How the Music Crept By Us

You recited unblinkingly
The code of compassion
As if in that hopeless moment
I had erred beyond your comprehension
(
The brass bed was bearing your suitcase
A one way ticket to – far away from me
I know your stomach churned
In some weird way, not quite like mine
)
But you were always stronger, that way
I heard your mother’s voice
In the way you closed the door
For the last time, the last look
(
Was like your father’s rebellion
For a life he did not choose
All that was left in my sweaty palms
Was the necklace you gave back to me
)
To signify, there would be no
More headline hysterical breakfasts
No more cat-cheers, for the temptations of the new day
You had condemned me
.
To a lust-asylum universe
Where everyone was a bad copy of you.

I’m Telling this to the Two of You

In my love-soaked bed
I thought I drank love and died from it
Though I have been alone
For how many months now?
How many years have I suffered
*
.
)
My relationship with myself
I caught and wrestled in this bed
The dreams that I once sought
I scatter now to the winds
Accepting, for instance, how much
.
More clever my corpse might be
The legacy of dead songs, you see
Angels will not come to kiss my head
In my love-soaked bed, I live and died
A fantasy, created by stages of delusion
*
.
)
I invented illusions that you existed
So that I might simulate love
That my fragmented heart, might survive
And linger a while in my mind
To obey, some entertainment of beauty
For a lonely life, of dead songs.

Lost in Celebration

Lost in the fields of your hair
I remembered the fragrance there, of the Earth
And Peach blossoms of the souls
That I left behind, so lovingly
That I forbid myself to love again –
In the dark, of beautiful and corrupt humanity
There were no bruises like the empty space
Of living alone, for penniless years
I became a master of loving without objects
Of instructing myself how I might survive
On beauty alone, without a face
To reflect it back to me, I was
.
)
The last horizon of wonder
Guilty for not traveling, like you have –
I lost myself in the fields of your hair
Counting the contracts, countries, poems
You encountered, here at the soft lines
Of your cheeks, I looked in awe beyond beauty
For the sound of your voice, the locket of hair
Where I might find the secret to comb everything
That jar of oil, that caress of celebration
That could possibly make me groan at the roots
Look down from the skyline of the cityscape
At how lovely the world could truly be.

A Beat Poem as a Marvelous Omen

I’m apt to loaf for news about you
I heard you did Salsa from Singapore
Played the saxophone as a decoy
While translating and interpreting market values
Us poets work bankers’ hours

You know it, with your silk grin of patience, your
Vocabulary that can’t be cataloged
Your words strike me as a saber of the future
Street-smart, like laughter right after supper
Champagne that sparkles, in the world’s most bustling city

I’m apt to not know what to say, once I find you
With your spoken french so far superior to mine
Wearing a dress tailor made for how
We failed at secular life, it wasn’t surprising
That I’m running out of ways to distract myself from
The inevitable dilemma that I can’t stop writing

About my lack of mentors, lovers, heirlooms, legacies, girlfriends
Nothing can compare to the exposure of my dying lips
Of the trinkets of your humanitarian sustenance

I caught myself worshiping today
At the thought of discovering you, losing you, crying
Triumph in-between your surrealism and the non-locality
Of how we know of each other at all
Like a rumor of lost identity hushed in semantics.

The Last Jury is How we Linked

Nothing has been broken –
Nothing could ever have been broken
You were the air and I was the breeze
.
>
There was love in every shadow
It was all familiar, each corner of
Fleeting minutes, every look
It already happened, we already occurred
Before we met, on that gentle day
You made my day as a blue butterfly
Landing on eyelashes of forgetfulness
.
)
Nothing has been done, it already happened
Thrust like dragonflies from futurity
Simultaneously vivid, quantum deja-vu
I heard it in your French, you counseled
Our marriage, before we got married
You taught children, before ours were even born
.
>
Nothing has been broken – nothing is lost
Though time would electrocute our heart
That’s life at the window of movement
You were the flowers, to my sun.

You Loved me into Reality

You dance on the day you saved
Me from myself, like a middle-class riot
Of listening for butterflies, in forgotten fields
.
*
I am the lost sweet singer of boyhood
Me and myself, with theoretical angels all around
Hoping for the voice, of connection:
>
.
Rainbows on vacation, time in love’s stand-still
You drink on the day you saved
Me from the world, I was at a cemetery at sunset
.
)
Of my grief, an artificial virtual subjective world
There was no substance to me, sleeping in beds of water
Memories of dissonance, a floating post traumatic stress syndrome
.
*
Of what the big world didn’t find out about me
You laughed on the day you saved
Me from my arrogance, egocentricity, stubbornness
>
.
It sounded like an echo in Chinese to my immature hearing
Like a parasite of heaven, it was my job to know human states
Suffering wore out the overused mirror of unsilvered masterpiece-eyes
.
)
You dream in nude keyholes on the day you saved
Me from my illusions, in erotic awakening I felt
The touch of transformation gentle on my breast
.
*
The butterflies came to get me after all, I confess
In your lips I felt the puissance of the bluest stars
You forged me a passport to eternity, drunk in new language.

