Requiem for the Reminiscent
The water is searing
As whispering trees bow
Across the misty horizon,
In the inaudible
Hippocampal pocket
Yellow leave fall serenely.
Their gentle partings,
Lost along the way.
Soft and silent
A doe steps
Toward apple trees.
A rabbit rises
From dirt
Near the rose garden.
Crisp air envelops
This fading moment.
A cold breeze
Caresses silvery sheets.
Waving mysteriously,
Missing ghosts
Chasing new breath.
Silent and slow
Taking a few
Measured sips
The smell of crackled pine
Permeates the tightening air.
The smoke rises,
The chimney puffs.
The dark, the crows
The sky in a black mask
The tea bitter and cold.
Another moment
Passes from cognizance.
The clock ticks,
Heart beats,
Lost in a crossword maze.
Static fuzz
A lonely dinner tray
An empty cup.
Staring
Lost in time
This unfamiliar place,
captured once
By camera’s click.
Home
A well of masks
Lies
Under a layer
Of Dust,
In the rusted cellar.
Empty Easter baskets
Proceed down
The esophagus hallway
Filled with
Family portraits
And Broken paneling.
Teddy bears
And plastic men
Sleep
In cobwebs,
Catching aging light,
From a yellowed bulb.
This house
Buried echoes
Under heavy curtains
Locking whispers
Behind wooden doors.
Tea Cup
Steaming dark chasm
Like a hot spring cave
Warms gentle palms
Toward open lips.
Grasping pure porcelain skin
I lean you on your side
Emptying all your torrid secrets.
You kiss with a smolder,
Yet I hold you closely,
As you begin to cool.
Nudists of Harrison Avenue
One street lamp lit
Harrison Avenue silent
In the velvet summer night.
Flat, bland, cloaked in dark
Rustling road
Carrying the sound of…Something
Wandering
Down the yellow night.
Staring behind
Divided windows
Neatly stacked books
And clean cotton sheets
Seeing 22 bodies
Strolling in skin
Struck me
In my
Black and white room.
One stopped at the lamppost.
Barren ass collecting moonlight
As bouncing breasts
And genitals
Crossed his frozen path.
He looked into
The eyes of the trees
As they vanished
Into the woods
Connected to some beauty
I had never known.
Who were these
Friends of the night,
These naked nymphs?
I wanted to follow
Into the night woods,
Into the abyss,
But doors
Were much heavier then,
And some things
Are harder to explain.
White Walls
Echoes printed
Epitaphs
In St. Rose’s cemetery.
I saw your name,
A lighthouse scattered
By rocks
Gathering puddles like little
Baths for
Drowning fish.
Silence pervades
Laughter, leaving
Cigar’s scent
And images of John Wayne,
In the cellar.
I tasted salted fruit
In the kitchen when the
Dishes were clean .
I saw you
In patterned shirts
My father wore
Fixing cars,
And in wrinkles
My mother wore
When I was out
Past one.
Mickey Mouse
Counted down until
My room became
Memorial
Painted white
Concealing stains
Humming memory.
Office Space
Lightening bolts
Shake the files
Into tattered pieces
Like little wings
Of the flies in the
Office space.
Air vents yawn,
Licking the necks
Of blind men
Staring at my
Left lapel.
So many hands
Touching me,
Touching everything.
I’m suffocating
From the madness of
The Magazine Rack
Reading old
Issues of Time
With Sanitized gloves.
Nightmares are
Tattooed on
The waiting room guests
With long nails
And dirty clothes,
Waiting silent and still
In maroon seats
Sinking into carpets
Like melting candles.
Strange names
Whispered into
Recycled air,
Bouncing off legs
of Silent guests
Entering gray doors
of Cardboard
To Rooms of white.
I wait as I fall,
Sinking into nothing,
Flailing in a Berber sea.
Pastel Demons
It all struck me
Like a brutal wave
Against a gentle stream
Back to 8 am
Tied down by long hair and a striped tie
Scraping against a wooden desk
My voice broken and
Everyone deaf
LISTEN TO ME
Lips closed and chapped
Choked by incense
And Peace Be With you’s
I’m a ghost
Pale and hushed
Against
Elite hallways,
Slamming metal doors
And designer locks.
The smell of Coach pelt bags,
the glare of Burberry blotches.
The smack of the polo players
On shades of pinks and whites.
My giant shoes, My baggy pants
Trip over stares and broken laces
All those brands and BMW’s,
all those plastic pastel smiles.
Under murky brown locks
often drowning
During those lonely nights
Spent sinking into the springs
Of my astronomy chamber
Gazing at plastic stars.
journals stained
By tearful pens
With stolen tongues
Counting ways to die
In every enclosed space.
In every moment
The walls closed,
Like square jaws
The ceiling tasted me,
Lowering its plaster pallet
I sit crouched in
All that empty space,
Trapped by sharp starry teeth
The past consumed
Holden Caulfield’s son
Leaving behind
A sanctioned casket
Packed with sport coats
And patterned ties.
A new breed stands
Thinking on a bridge,
Gazing at rushing water
And rocks smoothed
By time.
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