
Published in picture format because I don’t know how to keep the formatting of the poem using wordpress’s text editor.

Published in picture format because I don’t know how to keep the formatting of the poem using wordpress’s text editor.
I shall sever the constricting cord that binds us in despair,
soothing our deformed hopes with mallow to console muddied blood
so that we may explore unknown horizons with unblemished hearts.
Shall we meet in a golden land,
where lilies white and plumb trees stand?
Shall we whistle time-honored tunes,
as we did in previous Junes?
Shall we hold each other’s faces,
whilst removing tears, all traces?
I believe we shall meet again.
It’s just a case of where and when.
A grotty zombie claws at my gate
He’s covered in grime from floor to pate
If only he would take a bath
He would cease to feel my wrath
(after William Carlos Williams)
I have collected
the transgressions
that were in
the apse
and which
you were probably saving
for confession
Forgive me
they were impure
so vulgar
and so exquisite
Lies unfold askance through a peevish portal.
While devotion hesitates, mirthful moments
Lurch in churlish rhythm by mangled masses,
Slaying old treaties.
“Beware of darkness,” you gently cry out of the blue.
L’Angelo Misterioso, if not for you — what is life?
Don’t you understand that it is light which I fear?
The darkness is why I came.
No one can escape from it — not even you.
Isn’t it a pity?
All things must pass,
so — let it down, plug me in, and let it roll
like you have no place to go.
Behind that locked door, I’d have you anytime.
It won’t take long.
Everyone has choice— it’s free!
This is the art of living.
On the night we squeezed hands to say goodbye
the heavens were bruised so deeply
that I thought they wouldn’t heal.
Such a sky I shall never witness again.
The violet whispered of our memories.
The cornflower blue whispered of our sadness.
The indigo whispered of our fears.
The tangerine whispered of our hopes.
The coral whispered of our regrets.
The copper whispered of our pain,
and in those fretful moments before you
flew away into the blinding blackness
the scarlet wept in ecstasy of our love.
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope
do you now walk beneath that faithless sky?
And is there anyone more sorrowful than I?
I have never forgotten how the sky looked as my mother was slipping
away from us. To witness such brilliance in a time of great loss and sadness
is a gift.
You and I
sat on the front stoop
in August
with cold beer,
watching boys on the corner
brawl over new sneaks.
Our hearts sighed
while remembering
the good days.
In our time
we didn’t give a damn hoot
about fancy shoes.
Then you barked,
“Those days weren’t so sweet.
We did some
stupid shit
that stole far more than our pride.”
For those boys, we prayed.
You said:
Say something
Talk of your language
Speak
I said:
How can I?
My language has no sound
Listen