Christmas Gift (Ships in the Night)

The return flight to San Diego is delayed by at least an hour.

Staring into the vast expanse of JFK, brown eyes size up
passengers sitting in Gate 35’s midnight pleather seats.

An elderly couple decked out in matching snowman sweaters next
to a very white college student sporting dreadlocks pulled into a
ponytail, typing away at his macbook next to a gal with straight
platinum golden blond hair.  Her eyes are closed, yet she is awake.

Eyes wander on.
Eyes wander back.

The shape of that head…that glossy hair,
etched into his memory from nights long ago,
when his fingers had run through such lovely locks.

Content to play voyeur, he snaps a secret cell phone photo,
knowing that he shall never see her again.



Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a sweet creature of dreams.

The common body, buried beneath
a flimsy gauze of naught, is shared with
no one save the Devil.

Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a hellion of horrors.

What is revealed?
The darkest parts that have no shame.
What is concealed?
The golden parts that have no aim.

shedding skin

Hawk eyes survey a cobbled square, teeming with tamed shadows.
Café noir in manicured hands, harsh rays from a cumbersome sun
fall upon her cobra-skinned boots.  She shields indigo eyelids with
bejeweled twigs, blocking out  far-off orchards with all her might.
Expectant limbs howl out her name; their sickly offspring are her
birthmark.  Invisible to the passing eye, they have marked her for

flickering in futility

Flickering in futility, eye light vanishes at last.
Lubricant long gone from musket’s length,
horror after horror has turned muscular men
into bawling boys.

Carmine comets, too numerous to count, rain
downwards until no consoling bullets remain.

An involuntary babysitter, bereft of his blanket,
tends a makeshift graveyard until buttress’ come.

Blessed Art Thou

A crimson tinted mouth smudges
comrade glasses beneath a buzz of
walking suits.  They talk only amongst
themselves, never to her.

Glittering gown masks avian limbs, a
former gazelle turned silent sidekick.
She is hopeless in her new-found role
and recites alphabetic antiphons, reaping
no harvest beside such diseased plantings,
yet brightly standing still, she will.