June 18th

It’s just a way to shape love –
white knights riding straight red &
endless eyes writing their own prayers.
It’s just a face composed by symmetry,
by the sweet taste of heartache
seasoned with Francoise Hardy screaming “Voila!”
He’s neither here nor there –
only paper keeps him crowned –
in the meditative state of
a constant lie, accompanied by
bittersweet violins –
imaginary nostalgia.



Could you be slow for a little while?
The green grass is warm under a youthful sky
we’re young, we have time, our guitars in tune,
teach me how to play chocolate-chipped songs.

Could you be slow for a little while?
A Freckled moment, anticipated ritual,
I’m younger, your words chime, guitars in bloom,
teach me how to play a dreamer’s guide to songs.

Could you be slow for a little while?
A grin can’t hide long green eyes,
you’re young, we waste time, our guitars in tune,
teach me how to play tangled-webbed songs.

Could you be slow for a little while?
A white dress caresses your beautiful bride,
I’m hung, a curl’s rhyme, my guitar glooms,
Years teach me to keep playing, whatever wrongs.

Her head leans on the cold train’s window while

Her head leans on the cold train’s window while
witches are leaving their wicked incantations,
their cursed tears blocked from all exits.
Her weary eyes fixed on compositions of movement,
clear sky and a speck of lightning that changes the view,
trees turn to a reflection of a couple standing behind the bench.
He – a soldier with skin darkened, nurtured by the sun,
and around him wrapped the wide smile of the girl.
She laughs sparkles, sheltered on his skinny chest,
her bashful silence on his weekly strength.
Her eyes won’t let go of her soldier, her happiness,
love at its most fertile stage of evolution.

The view outside has darkened into night,
and the couple’s reflection vanish for a few moments of relief.
That’s what she wanted –
Only what she knew, only the comfortable particle
of her comfortable and lonely life.
The throat threatened again with its ache,
tears demanded their freedom but she fought them.
It’s not the place to confront hard questions
she doesn’t want to answer – one false outlet –
no place for suffering caused only by her, force.
She conquers the moment with a single deep breath,
in her ears the girl’s laughter, pops like sweet corn,
fills the wagon with the crunch of unfamiliar love

Chocolate & Flowers

I must have overslept when
the message was delivered;
when eyes met & hands were held;
when one awaited another’s phone call –
passion’s own tension with matters of patience.
I must have woke up too late, after
they said how one could find it;
what to say between trembling lips;
what to do in between sweetened sips of silence –
passion’s own frictions with matters of tension.
I must have waited too long in line
for screen tests & awkward auctions;
no intellect could bid high enough;
no attention for brown eyes & hair;
just sold-out sex, painful, bloody –
passion’s own joke on those lacking direction

They don’t even know our kind exists

Is that alright?
I reach for your hand as our bodies swirl,
it’s so gray when we try to catch up with the storm;
all is dust, forgettable mist without any mystery.
Can you see them?
We’re little sinners, petty gods of petty misfortunes;
tribes dance while we’re turning, black eyes
and honest smiles. Their feet sing of rain,
stomping on poor fires, feeding on the poorer.
Is that alright?
I reach for our tiny tragedies,
pills so romantic,
and they don’t even have water.


He’ll use his power to deflower female careers,
he’ll fly to Ukraine for flatlined blonde satisfactions
he’ll play sensitive until the ego gets in the way
he’ll grab a tissue wet with another web-hub attraction.
Normal but destructive,
typical but disgusting,
deep – attractive, but
desperate while hunting.
It’s the everyman
and the everywoman
it’s a simple riddle and
its disappointing solution