love

Indebted 

When once I approach a bridge
I mount my fear by extending my hand,
as I did with my father years ago.
We approached a grated expanse

and I implored he catch me should I fall.
Safely then on the other side,
he having held me the entire way,
I knew I was forever indebted.

I still don't like bridges
and I don't like admitting
that something scares me,
but I hate that debt most of all.

Resignation to a certain fact 

It's intrepidity,
is resignation to a certain fact.
But it's haunting, too.

A countenance negated,
when for once a blank stare lives
as the mind in that moment,
with all blood let
and costly service rendered.

There is no roadmap for spells
concluding enduring sagas,
and the intrepid know that.

I'll admire from afar
and wonder on the strength of
those survivors as they quarter
amid the spent minefield.

They might say there is
no strength in tattered ends,
	all life is a process
	of will and action.

They might say that standing still
in the face of the unmitigated
is an admission of human frailty.

Respectively, I say:
	Let me admire.
	Let me reflect.

Stillness is strength

especially in the hour of the unmitigated.

My friend 

     Yes he saw him
     and knew his intentions.
     Yes,
     Yes, of course there 
     is an anxious flush.
     Handsome faces force
     their way into
     memories with a
     blinding speed.

Sweats breed
themselves
like fruit flies
across the faint 
worry lines of
his face.

     He steps on 
     high achievement
     like a laden stone,
     pronouncing something
     unintelligible,
     like it's 
     history's forgotten
     place mat.

All these indiscretions
and distractions 
that agitate him
to no end.
To no end.
That's the puzzling
part of it all.

     Sitting and hoping
     on some,
     while others he bare
     wrestles and bleeds
     dry.


Is this a coherent
picture of a man?
Is this a man who
prizes a coherent
picture of himself?

This man is my friend
and these words are
all the best I can do.

the Vapors 

We'd get so high,
project the foolish
and let the vapors
run us ragged.
Our incantatory 
howling an
extension of
iridescent smoke
plumes.
Parched and
pining, we'd
sip sublimonade
from circus spouts
and own up to
the awful,
as our tempers 
would allow.

The act of
incinerating
barriers
lovers never
broach is wild
work.
Those days are
of a kind
safer minds 
may never know.

Wishing when 

I spent my life
wishing when,
that spell whistling
at my heart.
A tug,
a tear,
and all the frosty drag it holds.

That bitter cold
a balm that numbs,
and reflecting
that a feeling
is more than
some quiet alone.

I accept that
ever after is
nevermore;
these things ourselves
tell us
that then shed
rhythmically asunder.

Each beat is a probe.
Our heart,
it's faithful prole.

And tomorrow,
as well as
all to follow,
will the frigid
beg for friction
and I beg alike?

That curious she 

That curious she, lithe and in peace.
Wielder of favor --
        her influence one with the power of fitful beauty.

She's afore me now.
And through her will bound in supposition,
enchanting on wings of fortnight fancy.
While intensely convulsive during her
paternal rituals;
I, the target of her amorous charge,
am infected.

With her shadowy gaze she states:

Dispense with your grace dear,
for sweet speed owns this union.
Tomorrow, as yesterday, brings new light and love.

Stay regret, however, and stay passion.
Brevity and honesty will the heart to
a calm repose.

Lazy Sunday 

We would cuddle often
together in mutual admiration,
each inspired by the other.
Plastered off our desire
and nuzzling comfort to
avoid the day.

Well, what of places to go
and things to see?

We break once or twice
but a cold vacuum stills
the air and harms the void.
No, no, no..we won't leave
this; there's none other.
What a picture of the future,
this present, an idea
I'd put into song.

I hope that we might sing
this song together,
and let it echo through 
the chambers of our hearts.

Shadow world 

Heartbeats and shadows
patter, beating out the cadence
of the ancient lover's cry.
	
		Tense is the refrain
		secret endearments claim,
		a melting of resolve
		does not such deceit absolve.

Were all our failings so,
better that we might perceive
enchantments and phantoms.

		Oh! The tacit consent
		of sweet and innocent,
		erectors of sturdy lore
		set to avert the bore.

And then when uncovered,
pitiful in undulations, 
left to strip a quiet thrill.

		The last of those to feel
		may know of shadows real,
		such as is plain
		for lovers without name.

Moment after the moment 

There is a moment 
after the moment
when all reside
with self.
The excuse that enervates
wanes 
under its own gravity.
And all the compulsion
that sells
evaporates 
like the joy
of so many fleeting beats.
But this life,
judged always and everywhere
as if chosen,
is not joy in form.
It is the catharsis --
	the release of the unwished for
	and eternally unbecoming.

Watch even as they wield the grand attempt,
so unobservant where the
passion spreads thickly.

Curses!  For the moment
after the moment
when the energy that
enervates dies
its trivial death.

Vibrant stunning attachment(s) 

The quick twitch of the double take
imbeds a moment 
and the solidity of stunning attachment 
causes
eyes to place themselves at the world's
disposal, 
happy to dispense with responsibility.

Take 'em wherever
to places grand and small.
To faces,
legs, hips
and frames
short and tall.

Let loud voices find their homes (but
far from me though).

And let the cities and towns rebound
from so much emotion,
	concussed from so much commotion,
	that they reset the great play.
Starting again in the hopes of a vibrant,
stunning attachment.

Mirror woes, Mirror waves

I do not believe in the cheap trick and I would not say but that it needs to be said:  far more unsettling than the predictable end is the reflection of us as we live.

The mirror woes and
the mirror waves,
present 
unsettled constitution
in sedentary haze.

Poor boy!
     Poor us for living.
     That he might know
     pain and pain alike,
     and that hate is forgiven.

In every moment a
reflection.
In each a rattled nerve
less sense, scant affection.

Poor life!
     Without meaning nor worthy lament.
     Grant that we might blanche,
     not persist and persist;
     yet from birth defiling only innocence.

And so it goes with our love

A reflection of the many relationships I see around me and a constant reminder of what to  avoid.

Happiness is the distance
that forms
between partners
who are parents
who were lovers
once before.

Peace is the division
of lives
once bound by oath
and a promise
of the will to thrive.

Faces of friends
who had love
and loss 
and lose now
only that love.

The sadness of 
acceptance
and the fate of a
bond broken
forevermore.

Fuzzy glow 

He liked to flatter himself in the light,
bathing it in like the redeemer,
unaware of how ridiculous he was
'cause all redemption is muddled in a fuzzy glow.

He beat proud there when she rolled through,
parasol in hand.
She, hidden from him no matter how he might
think to call the moment.

And they, all of them, want some too.
Each to their own, but in the mix
with whosoever is percolating.