We've Got TV

subtly stoic
your sad eyes
see through me
to my helpless heart,
hopelessly yours,
beaten by
black waves of
anxiety and regret,
shredded with
tasteless desire
and dictated by
emotional half truths,
bitter propaganda,
but kept beating
by god through
the beating
of your own.

i see yours too-
heavy with
unfelt feeling
and laced with
longing for
something more,
something untamed,
something dangerous.
insatiable lust
for escapades
to be determined.
but for now,
here’s me.
and we’ve got
tv.

black sheets

this bed echoes silence,
emptied of you tonight
(how relieved
must the neighbors be?)
freed from the sticky
heat of your skin,
i lie newly oppressed
by the cool comfort
of a sultry
summer storm
without you.

dry shoulder

cry on me.
it’s not ok.
enough with the lies.
its all spinning faster
and sucking you
down wind from
the daylight.
you pray
but he's still
sick.
you beg
but they've all
succumbed to the
nagging noise of
defeat.
its become
deafening,
deadly-
as time is
running low
and your body
wains, weary
from the pain
of provision
for a family who
can't stand
without your
maternal arms
to hold them up.
it's not ok.
so cry on my
dry shoulder.
i'll be your arms
for the moment.

henna blossoms

i had a dream
you nearly died
and so did i
watching your eyes
roll back
and back again
to my own

i'd get along
without your
weathered hands
on my skin
but what is life
without warmth?

"arise, my darling,
and come with me,"
and we will live
today

frustration

Stuck in the fast lane
Going twenty-five
Late to the thing
With black dresses and ties.
Lost my wallet,
Plastic and all,
Forgot the flowers
Didn’t make the call.
Tripped while running
To catch the plane
Got blood on my pants
Cursed in pain
As mom walked by
Jarred by my tone
She slapped my head
Broke my phone.
Check Engine light on
Smells like kerosene.
Boyfriend calls
Says he’s coming clean
Messed around last year,
Last month, last week??
Jerk blows his horn,
Cigarette’s dropped.
Shit, that’s a fire.
Oh shit, that’s a cop.

fallen

Epic dune faces tower jagged and broken,
leaving roots from cloned sea oats vulnerable and open
to the hands of angry-drunk hurricane winds,
And I am small.
The horizon is painted sunless in shades of slate
On a canvas of black cloud over pitch dark water.
The salt-brine air is soured, sick with decay,
And sticks thick in the throat like rancid honey.
The late September sea stings with toxic tentacles
And bites with tiny diamond teeth,
Roaring in agitated wrath at an empty beach.
Augmented waves rise up in rage to rape the shore,
again and again and again,
stripping it layer by once luminous layer
as the receding water foams and hisses,
Damp discolored curves evidence of forced kisses.
I fight the breakers to find her fury and she pulls me down.
The taste of fish piss lingers with salt on the back of my tongue
As my lungs fill with ocean bile and languidly
I succumb.

insecurity

Individual eyes burn scars, inscribe lies on
Naked flesh, blood stills, hairs rise.
Seduction fails for confidence lost
Enveloped in shame, she cries, unsought.
Caressed by pain, she curls alone,
Untouched by love, his hands, she knows
Redemption’s free for those who can stand
In lieu of lying cold, undone, on the sand.
Trivial fears fill her lungs, she can’t breathe
Yellow paper closes in, she’s left to scream.

it's a bad idea to make out with your best friend

Hungry eyes and heartfelt lies
buy time with girls confidence denied.
Porch step confessions earn Italian Friday nights,
nameless movies heighten tension with sex scenes and sighs.
Silence killed with tactless tries
at making subtle contact with his and her thighs.
Propelled to shift closer, bodies collide
and innocent blushes mask guilty eyes.
Mouth on neck, hands through hair, passion’s high tide.
Tomorrow they’ll cry.
Tonight is alive.