Sunday, March 20, 2011

Desperate Abandon

She is down there
playing chicken with the tide
her white calves glistening
against the moonlit water
I am up here
with my fingers splayed wide
on the window glass
tracing words I won't confess
I leave my guitar idly
on the floor
always leave it wanting more
with no words left
I am muted to the core
I would be her music
if she would lend me
her words
I'd be a damned syphony
if she looked at me
with the desperate abandon
she reserves
solely for the beckoning waves

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Tower

This tower, a stronghold
the defenses are up
the archers alert
till the dawn aproaches
silent come creeping
and our eyes meet
I know you mean to scale
these walls

Monday, March 14, 2011

Untitled

This waiting has consumed
all of me
my patience receding with the
tide out to sea
my anger like a storm
building grey to consume
and I'm swaying with
my rage
rocking back and forth
injurious fists balled
into themselves
and I burn and I wait
and I leak with the rain
boiling tears exploding
from my bloodshot eyes
running the length of neck
my stomache
my thighs
I can't stop this shaking
this violence in my
mind
you've brought this hurricane
to my door

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

This War

There is a cannon ball
Smoking in my living room
Where you laid siege
To my suburban battle zone
My calves are tensed
To the point of breaking
The back of my knee
Is burning
Like someone shook up my coke
Bottle with some mentos
My skin is crawling
And itching like
An addict in withdrawal
But I scratch until I bleed
And I feel nothing

After Dinner Dance

Twirling side by side
With the refrigerator
Back and forth between the sink
And stove
Your arms like bands
Around my guacamole and
Paint stained apron
There is no music
But I’ve memorized this dance
I know, by now
The sway your body goes

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Across the Atlantic

I am basking in
A red Barcelona sun
Standing on the fourth
Floor balcony
Of my green and white
Checker tiled room.
A finger to my lips
and Sangria on my tongue
The rod iron smooth
under my fingertips
and I twist and twist
my hands around their
sturdiness
The morning air
Smells of coffee
Mingling with flowers
The light sweeps the night
From my watery eyes
Like a wire brush
looking down the streets below
a view of a city
I've just begun to know
The people walk with
Gentle purpose or idle perusal
Through the weaving cobbled streets
I want to uncover all her secrets
I want to replace my heart with
newness
The morning walkers’ noise
Helping me to forget
What stays quiet
Across the Atlantic.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Usurper

I can relate
I've been imprisoned in
this skin for ages
charged with treason
When I usurped her
tragic throne
and took that bitch down
I would fix your broken-ness
build you up form this
shattered glass
I'll be your queen
I'll be your servant
I'll be your permanent band-aid
holding that gaping wound
inside your chest
I'll be the one left standing
when all the rest
have traveled distant shores
looking for something more