the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...

sad to see a grown up man cry

there is no poetry in it
just a cold logic
a ruthless de rigueur
that makes a mockery of age
there is no poetry in this
then why am i trying
to cobble up words that may echo
a cry of elegant desperation
words that ring hollow
and can never capture
the anguish of a grown up man
being pushed to the wall
who once in control of his destiny
begins to see it slip by his hands
at least in that very real moment
there is no poetry in this
so why pretend
lemme stop punching the keys
make myself scarce
and let the man be in quiet dignity
it’s cathartic and maybe his tears
would release the salt from his body
make him stronger and rise
against the voice of the bullfrog
and vicissitudes of season
i do see hope here but i agree
there is no poetry in this

(10 April 2005)