Previously published in “Remark”

Sinatra on the Jukebox

Weeping violins invade
My sobbing soul
Before the bourbon baritone
Soothes my spirit
With a saloon song.
Understanding bought
For a quarter,
He knows what it's like
To be jilted and unwanted;
Languishing in love unrequited,
Romantically rejected.
Ambient agony
In his smoky voice,
Coughing the lyric.
Leaning over my
Salty whiskey,
Reading my future
In the lush liquor;
Picking up the glass,
I swallow one more
Broken heart and
Leave the tavern
To find another.

Street

Tattooed coffee cups
dance down the street,
mingling with drunk handbills
that stumble into unyielding
parking meters standing at attention,
a captive audience on the
sin-stained sidewalks that provide
a stage for the carnival.
All your fantasies can be bought
down here, downtown;
all of your lusts are for sale:
rocket fuel for the mind
and a trip to another world,
a depository for your loins
with whoever and whatever
your desire may be.
Life is for sale and
death is the buyer
on the streets that are
dressed for a funeral.

Paradise

I am exploring Eden,
under the midnight
of your perfumed hair.

Twin brown stars
guide me as I
survey this paradise
of the senses.

Kissing perfect tulips,
red angel wings;
nuzzling rosebuds,
vermillion desire;
stroking dewy lillies;
erotic petals.

This pleasure garden,
mysterious, beautiful;
where love is made,
blooming to fill
our lifetime
until the flowers die

Sera

I'm so damned tired
and need to feel again -
the kiss of the sun,
the caress of the moon,
a warm hand on mine
leading me into love.
I want out of the pain,
living with mistakes,
being lost and alone,
but I won't forgive
myself or others,
that time has passed.
My heart is stone,
petrified of living -
now all I want
are my vices and
a temporary Juliet,
who will love me,
to death,
so I can rest.

Madness

Madness slept in my arms last night,
shaking, scared of the coming day.
Greeting the morning with broken tears,
doubting sanity would visit her.
Her hands clasping, unclasping;
reaching for peace that’s not there.
She curled up in strait-jacket sheets,
a refuge in white and pink roses,
keeping the world beyond this room.

I hold my bridal shell and listen
to her crashing words ebb and flow.
Praying love could devour this lunacy,
swallow all the insane blackness
that keeps her in perpetual fear,
I weep with this chaotic soul
and wait, in silence, for an answer.