Locked doors

these are just locked doors
that I have no keys for
you're always
on the other side
I can hear you knocking
in every beat in my chest
the storms in the night
you arrive on
send lightning
through me
I bear these holes
trying to stitch them
together with what
lingers of you
during the day
you and I came
so close this time
and are closer still
for the fact our
fingers never touched
each others lips to
silence their cries
and wipe away
their tears
but I am left adrift
each night still
on these tears that
fill my soul
rushing to each locked door
that fill the corridors
of my dreams of you

Early days of May

these lily stems
raise from their
winter beds as
serpents kings
in threatening gaze
here in these
early days of May
while a child's
smile is seen in
the hues spilling
from a tulip cup
and daffodil frills
and anemone rays
here in these
early days of May
what tiny wings
have thawed for
stained glass
flutters in silk
and yellow velvet
striped demand
to seek out sweet
surrender nectar bays
here in these
early days of May
and eggs are laid
and eggs are hatched
and cries are heard
for beaks of worms
in nests of twigs
and mother feathers
for nurture blooms
in nature and all
her motherly ways
here in these
early days of May

Sky punch

splattering on
pavement
liquid colliding
with solid
fluidity ceased
suddenly
releasing its
final breath
to the humid air
all the emotions
burn and sting
from the cold rain
on the sun soaked
concrete walk
its cracks collect
the storm's rage
the restless pools
beg for the time
of saturated soil
to become thirsty
once more
as washed away
colonies of ants
begin to rebuild
small ships of
green leaves
sail away down
sewer drains
into the unknown
while lightning
leaps off to lick
distant horizons

Starstruck

dark bridges
lost paths to
somewhere
that some call
nowhere
but to others
they are every
where for
weary travelers
of the night sky

smoke ascends
carrying messages
to the gods
that no longer
burn but continue
to shine down
giving hope to
those holding hope
for what's been

this blanket
holds crystalline
dust around us
the dust in
any amount
gives it name
shows it form
in life and death
and rebirth and
consumption of
the stars

April rains

awoken too late
in what solar sleeves
have drifted across
the pale numb skin
bare to earth
and wind
and wet kiss
from lecherous clouds
which couldn't remain
in the gray, cold sky
this body stolen
from spinning
earthly eyes
in league with
sun filled lips
to whisper the
secrets of melting drips
the tears of missed ships
to sail across
the eternities lost
but waited for
in hardened shell
in bitter hell
for seconds seen
as pure diamonds
slipping through their
grasping fingers
uniting hands pull
arms within chests
hearts within souls
and rhythmic melodies
sing from the thawed soil
in April rains

Bodies

some days
many days
I think it's broken
defective
but I don't know
who to contact
for a return label
as if they'd take
it back
let alone
issue a refund
for what won't bend
what will give out
when it shouldn't
what will tighten
what won't stretch
what will dry out
what's too moist
what will grow
way too much
what doesn't grow
enough
and enough
I know
for they all are
this way in one
way or another
and what's funny
when we insult them
we insult ourselves
which isn't funny
after all
and they always
tend to be the last
on the list
until they tell
us otherwise.

Ashes to ashes

in those ashes
do they see forests
do they see
drowning oceans
the rivers flooded
with discarded shit
it seems we just
can't get enough of

in those ashes
do they see irony
do they see
karma collecting
on an overdue debt
the screams of others
that weren't like them
that surrendered to
the flames

in those ashes
do they see hunger
do they see
the plight of poverty
the true nature of
what was lost
and the calling of it
to raise up one another
before they raise
that cathedral once more

July nights

rain used to
play the rooftop
like a piano
and we fell
asleep to
that same ole
tune on those
hot July nights
when the storm
had broken the
heat with its
mere presence
we would open
the windows
and the wind
resuscitated
the air in the
stale warm house
we were each
others covers
until the cold
settled in
but with each
drop on the roof
we drifted out
of our skins
and into the
sirenic storm
overhead

Vultures

seven circling

feathers tethered

to some sort of

sustenance

below

hark

a carved out

carcass

below

for the darkly clad

seven to descend

from heaven

and fuss and

feast on 

the mess

below

Waiting

uncertain whether

it’s the teeth vibrating

or whether it’s the gums

the gaze out the window

hypnotizes, pulls the patient

down further, a weight

not a lift in this waiting

chemical cocktails waltz

through the veins, these

grand corridors of a

historic and worn house

the sun lends little aid

to keep heavy eyelids

awake and open to

consume the days left,

remaining in this waiting

no-vacancy must be lit

on the light at the door

no visitors stop and sit

and talk about nothing

which would be everything

as what once was years

are mere hours now

ticking in this waiting