I’ve Had Only Cruel Lovers


I hurt once and for all
Into silence, I retreat into
Ivory Towers, inner strength
To find sustenance, against abandonment

I have no more praise left –
For the friends who have left
Let me cry Help beside you
Mostly by seeking to aid you

I hurt once and for all
After heartbreak, I feel the great distance
Between me and all of society
I hurt once and for all

The wed red tongued alienation
Of bitter defeats, judged not desirable
I have no honor, as a son even
I hurt once and for all

After dysfunctional family ties
Linger like morbid displays of duty
I hurt once and for all
As an angry teacher of human cruelty

I have no more patience left
For rejection, for honesty
I hurt once and for all, by default
The smell that burning cities give
Of hearts left alone in their toil.

Final Harvest


‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so
Love is dying in a different way
Being let go, like yesterday’s memory

By someone we still love –
‘Tis living, the ambush of little hurts
That aren’t so shrill if we make

Bliss, our mortal baseline
And bow to everything, and learn
‘Tis not that dreams pass too slow

It’s that we have a set number of choices
We can ever make, hitting Reset
Is not the same as an involuntary rebirth

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us much
Life is not the mourning attachment it once was
When our heart is broken forever, by one final episode
That allows us to live another way.

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.