each page

i held your book
upon my lap
as you sat still before me,
each page a tiny lock of hair,
on fire, alive and flowing,
touching something
beyond the skin,
some deeper beauty
culled within.

i wanted to press
the pages to my lips,
to commit them all to memory,
in case our time
ran out too quickly,
and you forgot my bravery.

***

(old poem december//2009)

drawing shades

i smoke nails in red light
dreaming of another life
where i'm allowed to follow
that path of freckles
trailing along
your golden arm,
while your eyes are closed
in the quiet cave of sleep,
and you dream about me differently.

while we are the sum
of what we've been given,
we're also the sum
of what's been taken,
and of what we'll never receive,
like the chance to
whisper into your throat
ever so softly.

now i'm getting better
at drawing shades
across the window
resting upon my chest,
but every once in awhile
i have to let some light in,
and the sound of your name
has always burned so brightly.

dirty lashes

oh honey honey,
your dirty lashes
and clean lips,
they give me
seizures in the night,
and i am foaming
at the thought
of your body in sunlight,
the trees listening
to our static charges
crackle and pop
in the air between
two parallel frames,
while you ask me questions
that i answer quickly,
so i can ask you more
and listen slowly.

hiding

i am hiding from you
because i cannot hide from myself.
every little winter's night
follows me around town,
chained to my chest by mistake.

your name reminds me
of all the time i gave you,
believing it would never run out.
there's an empty space in my head,
where the good words used to live,
that i cannot escape.

i wish the spirits talked to me
like they used to,
but they've given their chorus
to prettier kids,
they sing into their clean ears,
while i wait in the dusty closet,
hoping for original portents.

abandon

"You have write down what you're going to abandon."

--Leonard Cohen

(from the film "I'm Your Man")

all the kids have cameras

i've got to catch up.
all the kids have cameras,
or they have ideas
they pour easily on paper.
they're all so good
at making something out of nothing,
and it makes me feel small
when i can't think at all.

they wear time on their hands,
i wear time on my face.
it's not a fashion statement,
it's a war for attention,
and many soldiers of art
are shot dead everyday.
they just close their eyes,
with dreams unrealized.

and i don't want to be
a forgotten corpse.
please try to remember
that i made something for you,
when i felt urgency knocking
at my back door,
and the words were there
like they'd never been before.

my new rules for writing/living

assume nothing.
Murphy is right.
never go against your gut.
everyone is potentially under opposition control.
don't look back, you are never completely alone.
go with the flow.
use the terrain.
establish a distinctive and dynamic profile and pattern.
stay consistent over time.
let them believe they lost you.
act innocent.
lull them into a sense of complacency.
there is no limit to a human beings ability to rationalize the truth.
once is an accident.
twice is a coincidence.
three times is an enemy action.
use misdirection, illusion and deception.

####

the commandments of espionage!

as told by
antonio mendez,
ex cia operative,
chief of disguises,
in the "little grey man" episode of
"errol morris: first person"