I’ve Caught the Scent of Last Year, It Tastes Like Stone

You do not have to love me/
I don’t think you ever did
I was born to follow you
And I was born for you to
Leave me behind, so it is

I wrote all these songs for you
Too sad for you to ever read
You sharpened the man in me
With scolding and rejection
I was born like a new poem
Dressed by the wind
The sky didn’t care your eyes
Were bloodshot, from the life you led
I was caught in the sundrift
Of your belly stepping into a new life

You do not have to love/
I don’t think you ever could
I am still caught in last year
With the taste of mud and stone
For forest said, never mind, I am as old
As your gossiping about a woman
I was born to live after you
To outlive you, for you to haunt me
I wrote all these songs for you
But you never liked poetry.

I Have to Call you My Cruellest Hand of Fate


I touched you once too often
Disappeared into the boundary
That was your face, your thoughts
I called my soul back all night
But it was lost, lost in you
I thought I’d leave this morning
For good, but you kicked me out instead
I touched you once too often
Though silently you pretended to understand
In leaving I realized you hadn’t a clue
So I emptied out your drawer
Of all the life I gave to you
You hardly stooped to pick it up
All the sacrifice I offered you
In listening to your stories of pain
I aged two years after you
In the six months of heart-break
I touched you once too often
When I was with you, and when we were apart
The last time I saw you
You shamed me for good.

Photo: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Rape-371405036

What Breath of Winter Blowing Retards my Spring

My heart is stretched
On climaxes with you
Even the smallest wind
Pulls me tight against your thin memory
And I simply, quiver
For the things you said
They ring down my ears and years
My eyes are blind
With the ecstasy of your picture
My fingers against your skin
It’s perverse, and a sign of bitterness
That all I have now become
Is a reaction to you
My body is limp with grief
For so much burning beneath
The imaginary sun that was your
Calculating feminine grin in my life.

A Spartan Lament

What moved me, was not
That we were meant to be together
It was they way you offered
Your hand to be in my hand
Your palm against my palm
The way you insisted
My manhood might go headfirst
Inside of you without a sheath
Warm, like a bird caught in a snare
I shared myself with your sharing ways
You were grieving, using me
As a heart hoarse with hope
And I loved you, loved you deeply
What moved me, was not
That you rejected me, after all
I’m not perfect, it was the way
I kept loving you, and nobody else
Muscular in tenderness, from all
The abuse you once endured
I became a carpenter, carving a house
That I could never give to you.

Like Water Forever Restless

And still we dream, comrades
And still we let the sun
Caresses us before the night
Enters us like hushed immobile years
Oh I know the sun’s breast

I’ve felt my manhood pulse
With the yearning of mountains
Gold washed is the fountain
Where I held you, the best
Of my everything, the height

Of my wealth, in poverty
Having you, was my last resort
Of a life without a companion
And still we dream, comrades
Of better times, while the sun

Keeps heaven’s azure rays close
Brisk is the air in the white-capped
Future, in the distance
Where love and the ocean pounded
To break on my heart’s shore.

My Best Breaths Have Blown

Now all the garden tires of the sun
What we most wanted, burns
Like the gulls of empty years

Till Autumn sings summer’s missed dawns
Life is too casual for me
The petals are destroyed of

My favorite beauty
The sun burns on a rose
Where my face and idealism once lay

August comes as quick as May
Now all the garden tires of the sun
My skin dreams of the woman

I used to know, time sings and I close my eyes
To the touch of the ache of empty years
Hours I dream alone, my love it fades.

You Sealed my Unearned Dreams

I saw you powerful I saw you happy
Without me, on your own
In the sleepy orchards of your maturity
I still imagine myself, with you

Like a silent movie
Wedding processing, my dream
You who illumine the night
Fed by rivers, you make

Invisible steps up the mountain
The world grows fond in your arms
With light and splendour
I saw you powerful I saw you happy

Outside of my possessing
A dance of seven veils
Silence from your left-handed touch
I can’t live in poems knowing

That I still love you, you put an end
To dreaming in me, with your
Aloof and endless perfect weather.


