Coffee's
c
o
l
d
.
.
.
from
conversation,
empty eyes,
wilted words,
flirtation?
A failed attempt.
this silent soliloque
of shaky inhalations
dry lips and
akward glances.
.
.
these minds made up
of bearable infatuation.
Inspiration is a frail godly thing:
she's lofty, lifted by strong, golden wings-
she soars between the hot, dazed psyche
and glides on turbulent tides unseen.
Elusive intent in fight, sight, and scent...
she silently crawls between brain cement-
she brings the bright vision of loves sweet faces,
a sunburst of repetitive disgraces.
In my despair she softly calms my tears
and rawly releases forgotten fears...
she pulses in my pen and bends my mind
euphorically moaning each word I scribe:
brought before her divine, relentless whim
with a warm, seductive sigh- I give in.
This husk of a heart is rotten.
Maggots fester in lucrative lust:
they swarm within the tender tissue,
spread through each bloodied vein,
spout from every orifice of bodily pleasure
and settle to breed inside my brain.
I
I think we broke it back in Japan-
the cherry blossoms turned to ash
on top of our tongues
and the summer cranes drowned
in thunder water.
II
That scenic sonic boom
shattered Atlantis' ancient skeleton-
the florescent bones of fish maidens floated
up from the kaleidoscopic coral
and wrestled Caribbean waves.
III
Their city kissed the sun-
the ruby rays of radiation
scorched concrete, steel,
and the porcelain skin
of Hiroshima's humanity.
Pink salmon pulsate between black bridges
dancing over the white symphonic spray-
those soft, ignorant hands hold my heart
and woo the will to cacophonic decay.
(c)4/7/11
For D. Lewis.
I am plagued.
A midnight waterfall distracts my eye
in the corner of the classroom
dotted with Catholics; Christians; and Atheists,
but one Agnostic aqueduct
divinely inspired-perhaps-
chirps a distinctly melancholic song
of silent wisdom.
(c) 4/8/11
For D.B.