A Murder Of Crows

All on the vine,
all in a row,
how languid they move,
first fast,

then slow.

Let’s try to catch up to fall behind,
but clever is lost
on severed time.

Now what will we do when they descend?
What happens when conversations end;
over the telephone,
out of the light?
Softly they’re singing
they'll eat me tonight.

And you’ll run as I crumble
to feathers and dust,
my bones exposed,
in the murder of August.

Walking The Walk

Split my tongue on a shoe lace bound for nowhere fast,
and still you’re laughing like you know the road ahead;

But how many times have you looked that way
when you tripped on the staircase,
when all my words came tumbling down?

I can save you.
I can save you.
No.

So paint your face a different shade
and arm your frowns to zipper teeth,
because this is the path to never last,
and you can't walk flat-footed as me.

Fire And Ice

Hot hot heat.
Press your face to my lips and burn.

My heart is cold.

You Were Once

I am not by nature - clean.
My skin often dries - but I cover those cracks with creams,
so when the day comes that you get close enough,
I will resemble better who you believe me to be.

With any luck,
You will overlook the years of dirt
Still imbedded beneath the paint and plaster of these fingers;
The skins of all those other men,
trophies of former youth-
rotting.

The audacity I must have,
to so much as shake your hand,
expecting love.
But you were once too.

No Rest For The Wicked

Absent of the usual fear I find myself yet hesitant on the bow of his hairline - fingers slowed to motion stop - waiting for the turn away. Still no less I expect the outcome even when the night is quiet - his breath warm against my cheek. Still no less I expect any moment the violent overture of language and fists pushing polar our bodies across the mattress until we taste once again the solitary of pale streets. But then the minutes pass through long unseen hours over quantum worlds which though I can not see I know is there - along that great somewhere where we inevitably part in ways - and here I discover nothing - nothing but the lazy swoop of a turned lip too close to recognize as a smile inviting until he whispers “sleep.”