Monday, September 18, 2017

hey ...

hey ...
hey ...
i wasn't listening
and i guess
i missed
the verdict
that the jury of
those twelve people
inside your head
brought in
just before the stroke
of midnight
actually i was busy
in the kitchen
making coffee
and figuring out
the physics of
a perfect brew
even if the cup i had to use
was clearly someone else's
someone who apparently
went by the name

hey ...
i wasn't listening
when you rushed into the room
and in a gathered fury
flung the last of
my poems
out the second storey window
and to be honest
i was busy wondering
if metaphors made a sound
when they floated
into oblivion
floated through the summer air
like kites without tails
some drifting into rainy pools
where i guess inky promises bled
across the paper
into dark blurry doodles
while others caught the barbed branches
of trees to blow like
flags of defeat
streamers of surrender
in the land you
once referred to as

hey ...
i wasn't listening
when you slammed the door
so hard
the bougainvillea
crashed down
from that perfect arch
i built
just for you
but after all is said
and done
i suppose
you probably said
something pretty wonderful
something i could hold on to
something i would always remember
as a token of a love shared
probably something more
and more and more perfect
but all i heard
all i really caught hold of
was a simple pulse
in the steamy cicada air
that sounded a lot like



Wednesday, August 30, 2017

the purr of your sleep ...

the purr of your sleep ...
the purr of your sleep
drifts over me
here in my wakefulness
as i imagine
your dreams
that flicker chaotically
across the unfolding sheets
where your legs twist and turn
as if you were running
from some great danger
and i am curious
for a moment
and then suddenly overwhelmed
when i see that the monster
chasing you
is me



Tuesday, August 22, 2017

the young Indian girls ...

the young Indian girls ...
the young Indian girls begin to undress in front of me
as they wade by the water's edge
and for a moment i feel a wave of self-consciousness
until my vision begins to crackle in the bright sunlight
and you appear from seemingly nowhere
in your black smock
and your thick belly
which quickly eclipses my interest
as prurient as it may have been
leaving me to wonder
if desire mixed with age
is a suitable cocktail
for a tourist
seeking pleasure
over prayer



Tuesday, August 01, 2017

fallen ...

fallen ...
the air suddenly quakes
shakes into invisible fragments
disjointed and crude
crumbling into uneven
shredded and scattered
no form left to hold
the centre
and even as you cry
"Sweetheart, what is it?"
i am already falling
my hands grasping for a balance
that depends on air
where there is
no air
where space evaporates
into emptiness
an abrupt vacancy
that draws me downward
like the flight of a wounded sparrow
and crashes me
from where i was standing
to explode on the hard earth below

the moment is uneven
the shape of a man forsaken
and the failure certain
even as you reach for me
i am already gone
drifting windward
through your fingertips
and what you once embraced
what you knew as the flesh
invading your flesh
is now a fog of remains
the dust and ashes from which
i was born
and to which i must return
soaring so very high
out of your reach
but know one thing:
if i could only give voice
to the words
i would whisper them to you
one last time
and hope that you would
watch the clouds
form overhead
and understand



Monday, July 24, 2017

if i knew ...

if i knew ...
if i knew
that inside your suitcase
you were carrying
a parcel of the past
so carefully wrapped
in golden tissue
then double wrapped
inside the folds
of your favourite sweatshirt
that you wore
to bed sometimes
wore and let slip
off your shoulders
when you pressed your body
close to him
and did the thing you did and did
and did
the thing you said was
not for me

if i knew
then i guess
i might have remained
in the bubble
of a life apart from you
but i couldn't
couldn't watch you
from away
couldn't watch you from the balcony
of love's theatre
watch you passively
moving across some crackling movie screen
as if you were a Hollywood starlet
out of the reach of hope
out of the reach of my arms
i couldn't
couldn't ignore
the irresistible hunger
couldn't stop
my failing legs
from stumbling
and sending me crashing
into the puzzled packings
of your life

the rooms we shared
are empty now
even though i waited
for a year or more
waited for your letters to arrive
waited for a tap on the door
waited and waited
until finally became final
and i hear you're
back in your life before me
i hear you're living
on the outskirts
of true love
happily settling for
what you called
the tangible reality
of Monday to Friday
that skips the madness
of our rampant weekend rapture
and though all is always
still i sometimes wonder
whether you have kept
my heart
perhaps wrapped in a stocking
or old sock
in that suitcase you carry
stuffed as it is
with a treasure
of broken dreams




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