Derision is sweeter

Derision is sweeter
Than Doom which is bitter
Even though you never hit her
Because you knew you could not keep her
How in the hell
Can you sever
What was meant
To last forever


All of the Queens

Dead dead
Isn’t it queer, my dear
How all of the queens are dead
All of the queens are dead
All of the handmaids with which they lay
All of the sinners come out to play
All of the kings with things upon their brain
All of the jacks with all of the aces without a space to play in
All of the queens my dear are dead

And where did we put them?
We left them
Left them to rot and take root
Left them to molder underfoot
Look where we left them

Dropped off of a cliff
Left to hang upon the skiff
Never to be seen again
Never to dance in the rain again
Never to enjoy a fen
Tied to the edge of the playpen

A toast at the wedding I can’t attend

I wish–


And salutations
On your belated celebrations.
Your engagement engages me
Even when it enrages me.

I wish you well
I wish you well…

When you broke the spell
I found the words
Absurd, I know, to tell
How much you meant to me–
Mean to me–
It’s too bad that you can’t see
Maybe someday we can be
More than a memory
We’ll have to wait and see
Me, myself, and me

I cannot leave,
But, I cannot afford to grieve.

I wish you well
I wish you well…

Sitting in my sandbox

Sitting in my sandbox
With a trowel made of plastic
I start to dig
–not the first time–
Not for China, not for memories
But a happy, brighter day.

Screaming twenty years a tantrum,
My throat is sore, my back is bent
But every day I’m stronger
I’m better; I’ll bet you: best.

I pour my heart into a little hole
And cover it with sand
–a time capsule–
For the morrow that I’m keeping.
One more hole makes one more row
As I look down the aisles
Of a cemetery of my making.

Not every one is for everyone.
Nevertheless, I’m never less–no, never ever less.

I drank her words too deep

I drank her words too deep.
Her poison settled in my guts
Flowering inside my flora;
It kills my fauna.

Clawing at my ribs like rats in a bag
Drowning me in blood, in bloody, bloody strife.

None so wise as they that lose their memories,
Yet, I am he that remembers.
I am he that is forgotten,
Yet, never can I forget.

Hating whole halls of my mind palace
Resenting rooms made of memory
–showering together, bodies pressed
–playing in fields beneath the sun, no clothes
–balancing on balls of feet, weight of your womb
–nests of pillows, forts of cloth
–sizzling dinner, my inept fingers cut while cutting

I dash them cross the floor, smash them all
Except I don’t
I can’t.
Instead I pick them up
Cradle them to me
Put them back up on the mantle
Polish them a little
Fighting to stay standing.

My life was a script

My life was a script
–Get a degree
–Get a house
–Get a spouse
–Get some kids
In that order
Down to the letter
Just wait and see
All of it down to a “t”

The script–
A noose–strangling me
Tearing away lives i wanted,
Ripping away loves i cherished

The script–
Now, in tatters at my feet
Blowing in the wind that was
A mother’s touch: my parent’s fear

The script–
She flutters
Seizing me up
Sizing me up for the gutters

My home is filled with stuff instead of love
i pass the time with thoughts of idle destruction

My parents’ warnings:
You can’t, not, shan’t, won’t, will never
Taming my wayward spirit every day
i stomp
i scream
i shout
And cry for joy//fear//rage

i gaze around at the iron bars
That are my furniture
i pick up a flamethrower
It’s time for spring cleaning.

The First Act

Actus Primus

We meet
We swoon
She falls
I fall


We touch.

Actus Secundus

We dance
We charm
Eyes averted
Brushing hands
She flirts
I flirt


We kiss


We read
We play
Without fear

We make love.

Actus Tertius

We build things
She her written work
Me her smitten home
I must have interests
Where are my ineterests

We fight
We make up
We fight
We make up


I’m none the wiser
She is writing break up letters

But, our friends, our family
We are happy

Actus Quartus.

We fight and we fight
New loves
New loathes
She writes letters to others
I write poetry to her

Where is the spring I was promised
Where is the child of my solace

I did not die for love
I did not die for love
I came so close

Actus Quintus…




Any Way

always had to yearn
my dreams away
can’t hold on to lovers spurned
another day
maybe I’ll see her
some other way
when I’m old and withered
staining sheets and buttocks splayed
as couch cushions drain me dry
and I lose another day
in lonely lobbies I’ll stay
maybe she’ll rapture me away

found it all at the last
too bad she’s in the past

Bits of Bliss

Bits of bliss scattered around
The senile recreation center
As the orderlies make their rounds
Treading past signs that scream Please, Enter
Where forgetfulness is bounteous
And the rememories of follies
Have reduced Caesars comma Julius
To one more holly jolly nobody.

Their memories, plucked from the ground,
Like fruit ripening without a flavor,
Leave behind not a scent, not a sound
And yet each and every one is savored:
One part nostalgia, one part remembrance
The perfect umami for tired tongues
When they splinter into fragments
Allowing them to breathe, filling their lungs:

A lover’s lap,
A singer’s laugh,
A proper shave,
A dirty shag,
A father’s jacket,
A mother’s arms,
A child’s breath,
A quiet kiss,
A baby’s bliss,