Poetry, portfolio

the apple of your eye
tastes sweetest in the dark
slipping between fingers
lingering lonely on your lips
a bitterness you crave
to turn windmills and grapevines
to look longingly through windows
when the rain is falling down
and run through hallways
as you spin, spin around

the apple of your eye
like an origami cat
is crisp and clean and ready to
pounce, to curl in your lap
with soft paws and soft breathing
a soft face with evil secrets
don’t fool yourself, i guess
you could try to put up a fight
but now it’s time you find the mind
is a bullet you cannot bite

Poetry, portfolio

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Darkling, dreamer,
Stars simmer at the brim tonight.

Bluebells reach, high from your palms;
Sweet teacups collecting cool rain.
Fairies flit and flicker witches’ psalms,
Purple hues haze in novocaine.

Swim the black sea with me,
Swing through planets, galaxies,
Feel the darkness, in all its glory –
Silken, salacious, upholstery,
Into dark delectability…

Feel it seep in
To every crease of your mind.

Darkling, dreamer,
Lick the salt from my neck.
Let your tongue swell, three times,
Until your mouth hangs open…

And you cannot breathe.

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Cliché: A Poem

Poetry, portfolio

my heart is broken
shot into a million pieces
but what doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger…

i float at sea,
lost in pea green boat, and
when it rains, it pours
but every cloud has a silver lining

i come back to you (again)
“cat got your tongue?”
“it’s not you, it’s me…”
and the rest is history…
fool me once, shame on you,
fool me twice, shame on me

don’t judge a poem
by it’s cover
i know it’s a cliché…
did i give it away?
but watch it sell
like hotcakes
and with that ,
i’ll hit the hay

Stream of Consciousness: To be honest…

Poetry, portfolio

It is funny
How life can change,
How people change…
And yet change –
So strange –
Consistent as the seasons…
Is the only constant I know…

Right now, I should be studying
The stapedial reflex and
The anatomical basis of deafness

Instead I’m listening to Prince
And writing poetry (again)
And all this advice
About what’s a good life
What’s wrong, what’s right
Is just white noise and purple rain,
These words all that’s keeping me sane

From the cadavers and scalpels…
The floor stained yellow with formaldehyde.
I see my reflection, just for a minute,
Dark eyes, limp hair, they should cut me open too.

Don’t get me wrong
I still love coffee
And people are still ill..

But medics offer little comfort, you see
(And believe me I’ve tried),
Too busy skipping
From one case to the next…
A portfolio for the management
Just another corporate claw.

And while I’ve no fucking clue
Where I go from here
And god knows there’s no living in poetry
This is the best I know how
To offer comfort, and support,
In this labyrinth of suffering.