will not delay the pain I’m now ready to face.

The ugly accusations and the admitted cowardice

Of saying anything but I cannot betray.

Yes, I’d rather be perceived as disturbed.

We shall see in the end. I who swallowed and kept down the

Poison you fed me – and loved you still. I love you still.

I’m ready now to walk off that cliff and leave those four words high

And forgotten.

Open Windows

I speak and hear nothing, you have deafened me to me.

I’ve searched for clues of you and weary so have ceased.

All of the faces are without expression, their bodies’ wave

In the wind, top-heavy daisies in the summer breeze.

Our shoulders catch as I walk in the opposite direction, we

Slide apart, making sure we remain unaware.

I’d like to damn you but don’t have the heart – not for that.

This life is so transitory and I’m so used to being alone now.

I loved once, very briefly and then I was done, I didn’t have the heart

For that either.

Strange, very strange when the world winds down to darkness at

Last for me, will I think of you?

That blank part of my existence that always puzzled me, my feeble

Attempts, my pin-the-tail-on-the-ass attempts that always found

The open window on the second floor.

Injured but not dead. I tried twice.

The pain was not worth the recovery.

I Want

I don’t understand,

You changed in a way that confounded me.

So graceful, so careful, often times unaware of your movements

But I was, I am very much aware.

I fail to answer a question or laugh when I ought to

And you become clumsy, chilled and warm and

A metamorphous begins.

Everything is give.

I could pull your very life source and you would

Allow me.

When we first made love I thought at moments you were angry.

Only with barriers you could not see but felt in me.

Give.

So I took.

Yet pulled away to feel the sway, and jerk, and push of inarticulate

What?

What?

But you couldn’t or wouldn’t say

Anguish.

Until one day, when I made you clumsy and we swayed in light

And for the first time I was not afraid – I did not long for shadow

I saw your hunted look in a reflection and quickly looked away.

I want you to know I prayed.

I did – what to do to take that look away.

An eyes-wide-open-kiss and a hands-away, me first. Watch

Watch what I feel for you

And your give deepened with knowledge

Knowledge that I wanted.

I want.

The Deceit

The deceit is the rush of time, where time has no precedence.

I sit upon the seat of service and commerce and am told I belong there.

I belong I’m told.

And told, and told and told.

I have no time to know the man I love and he does not know me.

There is no time.

We pass each other on the street and have a vague impression of desire while thinking of the ones we are committed to

Because they were there

And we were not

We were busy

Time was wearing thin. Our beauty, our youth, our power to attract needed to be spent while in demand.

I look at myself in the mirror at 50 and think, how is it that I am more beautiful now?

Would he love me for the person I’ve become or does he love what was once and less noble in me?

My children are all gone and I have learned to sew, weave, create alone.

The deceit is time

Now, after all this existence I know.

I Have Never Left You

The sift and scuttle of the dry leaf upon the cobblestone – I am the lift and cold, cold wind the blows.
I am the emptiness that echoes in the sigh of yet another dark night.
I am the impossible distance North and the closeness of hope.
I am the power you feel in a moment and the anger in the grasp of yet another vapor.
I am the fear you feel in the possibility that I stand just behind you.
I am the joy at last at the orange and cinnamon sunset.
Nothing certain
Nothing solid
Only the certainty that I have never left you
Never.

Grand Madness

Hunt the temptation of normal,

the pure in desirable, search the heart with touch while in trust.

The rain was so thick, pelting down icy upon us.

No distinction, no boundary, defined us in the downpour;

our very clothing hung and blurred in the cold wet rain.

His hand raised and hesitant

His fingertips bright, white-hot in the freeze we found ourselves.

His mouth marble and smooth.

Two planes of sheer we were

Are

smooth ice, sliding one upon another,

A friction of heat that demands instant freeze into oneness.

Cotton peels like tissue, sodden blooming easily into skin;

fresh into the open air of spring.

Shudder into me and rest – he does this upon the space of drying.

Things and the world change to grand madness

again and again.