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the keeper

>> Thursday, August 26, 2010

here is a secret nobody knows
you collect butterflies in a jar
blue, orange, silvery winged things
your eyes bright orbs through the glass

your feet are bound in twine, wispy
unlike your memory, as you recall
that one name, that one time

your hands are as unmoving as your
feet, the fear to hold rousing the
desire more and more...and more
for a feel of the fairy dust that
settle on your brow

but your tears are meaningless
for it is your fate
some love without sound
some choose pain for air
some are born to keep

god blessed your soul with butterflies



the loves of m

>> Wednesday, August 18, 2010

the loves of m she collects
with butterfly hands in her
japanese garden, rubicund,
koi swimming abstractedly
cherry blossoms falling like
s           n             o           w
                  w             s
     o                                  n
                    n            w
s           n             o           w

but her love to transience is
a slave. when idle bamboos
in the autumn evening bend
the lantern's soft light ebbs
the tender lotus, poignantly,
d r   i      f         t                 s

the love of m is a song, her
loves, its half-remembered
l       l        l        l        l      l
i        i        i        i
n       n       n
e       e





>> Sunday, August 15, 2010

i need a place to crash
but not to burn
for sleep is a dark place
where darker things
linger in the fog
like old Mr Scratch
contiguous with the
night outside
the floor will do
bugs i don't mind
at least an assurance
i am not alone
in my isolation

the devil inside
like all devils
is as clever as
it is patient
killing time to
make the perfect
kill - pulling the
plug, drawing
the blinds,
snuffing the
light out of
someone's eyes
by words
by thoughts
by hands

i hope i don't scare
you i have had enough
scare to bother
with somebody else's
i just need a place to
crash and get off
this train ride
and quit running
with the dogs
another fall
would be it

just one night
to tide me over

i'll bring beer?




>> Thursday, August 12, 2010


in your secret garden
you grow sunrises
with agarwood and juniper
thoughtless of the gloaming
outside your trellised Eden

in your secret garden
dreams come easy
and time is an afterthought
like rain on a summer's day
remembered in the fall

in your secret garden
places, names, faces
are watermarks of what once
were and what has become
you gather silk from moths

in your secret garden
east is north is west



love me in white instead

>> Thursday, August 5, 2010

black into the night disappears
behind melancholic stars
and reborn a deathly gray
like a lovely fire losing fire
forgetting to smolder and burn.

leaves may endure and transcend
summers, winters, falls
but in gravity they have
faith, tragically helpless
when time clothes each in earth.

i am a prisoner of scents and air
of perfumed gardens 
of violets, divine
but intangibly so. how
can i love that which i can't touch?

red...the color of my torment
the taste of jealousy on
my tongue, the hint of
betrayal on your lips...
love and loss is a flower, the rose.

and what of blue? is it not the color
that speaks its name? the
calm before the tempest?
the quiet after the storm?
a cycle of prayers that no one hears.

lover, love me in white instead.



love junkie

>> Tuesday, August 3, 2010

i went to the doctor today
and showed him my tattoos
they hurt more than old
photographs do, dirty reds,
almost black when I'm drunk
doc just shook his head
and gave me a revolver

i took the cold metal with
both hands, revering its
isolation and authority,
it reminded me of God
as i pointed it at my heart
which was then uncannily
quiet, stupid stupid heart
can't think right, ever
and when it kissed the
barrel, it slept and dreamt
of ol' bonnie and clyde

god is a gun
love is a kiler

i got a song stuck in my
head playing like some
broken record, the more
you ignore me the closer
i morissey gay?
not that i care. none of
my business who loves
what. it's the why's and
the how's that make me
want to...since reading
wuthering heights

love is a weeper

i'm going to read poetry
tonight. probably keats
some sandburg and maybe
a little shakespeare. under
the stars, incognito. oh
l'amour, one side promise
the other,  remembrance
you can have but never
hold either way. a shame...
and my greatest tragedy.




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