From within the
barrier of self-doubt,
illusions penetrate
daydreams or
vice-versa sometimes; and,
the four walls become
a haven where my
security is found
in isolation; every
block of tile has
been counted hundreds of times,
reconstructed and
repositioned in a  clever
disguise to mask
the uniqueness of my
prolonged purpose's surface;
my design unforlds
like a melting snowfall.
If I could, I would convince
myself not to remember.

January 1986

Anger of Innocence

My thoughts are somewhat dead

abandoning me like guests

who have had too much to drink;

areas of my vision blacked out

leaving me blind  on

either side and in front;

my fingers stumble over the keypad

my tendons intentionally severed

preventing my misspelled and

mispronounced fragment from

recently appearing on the screen;

the politics of the right and the

declarations of the left are no match

for the growing anger of innocence

traveling with the rising sun;

patterns of success inside us, when served,

create waves of dystopia around us

no longer ignored like a bastard child;

our inter-mingling lives carress and tease

like lovers as metaphorical fornications

ravage us like armies of war and Sun Tzu's

creed becomes the way we all live.

2-23-11

On her own she sits

independantly

dividing values

into lost opportunities;

afternoons set aside

to play out fantasies,

drawing upon what

she already feels

for reassurance;

her temperment changes

with the length of her hair;

confused desires are

interwoven into her

braided appearance;

she lives her life at a distance,

a wild youth has

all but disappeared;

lies told often enough

force the attitude of truth

and complacency she follows

like footsteps in the snow;

she resists temptation,

feeling more secure with loneliness,

scared by her selfish standards

and feeling welcomed

by her afternoon rituals.

12-15-86

Years pass by
unnoticed,
unmolested by touch
and the straight
line of life
returns to its origin,
completing our circle of thoughts;
we are victims
of each other's securities,
reaaching the same
conclusion each day; yet,

we return for convenience,
when the lights go out
and the last door closes,
playing it safe;
we are desperate creatures of habit
whose lives must begin
and end with something tangible
from which to drift away;
we are people whose passion
for the ordinary,
the shortest goal,
the easiest method,
creates order out of chaos,
permitting us to limit
our opportunities and reduce
our fears of being\
controlled by our failures.

December 1986

Yesterday’s dreams
are no longer popular
and there is no energy
left to even consider
tomorrow, much less
change today’s routine.

August 1987

The light shines brightly

making my thoughts clear;

but, I don’t understand

what I am feeling and why;

the light shines brightly

allowing me to see what

others do not and still I

abuse what little I know.

September 1987

In her pocket

is kept the secret

to why she tolerates

my indiscretions.

July 1987

Sleep crowds its way

into my processes;

thoughts find a tired

eye closing and opening;

the mind dances in

and out of reality like

a shot actor, finally

falling to the ground;

revolving around my head,

spinning inside a cocoon of dreams,

a who’s who of images floats past,

too quickly to

be caught and put into words;

the mental coordination slows,

my muscles relax like an unwinding spring;

limp and motionless,

my ideas freeze and disappear,

too heavy to carry,

out of reach . . .

out of focus . . .

in between sleep and consciousness,

not a part of either,

drifting aimlessly past all the

sights and sounds of the day,

of my life . . .

of previous lives . . . perhaps,

that I never knew.

March 1987

I await your return

aware the look you gave

was more than friendly;
knowing that when you
want something, it almost
never happens that way.

July 1987

Her song is written

on the faces of the

people she meets;

conspicuously avoiding

their friendships,

counting and recounting

the numbers,

deciding their innocence;

she smiles only at her advantage,

remaining equal distance

from the feelings held at bay;

her song is written

on a bed of loneliness

from which she awakes daily,

wearing a uniform of protection;

her song reaches out to the

people she meets in the

only way she knows how.

April 1987

at the same booth you sit

with me this morning, and

although your time was brief,

I wondered why you had

more time when I first

found you by yourself.

February 1987

Each morning I

await their arrival,

keeping my solemn

little corner free

from interference;

security guards

posted in advance

keep the violence

in my head subdued;

the King's photograph

is placed face down;

an air of uncertainty

can be seen

in the wind and

the morning

wakes simply

and peacefully.

April 1987

If Only I Could Have

She stood there like light coming in from a window,

bold and bright, sunny and alive,

refreshingly smooth and different;

She was more beautiful that I had remembered

and looked at me scared when our eyes met,

wondering in was still ok to be friendly;

If I could, I would have taken her in my arms;

If I could, I would have kissed her;

If I could, I would have been who she wanted me to be;

If I could, I would have . . .

But, I was just as nervous as she;

If only I could have.

Early August 1987

                                                                                             
I look at you and

have no expectations,

only desires that

will never come to be.

August 1987

I am sexually abandoned,
left to my own desires; and,
the blisters on my hands never
heal only wrinkle with age.

August 1987

I am not who I am or what you see;

I am a complex mixture of disorders

waiting to explode in your hands.

August 1987

Not Really

In our mental galaxy

we travel freely,

between images,

resembling parts of thoughts,

transposed into

rapidly changing, redrawn shapes and curves,

possessing illusions,

as easily as

holding onto each other's feelings.

