The Moon

If I were the moon, I would be cruel
And flatten men with my milky fist
Until they can come to concede
The reason I exist.

I would breathe to fill cradles of beauty
That imbue our days with meaning.
I would live to summon daily redemptions
With a mammoth hand of dreaming.

If I knew the moon, I would linger
Over limpid lips that persist
In spurning my every advance
And spoiling every kiss.

The Slow Dream

In the slow dream of breathing we call life
In loves lost to the labors of living,
We have dared to tear thunder from the skies
And lose our way in its bubbling wake.
Catapulted by convictions, we are
Propelled heart-long into bruising affairs,
And the rosy flush of reason is blurred
By clumsy, pressing swaths of sentiment.

In the slow dream of breathing we call life
We fantasize we are somehow finer
Than the passions we can never subdue.
The engorged, ruddy face of our lust
Is the superior force driving us
And its Janus-faced twin, our coming death,
Can never sabotage its poignant grace.
The bittersweet blessings of the body
Are tart on the tongue because they promise
That the softest touch can never dispel
The searing loneliness that marks our lives.

Songs To The Moon

When there is merit in songs to the moon,
Its poetry has secret syllables

Singing in enchanted intervals.

Such poetry cannot come too soon.

A spray of stars upon the slate of night,

It must wait until the moment is right.

Until I can find my mind an anchor
To the brash chemistry of verse and rhyme,

To the fierce formulas of art and time.

Until I can free my heart from rancor
I cannot make this power manifest
And nor can I hope to ever attest

To its motive for being and merit.

I must marry my blood to the spirit

That still sings, if I can only hear it.

I have this love, but I cannot bear it.

I wait in the wake of the moon for strength
And the courage to travel any length.

Paranoia

Poisoned by a diet of eyes,
Swirling brown and blue fangs scrutinizing
And sensing the time to strike,
I see the ripple of color preceding cruelty,
I see the curve of a lid like a jawbone.
Their slightest look is all appetite
And can evaporate the splash of the sun.

Forever pursuing pity and pabulum,

The fare of this focus,

The bitter regimen of its assembly,

Has propelled me into rarefied air.
I am the beast unlike all others,

I perturb the masses with my blundering width
And the ominous cut of my frame.

Every look has two deaths.

There are deaths by recognition,

The smirking, tongue-rolling hunger

To mock me
That I can never escape
And there are deaths by reflection,
The sturdy self-regard
Of one who loves themselves alone.

The Days

In days charged by thunder,
The hours rattled by currents,
I awaken with wonder
And savor my disturbance.

In the supple shine of morning
I start the long, lonely climb
Across worlds still forming
Under wet reliefs of lime.

In the sudden strike of noon,
The skies are an ashen paste
And though storms are coming soon
I cannot act with haste.

I must produce gold from gales
That chafes the gathering dead
Who die as heroes in my tales
That steeps their passage in dread.

In the evening’s dimming echo,
I found what I love and who I am.
The blue blossoms are now aglow
With the poem of life again.

In days charged by thunder,
The hours rattled by currents,
I awaken with wonder
And savor my disturbance.

When She's Near

Sorrow bogs me down when she is near
And the fact is too much for her to hear,
So I will never confess it.

Her hands will flaw my reserve,
Her touch is more than I deserve
And I cannot address it.

I know that this much is true
I do not love me and cannot love you,
But I cannot free you from this.

My grief will keep me from being alone
And there is nothing I can do to atone
For the crime of stealing your kiss.

I Knew A Phoenix

I knew a phoenix reborn
From reliefs of rye
Governed by a storm
And unwilling to die.

It flew on golden foam
Illuminating the sky.
Its wings made their home
In heaven’s abiding eye.

Bore by cloudy cataracts,
The phoenix lived afloat
On blistered gales intact
Its powers of flight promote.

The full flower of your flight
Blossoms beyond my reach.
Winged spirit, undo the night,
There is still much to teach.