solstice

the night waits
impatiently like small children
while the sky catches fire
under a magnifying glass
the restless heat burns on
effortlessly
one strap slides seductively
to the elbow
exposing a tanned, taut,
but soft shoulder
begging to be touched
by lonely sheets, tangled
legs burning with lust
from the afternoon’s hot
high sun lingering
for minutes longer than
yesterday, but will soon fade

Green

Your corner is filled
with crows feet
from laughing at most,
but longing and loss too.

They age the face of a boy.
And I, a child once again,
peering through the keyhole,
wonder if I could ever brighten that green.

If I could long for some small cabin,
primitive and private, in mountainous country,
with rugged wooden walls,
wood-burning stove, and a quaint fireplace.

Where smoke rises from the chimney,
swirling above the confines
into the clearest and brightest of night skies
slightly obscuring those stars.

Where tall grass grows
beside fields of goldenrod and ragweed,
and we are hidden by so many trees,
so far away from the city.

21

Amidst waves of cement and
cloudy constellations,
overbearing and interchanging,
the horizon disappears

Of sleepless dreams
and midnight hours at midday
in bed with business cards,
I’ve emptied

At driftwood dinners
with spent bottles and saved bones,
starved, and soiled in back alleys,
I’ve feastedOn a moderate stage
with a faceless audience,
I’ve been captured
and denied the depth

 

In the morning, of my demise,
I calmly sip my sweet tea,
smile against the summer wind,
and slip slowly in too

My apologies…

I just realized something last night while I was laying in bed, unable to sleep. Sometimes in life there are people that make you feel like you don’t exist. You offer them the REAL you. You, in a juvenille, delusional, foolish lapse in judgement offer them everything.  Let me put it this way.  If someone doesn’t know who you really are, if and when they reject you, it is so much easier to deal with. Because you can tell yourself that they don’t really know what they are missing, and if they did maybe they would act differently.  So you save the parts of you that matter for people who have known them forever, and the select few who you choose to let in.  But you can make a mistake.  In true Prufrockian fashion you can open yourself to the idea of exposing the real you to someone. But you don’t tell them, because you know that inevitably they’ll respond as if  ..> ..> ..>..> “settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say:   ”That is not it at all,   That is not what I meant, at all.”‘ Instead you sit with that feeling in the pit of your stomach. That same feeling you had everytime you weren’t enough.  And you just disappear. Of course I’m speaking hypothetically… Until, someone, in the most unsuspected place, and without even trying, reminds you that there are plenty of reasons you are worth more than you know…. To all of my friends who have “missed” me at some point in the last few months because of the above reason…you know who you are, and you know what that means…I am so sorry.