At Least

I fall away drop by drop

As a statue of wax

In a gaze too explicit.

Love is not given without proof

Proof of worth, of loyalty

Of arbitrary condition.

A lifetime of proving

And so very little sustained.

What does it matter

That I am ordinary

That my poems are indelicate

And fall half-undressed

Across contrasting sheets?

What does it matter

That I forget your name

And your face, which isn’t

Half as extraordinary

As the smile it effects?

I remember your heart

As psychedelic as it is,

With such terrible affection.

Or is it affliction?

There is but so much,

Why is it I always find more?

A step taken with contused knees,

A step taken with bloodied palms

And I think at least love exists.




Irridiscent Flowers

The garden does not
Linger as it used to
The aroma of blood
Among lilacs conspires
Against visitation.
My sanctuary is lost.
The last time I went in
I had to claw my way out.
A church was never
Intended as a home
And a prayer must never
Invalidate commitment.


I prowl the perimeter,
A gravekeeper of sorts
Wondering if those halls
Still echo with my sobs,
If those weathered stones
Still mark the passage of time.
Or if another God
Rattles my osseous harvests.
Sometimes beauty is a veneer
For the hopes we cherish
But do not realize.
My therapist suggested that I try writing poems to my abstract paintings.


I did not mean offense
It is only my fear
That thins our correspondence.
Only fear that keeps
My lips and fingers
Sealed and wringing.
If only you could understand
The telepathy between us,
The migratory nimbus,
The aerial pantomimes
Ribs closing in like corset
Starving my lungs
Their instinctual triumphs.

If a gull, I might escape isolation
With a cleverly timed squawk,
I might dive down
Into your pitted palm and discover
Some kindly sacrifice
But I suffer no such lucidity.
Every extension is sodden
Tarnished by the caricatures
I employ in rehearsal.

I admire your talent
But I do not expect that you
Would entertain long
My inadequacies.
I have engaged you
Many times, a veritable moon
My forms are numerous
All resembling the articulation
Of an eye but I am no eye,
No prophet
I haven’t the sense
Of my crises
I tear at old wounds
Until a fountain
Counterfeit and carmine
Rises from the motes
That enslave me.

Sappy Love Poem

I see you as above

A spectrum beyond

The blueness of heaven

I bate my breath

Waiting for you

To close my hand

In the mirror of your own

Is this what it is to love

Without question?



I knew the day would come

When you’d undress me

And find that there was nothing

But a blank canvas beneath

Like a moon indexing shadows

Hoping that her contradictions

Were all well and accounted for


Silhouettes cling

To my ankles

Like Icarus’ singed wings

The sun is repulsed

By my company and so

Seldom do we meet

That I cannot imagine

My life in her presence


Shallow graves smile

In my wake

But there are none

Who could occupy

Long these impressions

My path is without parallel

And I, being from

Another world entirely,

Can find no relation

In this one


Bare me only if to love

If the key let it loosen

These gossamer chains

I will never be a slave

Never divinity, a heart only

Forgive me now the stature

Of this exhibited flesh

The diminutive mouth

The silent throat eroding

Forgive me this exhale

Poised as a dove’s wing

For its abrupt interval

I have distanced my content

Come now or set me free