Nice Guys

I see you, clear as the Negril waters, where, once, I took a nap and awoke floating far beyond the safety buoys. I panic. Then and now.

I see your face, dark like the soil in my father’s herb garden – seasoned, rich with a promise to sustain. I am walking away, but waiting to see if you’ll grab my wrist and shake some sense into my gin-soggy, hipster-chasing one-track mind.

I sit too quickly when you pull out my chair. I blame you with my eyes, cutting. From the floor, I contemplate taking your hand that is outstretched and reaching for me.

When you lay your wool, fitted sportsjacket over mud puddles, I pretend not to see it and, avoiding it, step, then, fall – deep - into a hole that I cannot seem to pull myself out of. Ever.

                                   Dec '13
  

dining in the dark

i take it in, slowly

small bites, as to not aggravate

my cavities, too long unattended

still, like mounds sludging

down a conveyor belt, i can feel

it all making its way down

i feel heavy inside.

it’ll pass, i tell myself

this feeling, it’ll pass

then, another bite, bigger now

because i think i can handle it, endure

as I’m meant to.

                             nov 2013

Lighter Always in Dream

         And the question was posed,

then silence. To open my mouth seemed hollow

and when I did, my tongue refused to stir.

My eyes, instead, did the work.

And no one knew quite how to respond.

Though, I could hear them thinking        

         she’s from the future

I swirled in the deduction

Without making a sound

Towards the door

Through a portal

And into the open air - a field where the cool

blades graze my ankles

Long into dreams

About

Simplicity

and order

and I am

quick

Stripped down,

Unencumbered.

                                             2013

Swamp Music

                      for that boy, in that band

There’s a tingling riff
somewhere in that second verse
and suddenly I’m

knock-kneed, in that base
line bumping your thump thumping
here, in the corner at the café

where I do my morning steep,
sweeten and sip oh         so         slow

still, a burn on my
tongue – unsassuageable like
that night in the swamplands…

thirsty whiskey eyes,
your fingertips, the chasm
they just wouldn’t jump

steel-string rugged – graze over
these honey-rubbed, dark-rum thighs

for as long as your
conscience allows you to endulge

you could reach the other side
or drop down deep, far from home

Either way there’s no
chance of you landing up right

you ought to just jump
across fast and with purpose.

                 2013 ("Groupies" revised)

Haikus on the Esplanade

Ode to Horchata in 2 Parts

On bloodied feet, I’d

walk the esplanade ‘til dawn

to find Horchata

y a través de

inundación o fuegos

yo correría

It Would Be Xabi Alonso’s Beard

If I could choose one

thing to rub ‘gainst my face for

all eternity

Alicantino Bomberos on their Morning Jog

Glistening sunbathed thighs

 They are a pack of gazelles

I covet then pounce.

Centenary Ficus

Smooth roots above ground

Crisscrossing into little

Cubbyholes for birds

Possessions

The clouds shake thunder, raging and

rattling empty bowls

at the dinner table where grace is placed on crumbs and

clasped hands hold on for decent life

 slicing half moons onto

planets where the men, crater faced and gently orbiting,

are always in the know.

She is swollen with hunger

as if Botero's bristles tickled her thighs and left shadows

at her armpits and between her double chins.

The pearls between her breasts lack luster

but accentuate the longing in her eyes

and that spot on the sternum where he pushed in his hand, hard

before the mixture set

so she could never not be his again.

                           28 March '13

Groupies

I’m knock-kneed, in that baseline bumping
your thump thumping
in a musty corner at the café
where I do my morning purge. Steep, sweeten and sip
slow

cinnamon topped foam, hot.
sweet burn on the tongue
like that time when…

I recall your thirsty whiskey eyes, your
fingertips
and the chasm they peeked their toes
over. steel-string rugged and
graze over my johnson&johnson thighs.

I could reach the other side but
I could drop down deep, too deep and far from home. Either way there’s no
landing
upright.

so
jump across, big boy, jump
fast and with purpose.

My Grandfather's Portrait

grandfather

upright on the shelf,

polished

dust-less -

by care of his youngest girlchild.

Stern

and mustachioed

in a way that conceals

his lips,

any smile,

any semblance of a shiver

not that it would

ever quiver

Nor would he ever

shiver

Or shake

Feb 28, 2013

yogi hangover

happy trail all a ruffle

gin and

            hops and

you and me

still on my tongue. i smile

a little too softly

let my eyes glaze

over with new ideas.

bad idea.

in ceremony i say go,

            bye!

thanks

for letting me watch you

stretch

you

for lessons on one night

stand still (in) the morning rays

dance on your chest

on my shoulder

where you’d soon place your parting words

            so long

take care and

            blessings upon you

let poetry guide you

            may the calm of the yogi wash over

like the chiming of brass bowls

find comfort among the swirling smoke gyres

of sweet incense.

        i would watch you downward dog all

day. half pigeon me to zendom.

 

i could laugh at the way

the moon and the bartender

play tricks on me.

no scent on my pillow

no sorting of silly words

no sifting through

          

this is just 

what i get for diving too deep

            and tipping too little.

Evenings with You

You put me to bed

And your voice

Like smoke

Warm

Fills my nose

Wrapping itself

Up into me

Until I am gasping for breath

Calling your name

Both to stop you

and to urge you

For with you

I am constant

In a state of

Caprice

and weak with thirst.

January 2013