Hey, Poor-Sustenance, Over Here!


Hey, I’m only semi-literate/
Barely enough to call myself ‘educated’
Be easy on me, as I try to
Understand your chimera-rambling

Your trance of miscarriages/
Your letters home, to God
When you are so clearly
An atheist, with your couldn’t-care-less

Attitude, you run circles around me/
With your worldly wisdom
Hey, I’m barely street-smart, at all
I’ve never touched a dolphin

Or hitch-hiked across a country in revolt!
I haven’t worked the Corporations like you have
Haven’t seen the bright lights
Hey, I’m pretty much a goat herder

Of idle dreams, a feigned lunatic/
A scholar that leans on stars
So distant, I can only read child-notes
I have a Ph.D in obscurity, and innocence

I know the code forbids, that you kiss/
A white boy on the mouth, but perhaps
You can make an excuse, of how ‘we’ came to pass
And make up a story of what happened to me

After you left me stung as a bee might sting/
The lips of Socrates, you know me well enough I guess
To know what you are leaving
Hey, I wish you well, you are

The mother of false starts/
And the best Lover I ever had.

A Short Story of Her


How much of me, she left untouched
How little of my soul
She cared to sincerely know
Simply to merge alive again –

Her peculiar friendship was short
To love me not, in a short story
To touch me, and send me on my way
Her binding arms let me go

And now I must piece the little puzzle
Here I am naked to her memories
How little we truly meet the world
Knowing creature of our void

I attended my studies, in femininity
While eating at her house, pussy & wine
How much of me, she left untouched
My spiritual qualities unknown

Indifferent are the beasts, with their casual ways
Mothers must attend to their bank accounts.

Till the Broken Creatures Part


I’ve grown accustomed to the dark
To witness enormous Goodbyes
The constant pain of remembering
Who you were, what you taught me

Life steps always straight
While we curve around nostalgia
For the newness of the night
Finds me erect for novelty

I’ve grown accustomed to the dark
Or something altered in sight
Now misery is my last response
A constant reminder of having felt home

With you, your light no longer
My witness, those months have ended
I remain knotted for the remaining years
An uncertain grasping for something that wasn’t there

By accident or by hidden gains
I’ve grown accustomed to the power of dream
That is the last action of remembering.

We All Arrived from Grandmothers


How noteless is this life
The Real is an instinct of locality
All a question of proximity
And sense to spirit integration

I’ve forgotten all odes familiar
Whims to bloom, and buttercups to smell
I’ve spurned Daises and rules of Noon
With Recollection of your numbness

How irreverent and cordially anonymous
Is every moment from the next
That fancy and sunrise
Are simply doors left ajar

This world a simulation of requests
That you disdain men, and I find women
Like Oxygen, necessarily toxic.

Hafiza Sundered Hope


Unbroken as a new settler
I was a guest of Infinitude
With some weeks & months
To teach you, the triumph of the Birds

My soul that asked your shelter
Adored by my solemn honesty
I entered your Dining Room hopes
But only could offer you crumbs

The sunrises scattered me
You wished I would part
So I left with the little dignity
In my small library of hope

I left a bookmark to your name
The humble fuel, for the poetry of a lifetime.

Not With Your Foreign Wings to Shelter Me


Beneath sentiments better left, unsaid
Untouched like some dead weight
Beneath the rubble-fields of battered words
That amount to little more, mere memories

They are not tangible, precious, or alive
But constrict me from the inside
Let them try to pronounce a winter of hurt
For a floundering of spring, yet to be

With fevered heart, let them melt away in summer
Clang shut eternal gates of love, forever?
Yet, for all that, trust shall come again, as ever?
With nostrils of bleeding gold, for rich rewards?

You will not appear again, with that dusty mantle
Of golden olive skin and pouty eyes
I am sick of dissipating you in mere fantasy
As blind as I ever am, a prelude and a requiem, or a preface
Where my luckless touches, touched a foreign woman’s shore.