Back-lash

(for elizabeth jean)

love without middle or substance or bone,
the provisional loner at war.
and ending that era, I slip through the skin
confronting the terror and pleasures within
this moment, this rapture, this cardinal sin.

fantastic endeavors, new dreams and denials
while condemning myself in the wake.
co-de-pent and thirsting; this feral of trust,
I roil amidst fervor's, embellished in lust
your liquid enlight-ment; my motional crust.

bent over, bent backwards, now bending to break
this flesh, timid ritual.
the ecstasy measured by site of her eyes
that eclipsed and encased the enveloping skies
for much less a treasure I would, most certainly...

Neon

began 12.12.89 revised 11.04.01

Black, liquid motivation, ‘neath the neon
Dance; impressive behavior
Through no fault of your own, reality eludes you,
And you realize that heaven is your home.

Pale craft excitement, all lessons in neon
Laughter more ugly than lies
Heads turn too late, clench-fisted & enraged
You realize its heaven that you hate.

Hard-faced attraction carved out of neon
Lips, as welcome as wine
Forever locked inside, this passion; this hunger
And suddenly, there's no where left to hide.

Fainting illusion across the neon
Touch me with fingers of fire
A telepathic plea, lost & forgotten
Along with all desire to set you free

Ripe isolation bewilders neon
Unknown through this echo-sphere
Unsuspecting stares, illuminate sheer terror
For reason too symbolic to merely share

Sworn declaration, cast into neon
Shatters & scattered remains
No way now to know if love is an intrusion
If I should hold on or let you go

Summer’s Fruit

The summer leaves, the summer’s tree
and scent of summer’s fruit
Penetrate the hearts of men;
both great and destitute
And as the skillful summer winds
pound and pulsate through the plain
The farmer and the earthly plow
await the welcomed rain

Autumn chills then autumn kills
and falls where whispers lie
In mourning for the withered root
and boundless-burdened sky
It’s anger, or it’s apathy,
both harder to ignore;
Witness change, from ragged peaks
that slope to gentile shores

The winter wood and winter-rot,
as “Frost” bites at my toe
This keen art of persuasion
laying dormant in the snow
And pushing drives me through this void
into a lofty view
I drift as softly as the snow
in search of something new

Springs surprise then stabilize
the wet and ruddied earth
If only for a minute, moment,
second, breath or birth
The joys we share oblivious
to those outside our gate
I eat the fruits of summer
and resign myself to fate