Pity

Pity pours forth in permutations,
A grand gallery of shape and smell.
In the broken circle of humanity,
In the blue teardrop
And the ashen aroma of loss
Pity will find its purchase
And will stand against reason.

Pity has its powers and charms,
A rough alchemy of persuasions,
Kinetic tongues of honey
That relish pandemonium
And the white-hot charge of self-regard.
Pity will find its purchase
And stand against reason.

I want and need your pity now
To reach the meager creature within
With kisses like sweet bruises
That can make worthy again
For all your pity helps me to become.

We Are The Dreamers

We are the dreamers.
Our matchless music
Can silence the sun.

By love we rise
To kiss the mouth of heaven
With fiery fervor.

We are the damaged.
Our sparkling scars
Pulse with passion.

By love we fall
Into the indifferent embrace
Of cold, cautious hearts.

We are the dreamers
And from haunted hands
We can conjure the dawn.

Mercy

Mercy is like a plume of cotton
Blooming from the blue bed of the sea
With starlit strands that divide
The water's glassy dimensions.

Mercy is like a spray of dandelions
Dancing in a billowing sweep,
The fragile yield of such things
Earthbound to seed.

There is no mercy for myself,
Only a fumbling caress
That must suffice to summon
The illusion of intimacy.

My mercy must come
Bursting from the earth
Like a fist of grass
In exaltation.

I will sing for your sanction
With a smoky voice of hope
And the faith that all things
Can live again.

One Day Binge

Something breaks inside
And you’re off.

You always start with some money,
A fifth maybe,
And the whole grim adventure
Fills you with excitement.

You aren’t partial to the bars or taverns,
But it doesn’t really matter
Where you drink.
You aren’t much of a social drinker.
Your preference, such as it is,
Leans towards isolation
Drinking in emaciated woods
With indigent alcoholics twenty years your senior.

The first fifth goes quick.
You never were one to waste time
Chasing down a buzz.
But it isn’t enough.
One bottle is never enough,
But the money is getting scarce.
Somehow, you scrape the money up
For another bottle of cheap vodka
And you’re off once again
On this desperate game.

Conversations are banal and haphazard
Under the weight of this much liquor.
You hear the drunken tales you’ve heard
A million times before
And laugh once again.
You fear the horrors that the morning may bring.
No, God, no. Please, not yet.

Another fifth.
A heavy fog has settled over you
And everyone’s movements have fallen
Into exaggerated eighty-proof slapstick.
Some pass out.
You drift in and out
Of a black out.
All is darkness.
The night is cold when you wake up
And your faithful companions
Are nowhere to be found.
Soiled with piss and spilled liquor,
You stare at the sky above
Asking for answers
From the shrieking silence of God.
You lie there for hours.
It is all you can do.

Look here
At those who admire destruction
As if it were a holy mandate.
As if it were some wicked destiny
Dealt out like revenge
For a glaring lack of courage.

It Means More

It means more to me to have the poems
Than it ever did to have you.
It means more to me that I could retain
A measure of humanity
In the midst of my recriminations.
It means more to me that I am poor
Than it would to prosper at your side.

It means more to me that I might know
The secret pageantry of my heart
And not the frenzied silence of your dreams.
It means more to me that I live honestly
Through the repertory of days
Than lie for the spoils of your world.

May the light of forgiveness find us both
And transform our desperation
Into a healing power that dispels the lies.
The countless evasions and retaliations
Punishing us for who we could not be,
Abusing us for all we could not give.

The Fall

Nothing is more important than the fall.
There is drama in the delinquent descent
At all altitudes or velocities.
The trajectory of adversity
Wears a painted face of ancient allure.
The bloody theater of decline
Titillates both our primacy and fear.
The plunge of our peers satisfies our thirst
For another to take what we deserve
And fills us with dread that we are next.

Nothing is more important than the fall.
The lusty tumble of swollen bodies
Locked together in a seamless descent.
When the taste of dissidence has dissolved
And mouths bloom and breathe like musky flowers
We thank the solemn permission of fate
That anyone dared to love us at all.

I Bless

I bless my life and forgive its follies,
The feckless flights of fancy
That aspired to see the face of heaven
Until my wings melted like chocolate in the sun.
The gentle invasions that contended,
Like a drop of dew upon a web,
Against fears of a sudden plunge.
I bless my life and find grace in these things.

I will have the grace of starlit seas
And the kinetic composition of light on my body
Will give poetry to the speech of my heart.
I will have the grace of wild stallions
And the landslide of sound
Will exhort my spirit to forgive.

And when forgiveness comes at last
Like a loose garment or a robe of silk
That lightens my shoulders
And lands like a windy crown,
It will be for me and for you,
It will be for what I could never do,
And it will give me the strength to go on.

You Cannot Have My Misery

You can press your fingers into my flesh
And savor my formidable flavors.

You can flatter me with luxuriant whispers

And share the yield of your body.

You can have my immense attentions
And even a glimpse of my fear

But you cannot have my misery.

It is a dark globe, an obsidian sphere

Where pantomime prevails
And I am masked by elaborate multitudes,

A hieroglyph of manicured faces
That offer no hints of distress.

I cannot share it,

This great shiftless cloud that chokes

The mouth of heaven.

It is the inviolate part of me,

An exclusive domain,

And I will not temper its imperial range.

You can have my gentle permission
To be loved and held at last.

You can have me at your side through the days
With all that comes with it
But you cannot have my misery.

Orphaned Jewel

You are an orphaned jewel,

A gem of opulent carets

That enchants the eye and lingers

Like a fragrant ache.

The smell of sapphires,

The coy perfume of sweet bread and honey,

Are aromas that flood my mouth

And I savor with a nimble tongue.

The scent of your glittering latitudes

Is fired by a pressing loneliness,

A foggy shine that lends depth

To your luster.

You will always be an orphan,

A rogue radiance,

Unfocused but brilliant,

That irradiates the will of men.