July 1986

Eventually

Along the narrow curved path, an umbrella of trees

hold back the sun's warmth and I am left with the cold

harsh reality of the dream from which I can no longer escape;

Through the pages of the book, I look at the watercolors

of each day like a detective searching for a fingerprint,

an identifiable trademark, the accuracy of doubt,

a simple brushstroke out of place as if a

cartoon's logic is superimposed on an illusion of blended colors . . .

the light's heat melts yesterday's pigments and the wind-bent

trees kiss path that always in time, takes me home.

April 1986

Use the Other Door

Today,

a letter sent my farewells . . .

words,

hard to chose and images    

broke,

into my mind as shivers ran through a sadness . . .

Trusting our absence,

returning forget-me-nots,

Alone,

I sit and look at signs that say,

"use the other door;"

Change,

resurrecting my humilities.

January 1986

What's Behind?

the page turns quickly,

we speed past those memories until

the one that awoke us

stands in front of us, knowing

our present is always a

refocused glimpse of our past.

January 1986

Sans Souci

time in my hands and nothing about which to write;

each line torments - ambiguity, mine alone, rests

at the foot of the muses forsaken and laughing;

creatures of habit jepardize my domain,

controlling the spirit of the game and without

their influences, their maze of ideas, their

free flow of thoughts, my creative wind blows silent

while the candle burns brightly behind the closed door.

December 1986

Emotional Debris

Feelings boil in a stove-top like atmosphere;

the debris of emotions poured

into a solution, a seed crystal; yet,

nothing solidifies and the steam causes

further erosion of the failing relationship.

December 1986

Lost Forever

. . .   and, the mental version of the cafe

hangs on the wall, void of the sounds

which brought it to life;

its joys and sorrows;

its peculiar circumstances,

like one-day processing, we notice

its affects and grow to expect the service;

like most, we notice what's not available

until the painting erodes and the

sun bleached wall is replaced.

April 1986

Tender Compassion

My body bends and yours closely touches

my outers folds of sensitivity;

a  semblance of curiosity flickers on our

window-feelings like fire as a

decantor intoxicates . . .

illuminates . . .

penetrates . . .

Powerless, we are caught in a

web of tender compassion,

singing an adult lullabye,

limmerick in nature but

humorous and fanciful.

October 1986

Nightmare

through a bleak

mental corridor,

tumbling down past

cascading conscious thought,

falling . . .

my view spoiled,

I see others, who

inside my mind pinch

at my nerves while

I remain locked away,

sealed in a vault with

fibers of pain

creeping in the image of my soul

like some evil potion

concocked by

Salem's lot.

July 1986

Simply A Dream

We are softly . . . sensuously . . . impaled upon

the unicorn’s curved horn of our dreams,

relentless . . . in our pursuits while suffering the


suffocating deserts of Arabia or the breathtaking banks of the Yangtze,

picking up all the dropped flowers of our forgotten lovers;

raised images float and meander with the rites and rituals

of our shared mythologies . . . instincts that have kept us apart for centuries;

tribal rhythms of our collective fears are passed along

from one generation to the next . . .

from family to family . . .

from child to child . . . but, listening is muted by the sounds

of butterfly wings furiously fluttering our breathable air

and the cries of babies too undernourished to care;

tears roll down the faces of marble monuments,

money collects like dust on the canvas of unsold paintings,

religious beliefs are bounced back and forth like ping pong balls

without the knowledge of spin or counter-spin;

we sleep on beds with linen sheets

on mattresses made from the ground,

we climb on the backs of others to pick the sweetest fruit

while making sure their feet are firmly on the ground;

and when life’s vessel finally springs a leak, we can frantically proclaim:

this life with all its ills is simply still a dream.

31Jan12

Risks

Hesitation barks at our decisions

and we are suilently kept at bay;

risk becomes the only mistress to obey;

the toys with which she plays seem

more complex when each

player brings their own rules.

March 1987

Missing You

At the end of a table
on the far side of the room
inside the student's union,
I sit staring at my disappointments
like some grieving widow; as if . . .
it was somehow wrong to feel the way I do;
Students file by on their way to class,
squeeling and moaning
like cattle on their way to slaughter; and,
all I notice are my own thoughts of discomfort;

Inside my own window, I peer,

looking for an easy clue
to solve my obnoxous behavior, like thinking
I could solve the common cold while always knowing
my pain comes from nothing more
than missing you . . .

Taken For Granted

You left in such a hurry,

you forgot to pack the feelings

I laid out for you on the dressor; and,

I left them there in case you want

to be reminded how much you care.

May 1987

Over

WE CREEP

         INTO SLEEP
      
                     FORGETTING

                                   OUR MISERIES . . .


May 1987

Hidden Lovers

Down the gravel road we drive,
not clear at all if our spot's still there;
back and forth at each other, we look,
not a word is spoken . . .
stillness and silence creeps in between us and remains,
"...so how come you made it so long this time?"
points are made,
first one, then another and another;
each one has their turn;
arrival brings silence and we shed our time quickly,
each thinking,
what was left last time and how strange it all is,
like something between us is not the same,
like this is the first time . . .
Our touch gradually melts away our confusions,
removing all doubts as we
become each other's nakedness,
exploring down into our secrets,
responses directing our efforts as if on stage,
sampling and tasting, building sensations
stirs the long deep inside us both;
like frantic animals, we claw out our desires,
clinging then surpassing a previous moment;
higher and harder we claw until the moistures
from our convulsions erupts and we are
smeared by it perfumes . . .
collapsing like a comet in the sky on a night like tonight,
into each other's open arms, softly
holding onto the remains of our tenderness.

February 1987