rainy streets

rainy streets —
endless tires
run the
endless roads,
cannot be still,
as if cars
are like prayer,
and must be
done ceaselessly
somewhere.

smiling faces,
hidden agendas,
fatuous men
in elegant suits
working the crowd
with compliments,
like waiters
serving wine.
radiant lights,
shimmering glass,
and women
in sparkling gowns,
disperse views
around the room’s
elevations and angles.
your wry smile
was like dark crystal,
both shadow & light —
affecting, yet
deeply sombre —
both attractive
and repulsive.
loneliness is purer
than feeling conflicted.

where is home?
you all only
think of yourselves;
therefore, this
is not home.

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biking home

aquatic nights
streetlights like embers
burning reflecting flashes,
washed over
with distorted waves of light,
shades of shadow eyes
under umbrellas
and trenchcoats
filing ‘way
in the darkness
like momentary showers
off tree leaves
in the wind
upon my face
upon my windows
defending
the sanctity of home,
actually quiet intensity,
nothing is so safe.

longing

longing
walking through
douglas furs
forest paths
ancient gothic
stone architecture
carved
into the rockface
oxidized copper
misty mossy
cavernous paths
entwining stairs
darkness peering out
onto stone balconies
overlooking
mountainous
river valley vista;
another
was always there
beloved woman
saddened
about her son
or about me
or relieved
at our escape
of something;
like others
like us
our age
we sat
atop and amidst
those vistas
and felt
our miseries
and ecstasies;
old man yonder
sitting alone on the bench
watching
longing.

played it on worry…

played it on worry
the day,
fell on
towards ends
hard played,
the ends
more clear than
your face,
my breath,
mind o’erworn
for there called
another καλον
made clear
the face
clear through
and over
you’ll find
my hands
in the art
of eyes
and stones
the sand
flat called
polished face
cold greys
air clearer
cold swept away
my green Pasteur
glowed long
soaked over
so simple
the upright dirt
for whom
from when
for how
in the cracks
of paradise
ideal
my ears
colored grey
in darkness
fallen the hills
the light
older than all
fled
across the rooftops
befell
the puddle.

time forgets…

time forgets
how to speak
how to love
how to think
images sleepily
manifest
the moment
drunkenly
stumbling
into crassness
or beauty
worship
o worship
for none
but the hell of the
boiler-room brain
glared back at
cursed at
imprisoned
oranges
gliding
tempting
commands
accidents perpetual
recompense
for the twisted
sadism
of the non-smilers
closed closet
dark room
dark cave
singly lit
and lounging
intensely
intent
upon some such thing
as gardens
or war fields
rippling ripping
your poor sickness
of a mind
made green
render blue skies
infinite
watched atop
the firs
all of the
private things
of love’s rolling over
daisied
focused
it’s easy
too easy
intoxicating
benevolence
not captured
really
in tin cans
slogans
and phraseology
one minute
a thousand
of habits
and denials
i’m forgetting
slowly
soon
i hope
i’ll forget.