Tears run down her face,
Uncontrolled and free.
She can’t keep them in place;
They pour because of me.

Her hurting, like a cloud,
Obscuring what I know.
It shouldn’t be allowed
For grief to clearly flow.

Mascara shows a trail;
A road that leads to sorrow.
Our love that’s now so frail
Will never see tomorrow.

I know I won’t forget,
Those streaks like autumn rain,
An image of regret;
Like glass stained with her pain


If I could../
I would…/
Grab you like I was rude…/
Strip you nude…/
Rough enough to make u feel good…/
You’d push me like you not in tune…/
And dare to leave, but u won’t…/
Coz you know we just right…/
And you like it when I hold you tight…/
Close enough that you gasp abit../
Our hearts skip a beat…/
The tension builds in bits…/
And when w feel we cant handle the heat…/
We dont retreat…/
We dont quit…/
We make love like there is no tomorrow…/
You follow…??


I wanted to watch you shave

but I didn’t

It seemed imperative

to leave the room

To leave the night before and

the longing

As if it would tangle around our legs

trip us 

Surrendering our dreams 

to the sun
I wanted to put your toothbrush
in my mouth
Peirce the tip of my finger on the blade
of your razor
Watch the crimson teardrop form
on the arc of the moon
And put my finger between your parted 

Pony-tailed, Never Braided 

The memory of you still hasn’t faded.
Though feminine you wouldn’t wear the stamp,

With hair pony-tailed and never braided.
Curiosity kept you un-jaded;

Serious, but playful, you weren’t a scamp.
The memory of you still hasn’t faded.
Other girls wore clothes finely brocaded;

You ignored the persuasion to revamp

With hair pony-tailed and never braided.
You weren’t one to stay where it was shaded

And though fair-skinned the sunlight was your lamp;

The memory of you there hasn’t faded.
Soon you’ll kiss the boy who’s still undated.

Last Saturday we dropped you off at camp,

Your hair was pony-tailed, still unbraided.
Though your grace was always understated

And you could dress up finer than a champ

The memory of you still will go unfaded:

Your hair was pony-tailed, never braided



The sun laughs and the children shine in the colonnades 
of palm trees exercising in the southwest breeze. I grasp 
for the absurd while sipping a steaming latte on a day warm 
enough to ruminate itself without the help of failed poets. 
My pink ears perk before each sip, hoping to catch this afternoon 
talking to itself : “some blue sky over here, some clouds over there 
and I should be good” the day might whisper as it furnishes Carlsbad.

While the afternoon blows about her business I forget the gender
of the German noun for day. Whatever the gender, this day is one 
building block of forty-five years of life, twenty years of marriage, 
fifteen years of developing software, and six years of cleaning the
same condo. Funny what you can build with enough of these days.
Lately I’ve been filling them less with new life and using them
more as dressings for old wounds, unwrapping old days and applying
fresh days to the same gashes to prevent infection and preserve function.

Breathing in and out in a meditative fashion will not heal a scarred marriage
but it provides good currency for time, which in itself is another currency.
The refund policy is lousy, and you can’t store days in tupperware.
What would I spend to rebind the bones of this marriage or the lost friendships?
How many days does a bad decision go for? How many to upgrade to a good one?





Should never be

Mocked or slapped

With the label of crush.

Ignites and flares,

Blazing high up the sky.

Like the tongue of a dry

Bush does flare –

Oh what a sight –

Then withers into ashes.

Should never be dressed

In a gown of ridicule

Nor seen with amusement

Or pitied as a lunatic.

Love true and sincere

Should not be labelled