I watched the marble
as it slowly rolled along
all the lines of your heart
the whiskey kissed words
that dribbled from your lips
might have been my
preferred poison
but you set me adrift
in a sea
inside your glass
and I had no idea
how to tread
there was such sweet release
in giving into those words
in breathing in that liquid
in sinking to the bottom
of your chasm
the dark pit of you
I would gladly
douse with kerosene
and strike a match
the orchard was fully fruited
but once picked
the peaches quickly rotted
the rot we drink
and are drunk on
and it keeps our eyes shut
doors to the heart and
windows to the soul
blanketed in ice cold
a bitter kiss of lovers
lost or family feuds or
strangers traveling through
the beds we seek comfort
in sleep or sex
or naps lapping our lives
licking away the days
left on these shores
waiting to be eaten by the sea
the chlorine aroma mingled
with heavy coconut tropical scents
of tanning oils and sunblock
and further was a wave of fruity taffies,
sugary powders and chocolate bars
even the wet hot pavement emitted
its own odor into the whole mix
the whole mix that only existed
in this sun bleached biosphere
of the summer public pool
where it seemed to erase boundaries
that once kept certain children
away from other certain children
whether it be age, class, or other
none of that seemed to matter
in the cool, chemically treated waves
lifeguards and swim team coaches
headed up this family of the wet
and the major goal throughout all
the generations that had swam
throughout the many summers
is to graduate from the kiddie "puddle"
to the, gulp, taller than a giraffe high dive
and everyone mourned when new regulations
were the death of that fearful feat
for the mysterious depths of the deep end
were mysteriously no longer deep enough
who knew a concrete bowl filled in
with what everyone is teeming with already
would wash away the masks we otherwise would wear
such a strange Spring
the tulips hold blood on their lips
while robins and larks cry murder
in the evenings the cold folds it hands
to pray throughout the night
the trees open their arms
to litter the streets with pleas
petitions to the far off sun
to burn away this old and
so very renewed injustice
the bare twigs are whipped by the winds
in hope that it will awaken
the sleeping mass with their feet in the ground
their pale oblivion keeps them numb
still so very chilled
still so very untouched
still so very disconnected from the sun
ready to burn it all away
but the winter white will melt
and the rains will wash
away those ashes
the scratching on the skin
some hungry searching hen
kicking up dust
to the disgust
of those around
laying on the ground
they wonder why
just can't let it lie
but it's when you dig deep
now that's something worth to keep
don't want to just eat worms
need something more than those squirms
something to feed the soul
that's why you dig the hole
that's why you pierce the earth
working from death to birth
to reach
to beseech
to anger the gods' wrath
asking for a blood bath
wrapped up in this life's words
just to scatter in a flock of birds
in your desire and lust
just to be something more than dust
his mind is very successful
in making memories more
than what they ever could have been
making those memories into fuel
to feed a wild fire within his heart
with burning crimson coals still to this day
he stares at the window as if it is
the fated one he lost to time
as if he could reach out and take that hand
in his own and feel the warm blood
running through veins instead of
smooth stark cold glass encasing the gray sky
he hears the rain tapping on those panes
as the voice he longs to listen to
a breath whispered beside his ear
releasing all that was tangled inside
all that caused the great fall into the abyss
and pale feet walking into the dark
he would have gladly listened, gave anything
to listen to those words to take it all away
but there again his memories are more
than what they ever could have been
and the touch of the cold glass and
tapping rain's voice will have to suffice
the struck match
fire eating newspaper
wood of pine or cedar crackling
its essence through heat and steam
opening the door to home
after a week long trip
pulling sheets from the wind swung clothesline
stretching the outside air across the mattress
as sun heated linen unfurls sun into the bedroom
pouring water over man's best friend
as their oils try to ward off the shampoo sheen
first of daffodil cups to pour out its ambrosia
spring rains soak old wood and leaves
the fresh wet earth
as mowers lay down the lawn
head laying against lover's chest
as hair, soap, clothes and eau de toilette slowly dance before their eyes
fallen apples fermenting in the October sun
the closet that houses grandpa's tobacco drenched overalls
and granny's coat whose pockets held wintergreen gum
the kitchen after the sink drains from washed dishes
and the floor has been mopped with bleach water
and the oven has given up its hot rolls or ham or chocolate cake
the cold and promise of snow in the air
a glass of sun drenched ice quenched tea
the house when it is lived in
the house when it is not
