A Million Morning Moments (or some other uncountable number)
A million morning moments
call me to bed each night
for how could I awake
next to the warmth
of your belly big with child?
If I never came back
How could I discover dreams
are ment to enhance reality
rather than betray or perplex?
Without first learning the allure
of two ice cold feet searching
under a covered world for heat-
A voyage I once loathed -
How could I come to embrace
you – even in your coldest moments.
Yet I resist closing my eyes
and reutrning to rest
until a reluctant kiss I pry
from the woman who makes
me want to wake myself each day
but whose tranquilty
lulls me to sleep each night.
Overcoming Obstacles – Getting What I Need
He says: “You have lost your youth”
As if I couldn’t tell from the stress fractures
on my face. Like some fresco whose truth
had been sucked away by exposure to the light.
He seems surprised that 2 children have sucked me dry
and that embracing another human being romantically
is all in this world that drives me forth. He reads while I cry.
Not that he is to be blamed; I have learned to do so in silence.
His ability to be swept into a book was once endearing.
Now I lay in bed calling him to join me. His mind is centuries away
in Greece, and there is nothing left to be hearing
the lamentations of an ancient fresco faded to gray.
Touch me so I know I am still alive!
Does that need make me old, or just human?
Oh my sweet darling Hero, whose tongue loves
ideas and words that I could never compete with.
Perhaps if you let me try tonight
you could find that a book is being written in our bed
with one hero, and one heroine whose love
silences her tears. Perhaps you might
find those words and ideas more alive
in flesh than in ink and that the work of God
is deeper than any art man could contrive.
The Land of Awake
I know you have a life to save
a meaning to spread, a name to make
but you never gave me a chance
to give you what you tried take
with clawing hands, from the world
outside this bed, the land of awake.
For 8 hours you were my girl,
who would implore, for heavens sake,
to explore the world between.
The sun rose, and in its wake
the dreams you want to realize
revealed our house as fake.
Thus you dawn your red cape, such size
to drown the land of awake,
to baptize those sleepy wanderers
and by the name of God to take
away the illusions that their fathers gave,
that my father gave.
But such is your mistake
to deny the dreams of others,
because your dreams anchor you
to the land of awake.
The Astronaut
My feet have left their mark on the moon.
I have basked in the shadows removed from the sun.
My eyes removed themselves too soon
From Copernicus’ first born son.
Floating in the darkness, encircled by blue,
Stars surround you.
Your twin virgin solar systems hold me captive,
Heliocentricity denied for the sake of the Mother.
Traveling through darkness cannot give you bliss
Believe me when I tell you
I would cross the universe for your kiss.
Give me what the stars never did
Hide me behind your eyelid,
So I can explore infinity in a spaceship made of glass,
Perhaps let it crash on foreign terrain
Worship the sun that casts shadows
From our window onto your breasts.
Greet the natives with an open hand
Hike the mountains, look for fertile land.
Plant my flag wherever I please
Sit on your lips and feel the breeze.
Your body is my planet
So stay in bed and let’s turn the gravity off
The sun is coming up and I am ready to blast-off
The Morning of Execution
The incarned beauty rests
reclined, her hemlock colored eyes
Preparing for her test.
Despite his recent arrest
the horror of the loved and wise
The incarned beauty rests.
Alcestis’ blood pumping in her chest
Her hands, resting on his thighs,
Are preparing for her test.
Unaware of the gathering guests
and the unfurling of the elydoric skies
The incarned beauty rests.
Aesclepius’ cock greets the morning in protest,
She wonders if his closest allies
Are prepared for her test.
This union required her to invest
More than this world so small in size.
Yet, the incarned beauty rests
Preparing for her test.
The Sky at Night
I spent last night awake
Counting, in order to conjur sleep,
The constollations that take
My eyes, from delicate ankles, deep
Past parellel running Milky Ways.
See castiopia on your thighs.
A swirl of stars, a finger maze,
ten astronauts feeling the rise
and fall of a breathing universe.
The gravity of a pierced belly button.
I, for a moment, dreamt I was them
Careening over a soft warm outerspace
Not the endlessly cold and barren
Universe that men and women face.
If only the creator had you as a map
And wrapped the sky, and stars and heaven around
So that mankind could be happy
Counting the stars on your body, until they found
A little sleep, a little rest, and a little life.
But such a fate, for my benefit, cannot be
Since the creator gave the universe to me.
Wasn’t I supposed to be in Heaven?
Wasn’t I supposed to be in Heaven?
Awaking from a lonely night of death
Sweat clinging to sheets. The clock striking seven
As my paralysis ends in airy breath.
What sin committed earned me such a hell
To know such beauty, but watch as it leaves
You hide your wings behind a soft farewell
and tuck my pain into your jacket sleeves.
Dreams question whether it was worth it all
This second death that I awaken to
The long nights I spend trying to forestall
A promised rising of the sun, and of you.
Cannot time stop, but once, for this dead man
And refuse the persistent sun’s demand?
Haiku XVIII
Shadow made by sun
Puts time on me. A lover
who goes but should stay
The Unheard Aubade
Laying next to emptiness
greeted by the morning sunshine
My hand feels for warmth on the bed.
You have taken it with you.
A snake hisses from the steeming shower head.
What nothing have you left for me to do
Exist, my soul erect, but my body supine
Waiting for the steam rain to relent.
Your blood, the fruit of the vine,
Is drawn from the depths to your skin
Making it the color of pomagranit.
You will soon enter, with only a towel and some sin
For my eyes to undo
As they run to the base of your spine.
Your body is a mist covered planet
With primitive rivers running blue
Along smooth samite fields of cotton.
Perhaps today, with much ado,
I can convince you to recline
In a more natural orbit, filling the void,
where the sheets meet the sunrise.
But more likely I will remain wanton
While you are being baptized.
Bavery is an option I will decline
and dream of a morning when you warm me
Rather than the empty sunshine.
