starlet

I reveal too much to be a mystery
There are scarce few rewards for humility
So I am packing my words in musty old trunks
And sparingly offering them in bite sized chunks
Let them eat petit four and have it too
I am learning what it is that I must do
You can't get to the top in comfortable shoes
Because sometimes I win but most times I lose
It has too much to do with knowing the who’s whose
So I dropped a name and I added a face
But the higher I climb I'm farther from grace
She waits at the lowest rung of the ladder
For my repentant return
Even though I have told her there is still so much
So much more I have to learn

beachcomber

Silent
I walk the shores of my waking
And spend quiet hours
Gathering bits and pieces of once beautiful things
That broke against my barriers in the moonlight

The rock that shattered
And the salt that polished
Have left only fragments
Glittering remains of great worlds and deeds
Ages old

I scoop them up
And spread them on the mantel
Where I hope they will remain
Until I return to them

On my next vacation

Some are lost but a few wait gathering dust
I blow them off and sneeze and sigh
Over my inability to understand what once they were

I carry them to a more scenic setting
With the hope of stirring memories of these
Now meaningless emotions
Their intensity fades under the brilliant scrutiny of the sun
And I know only that though their moment has passed
Still they remain

I pluck a silver strand from my temple
And string them together
The necklace with which I adorn myself
Is heavy

a sort of reconciling

You prepare your confession online
The only green patch left
There is life here
Stuffed into these vertices
With a razor-edge knife
You can scrape it out
From under the baseboards
Hide it in your cheek pouch
Before anyone notices
And slip quietly out of the box
And into the square
The host is meant to share

You marvel that the squirrels remain so fat
In all this snow!!!
You tried to feed them
But their palate is... selective
And fennel in snow is more suspicious
Than heiresses sunning themselves on the upper deck
But these aren't Riviera squirrels
They need heartier stuff to satisfy
The hunger that leads them to scrape electrical wire
Snow plow-like

And I need more than words
To satisfy

assasin

There are some whose words stir me:
Mark Helprin my unknowing mentor.
Solomon Grundy my unknown friend.

---
For your words
I still brave space
And find I am not disappointed
To arrive at the dissolution
Of your thoughts to paper
I gather them up
Reading the maps you've drawn
And prepare for myself the second coming
Unholstering my weapons
For once again, I am aware—
A shooting star
In its very failing
Its falleness, its falling
Is far more interesting
Than the brightest, most steadfast point of light
Ever will be
To the naked
Eye of the beholder

I am beholden!

overcome

Got a bit of a Coen Brothers feeling today.
Revisited and revised an old write.

---
I bought a gun,
A great big one,
To kill the monster beneath my bed.

"Oh! please come!
Let's have some fun!"
Is what the terrible beasty said.

But I was done
With the lying son,
And that's just what I said.

He tried to run
From my great big gun;
So I blew off his head.

(There are some
This may stun—
That I preferred the finality of lead.)

I destroyed all his forms
Till there were none
Then watched him as they bled.

But when it was done,
When I had overcome,
I found I missed the dreams he'd read.

And in the sun
I dropped the gun,
And a shroud about him spread.

Now all alone
I sit and mourn
That all my fears are dead.

a winter's drive in may

I drive alone in the dark
With the satellites all turned off
Weary treads lie coiled on my shoulders
Stubborn refuse stranded
And the soft whispered swish of tires
Echoes the crush of this empty weight in my chest

Twenty-three hours and counting
I am later than I have ever been
And I imagine you
Clicking at the counter
How is it that you like your Gin

I’ve fallen through more cracks than you’d remember
I can’t recall every window where I’ve stood and listened in
But I keep retracing all the moments that lead to your doorstep
Do you ever regret not inviting me in

Each unbottled bubble
Hisses a satisfied pop
To tinkling teeth like icecubes
As it sizzles to the top
A fraction of a second’s pleasures
Before you quench your thirst in measures
You measure in inches
You measure in miles
But the distance between us
Could be folded closed with a smile

How much litter lines this road
I travelled to get from there to here
"Not worth it" so you say
The things I could lose along the way
But I can do without socks and cap
As long as I keep my soul intact

But the toll is multiplying
The longer I keep driving

Slower than a speeding bullet
I will eventually understand
But for now
I whip my tangerine dream
Through the drizzle and haze
I keep an 18” low profile
And avoid the pitfalls and potholes
More gracefully than the assholes
Because I know a bad penny will keep turning up
Heads up
Chin up
Look up

It is always December

I wish upon my bleeding heart
Before I cross the line one more time

amaranthine imbalance (an exile)

Yesterday my horoscope read:

Scorpio Horoscope for February 22, 2010

Uncertainty and shifting grounds can mark the day's outcomes, and confidence may retreat in the face of a challenge. Confrontation is the wrong game to play, but pulling out entirely is equally unsuitable. Take judicious compromise now and the resulting situation will improve, but don't chase diminishing returns.

And it couldn't have been more accurate... Oh the shifting surfaces! It is a dance that is difficult to master

---
chasing a diminishing return,
chasing my own stinging tail,
digging a rut in the garden of eden
all to no avail.
I know I'll just keep spinning,
pretending I will prevail,
because the future is uncertain
even as it's happening once again;
and the delusion of asserted will is a comfort
as I dance fight the choreographed end.
and the fruit from the tree is now dropping
on the trembling, shifting sand
while my kisses, more than retreating footsteps,
cause earthquakes where they land.
the forbidden tastes I gather
as I move in vertical lines
are very hard to swallow,
and I am running out of time.
so grab once more for my hand.
take me back to that eternal spring.
let the clocks be smashed and silent.
only let the furrows ring.
flood them with the tears of tomorrow
that my memories may grow
behind the amaranthine angel who guards them
row upon copper row.