future ghosts

floating by your school
of future ghosts
reminds me that I miss
the way you used to kiss
my telephone every night
in the fading autumn light
before you went
dream hunting,

while the teachers were asleep
and the streetlamps
opened up their golden eyes
to gaze upon
the curve of your smile,
you gave your voice to me,
you wanted me to listen.

but time is a liar,
I thought we could fool it.
and the weight of years
is dense and heavy,
hanging in the air between us,
muffling your final whispers:
"It is too late, old sun,
too late, too late.
Just forget, just forget,
just close your pretty eyes."

(old poem//november 9th 2009)

compromise

I'm squirting ink again,
because whenever
I close my eyes
faces of angels
appear before me,
and every one I recognize
as one I want to save my life.

this pen is my
dishonest compromise:
I write about
the way you taste
and fool myself
into believing
I can touch you at anytime.

(old poem//november 9th 2009)

steam & sunshine

sometimes I hear
music so beautiful
I want to grab you by the hair
and push your ear
against the speakers
so you can hear
the fruit of my gospel:
hymns I hum eternally
within my heart
that fill me full
of steam and sunshine.

it's a dialogue between
my fear and love
for all things made
from atoms and shapes
that scuttle through
this world we're all trying
to make a home out of.

your hair is nowhere near,
it lies quiet upon another pillow.
but I have a bedroom run red
with the blood of artists,
and I guess that's enough weaponry
to battle winter's yawning:
I just have to keep
these records spinning.

(old poem//november 6th 2009)

syncopated sermons

seizures in a sea of smiles,
baptismal electrocution,
many hands strain
upward to caress
a mirrorball that reflects
the face of god.

this is my ressurection:
to syncopated sermons
hot bodies collide,
and I am just a child,
hearing blood ringing
in my ears like
it was the very first time.

(old poem//november 6th 2009)

tired mouth

the noise that whispers
from my tired mouth
is a strangled sound
you once loved
when hope was free
and delivered to me daily.

and my penance for some
forgotten sin
is to write laments
about your skin
and the knowledge that
my chance was so easily stolen.

(old poem//november 3rd 2009)

wearing men

my bedroom chokes
with smokey dreams,
but I've forgotten how to breathe.
wax and plaster words spill out
your young and darling mouth.
they fall apart at the foot of the bed.

I leap through the window,
paint the indifferent road red,
and girls in high heels
wearing men
and wearing masks
will step over
my body,
as leaves fall
off tired trees
and blanket my eyes
back to sleep.

(old poem//november 3rd 2009)

duty and desire

you wore that dress i always loved,
it fit you like a fever.
trying to avoid the waiting rocks
that line your grand volcanic curves,
above you wailed a siren song
as i pushed myself against the wall,
and no resistance dulls
the need to drink
your nautical disaster.

and everyone you spoke to grew red
from the paint you use to caress
that shape your mouth takes
as it drips out words
i'll never comprehend.
and i felt like the villain
in my own stageplay,
keeping my true thoughts hidden
in a secret spot
between my shoulder blades,

wondering if i'll ever get
the right moment
to speak the words i want to,
or if the past will
keep my jaw locked forever,
my noble and aching
intentions paralyzed
till the breath runs out,
torn between notions
of duty and desire.