The Sound

Does it matter in an empty room
what is said or to the loveless
lovely things that speak of beauty?

Does anyone have any idea
what the message is?

Look at silence, how clear
it sings to those who need it;
I know your future. Do you want
to hear it?

I'm afraid the only sound,
the wild fluttering beating
might cause us to disappear


Of Worms

The sky and moon; these two an empire,
a mystic house. Beneath them, a constant field
where I live homeless;

where men in dusty clothes move
in and out, leisure shadows, strangers,

Often I forget the light, the way
it thrusts downward, plying against
the stubborn pearl.

Night, before ascending
persuades the mist, the stars,
the naked girl, to leave

the misery of reason
to the twisting worms.

O To Be Darkness

Given the consequences
of instinct, the insistence of flesh
to wound or heal, what we are made of,
the pattern of our dreams-

who can hold us accountable?

O to be darkness and hate darkness
or shy stars who know their deaths
are matters of chance and fortune,

shine or blacken habitually.

O what are contrite hearts
compared to ambition?

Whatever is, whatever was,
even God, certain of His beauty
remains as lovely.


Judgement Day

Of course the world
is large enough
for dirty laundry;

some spill over
the basket's edge.

Blouses, pantyhose,
egos, sins and souls,
stained and wrinkled

awaiting wash-day.


A Black Robe

Against the night, the color of fire
ruins the purity of darkness,
an unsettling blemish.

Much like desire.

In the last few years, I've grown
into a piece of wood, the kind
that keeps the fire burning.

Once you loved me.

A kind of invisibility serves
the soul, a black robe, a drawn
curtain. In an instant light

disturbs it. O! what is painlessness
compared to beauty?


The Illusionist

Given my propensity towards dying,
my voice with equal force unheard,
I must believe I am alive long enough
to see it.

Suppose the soul remembers what
it dreamt or roses leave their imprint
on the sky or wolves ingest the carcass
of the egret, feathers lying on the ground.

I'm not opposed to resurrection, how
the worm constructs its glass-winged ride.
Be sure that I am working on a blueprint
to leave a copy of my love.

The Once-ness of Once Upon a Time

When a fetish meets fetish
there is serendipity like
nightness afraid of the dark

or faery's affinity
towards tales.

I'm returning the story
about you and me meeting
on the train in a snowstorm,

the one about the boy
who saves the day.

How beautiful the sound of
winter winds uninhibited.

Sometimes a brief encounter
survives a summer or twenty years.
Often a child represses the dream
of one-horned horses, choosing instead

the speeding train, the long dark
tunnel without you.

Surely, something sad, majestic
expects me on the other side.

Cold From a Distance

I try to remember
the uniqueness, the pleasure
of salt and solitude.

How can I hypothesis
about what is real?

This too, the emotionless stars
struggle to accomplish. The difference
between us and them

is simply light.

From a distance, their hearts
are cold as mine with but
the illusion of fire.

Eating Blood Sausage

Imagine the saltiest wound. Taste it.
Squeeze its greasy-sandy texture between
two fingers. Appreciate that love & life
do mix- a strange consistency.

This is therapeutic.

Notice the color; the way black and red
compliment eachother. The way pain
and joy exist, ground up inside
the same transparent skein.

The smell of blood, the acrid odor
of iron. Who can tell the difference
between death and strength?

Whose mother serves it knowing
you will learn to like it?


While It Lasted

These things I had forgotten- Sadness only
while it rested briefly, Glory how purple while
it lasted, Love although it never left me closer

than a body to its bone. The sun coming up,
the sun going down. Night with its familiar face
and hands of silver. They all come back distinctly

stronger for their wear. And when I'm old
(now I'm older) the tents of gold surrounded
by this evening's mist, I'll recognize nothing lost
is ever worth its keeper.