Love-Travel

Make my body, your personal
Pomegranate fragrances, stamp me with
Kisses of meaning, leave no scent
.
)
But your inscriptions of spice, Romance
As spoiled as lyrical Sundays, vineyards
Of affection, where we revel in each other
>
.
Keep my mouth, cinnamon & pineapple
Close to your nipple, close to your sweet voice
Where I can hear and taste your
.
)
Excavations of Beloved tyranny, Syrup joys
That glance down the crying Theatres of Bliss
That is ours like, hours stamped with our Genius
>
.
In the happy Journal of our fractal predictions
We friend-touch each other violating aches and years
Of loneliness, where nothing was whispered from the garden
.
)
Of Legendary mortality, dream-state aqua-drums of the dance
Make my body, your weight of maddest hopes
Embraces of permanence, leave no mood unturned
>
.
No pollen of the Brain left filtered, but brine me Thy
One True Self, that I might adore your singularities
As if they were a part of my own native Revelations
.
)
Our souls will join upon these fallen Leaves
And I shall kneel with a handkerchief to clean the dirt
From the dirty Sun of our loveless travels, breathless with age.

Ballad to Half-crazed Summer

I am looking for Summer Nights
Where the moon will dangle these
Half-plucked eyes, with hearts thrown open!
.
)
As if, bright friends might transport
The rapture back into these Wounded Skies
I can’t ask for much, or maybe Everything
.
)
The eternal attitude of little human music
These yearnings which elevate time to Perfect Pitch
I am hunting Spring mornings for
.
)
The tried and true naked stones, that glimmer
The Sun’s best Intrusion of happiness
Where light is a bull-frog’s croak of oblivious motivation
.
)
Our bright flesh where there are no scars
I am looking for Mortal Embraces of hot July
Where I can let my expertise in simplicity go
.
)
Like a poem where words are said so beautifully
that I might as well be speaking the name of Love
That give themselves to life so intimately, we might
.
)
Silence the blossoms on all lips, to climb stairs
Outside Plato’s cave to the throat of outside innocence
I am looking for Salvation, on the fly.

Good Night to the Ideal of Marriage

I took a blessing for the flowers
Tightening around me in the night
Like precious fertile years
Lost, to my individuality
Jealous with knots of
Passionate self-interest

Like dust under
An unused wedding gown
Then I followed the day
That turned into lonely decades
The terror of being unable to build building-blocks
Of love, of family, of normalcy

I heard stories that turned into theory
At weddings, of people who never made it
Girls sailing over the blooms of my mouth
I was getting old for watching them
With a hungry face, or a heavy heart
In the end I had disdain for the fragments

Of small affections I accumulated
The cynicism spilled while watching friends
Busy in their nesting frenzies
I took a blessing for the flowers
As you harvested the beauty of your worth
Light and splendor, like sleeping orchids

Woke up in you, when you became a mother
But I wasn’t to be your husband
Nor would I be invited to the holy procession
Of your vault of the power of the bonds that do not die

Long live the unknown machine
Of heart, that I was unable to grow
Into finely meshed lives of stable prosperity.

Abandoning the Sea

My last poem broke through
Harbors, like lost ships, journeys
Ready for the scrap yard
Junk sales, that’s where I found my love
The rusted submarines of

So much idealistic passion
Like spilled cargo, that never
Reached its final destination, listless
After years of searching the wrong
Seas, continents too prosperous

Broken contracts, memory white
With the regret and guilt of loss
The kind of romantic sailors that assure you –
The Sea can make you go crazy
Ready to rejoin the world, without skills

My last poem is ready to sell-out
And be a different kind of martyr
I try not to count the ships, as dreams
Or the people I lost along the way
But that way of life ruined all prospects

Art, were the ruthless waves
Where I sacrificed and risked everything
And lost, my last poem was an admission
Of the darling pupils of my muse
That I will never see again, least of all in verse.

Songs of Love’s Insanity

I told you we were fools
With our strut of scarlet feet
I wept – for foolish games
We put each other through

Now, a spring negotiation is On
The traitor birds are whispering
A splintering of my time
To rebel against the sun

My heart is no longer glass and gold
But a petrified blossom of your scars
I told you we were fools
We lost the optimism of youth

The confidence of bravery
That risks without asking questions
I tried to love you carefully
But my insane letters and embroidered throat

Were initials of my own doom
I told you I was a fool
I do not gladly wait the years
To see you again, you made it poignantly clear
All my hope and artistry meant nothing.