Black Tops As The Baby Grows

Hot shower soothes my knotted, tired muscles.
Harsh water burns away the hate and anger.
Stinging skin can only feel the heat and death.
All other cares are drifing away as I become numb.

 Wrapped in a soft blanket in my faithful recliner.
Pretty woman telling me about all my teams.
Sports world is another world, not my world.
But my real favorites don’t get talked about here.

 And a game, any game, carried away in the fire.
Sports world is another world, not my world.
Not filled with dark thoughts, and rotted dreams.
Not filled with anger and hate, bleeding through a smile.

To The Cheering

Letter jacket orange and blue, C like her first name.
Loose and wild over her tight and wound body.
Loose over that body that runs down the sky,
released when the pistol goes, and she is free.

 A body sculpted from her petite frame, made holy,
like the dream of life cut from stone, time making strong,
time making a sacred trial of cutting away what is not
the beauty within, the strength to cut away untruth.

 She runs under the harsh and white lights, to the cheering,
not hearing or seeing but only the night being cut away,
cutting away which is not the track before her, the end,
the end she never reaches, but for a spilt moment exalted.

Swimming Pool Time

Swimming pool time, deep into the night, the moon high above.
The stars she never knew before this love, doesn’t comfort anymore.
The water with it’s chlorine stings her skin, unlike the sea water she knew.
But she want to swim, if even back and forth, in useless, endless circles.

 She used to talk with him, when he found her while surfing the blue shore.
Then they touched and kissed, her long tail wrapped around him tenderly.
They fell in love, and he was her whole world. She dreamed of him, always.
They fell in love, and she gave up the sea, cast a spell on her tail, and came ashore.

 And she still loves him, still adores him, but this isn’t her world at all, none of it.
All the things she knew and loved, are back in the wild and deep sea, not here.
She swims in their pool late at night, in the harsh stinging water, to hold on to herself.
He and the stars took her breath, but neither have been worth the price paid for them.

No More Parties

I stopped drinking. I stopped wanting you.
The cold apartment where the parties happened
is only a memory now. A haunted place left behind.

Head spinning from booze and desire, I chased you.
Loud music and the chill of winter, the promise of snow.
Presents and flatterings, the reward of that imperious smile.

 Quietly, from the other side, from the place where I repair
my misdeeds and bad mistakes, I turn my back to the mirror,
to your memory, knowing you were just a another drug.

 Winter is here, the snow has fallen, and the sun falls early.
My little place, little square of yard, my place to put myself.
Trying to find the center inside, that you could never fill.

 Early morning, glad for a job and stability, for a measure of peace.
Cold air and hot coffee, thin paper cup that burns rough hands.
I have hope for tomorrow. I have hope for myself.

Breath Behind The Sun

Jeep with the top off, last trip of summer to the beach.
Her long golden hair blows behind her, silken halo of the sun.
Love is ours but the season is changing. Everything is changing.

 We surf the bright blue waves, touching something beyond,
the breath behind the sun, the light behind the days, the fire
behind what we feel in our hearts.

 And we float on our surfboards, and kiss and laugh, kiss again.
The last day at the beach for another summer. The last day of all?
We are in love, but the season is changing. Everything is changing.

The Palest Sunrise

The palest sunrise, just coming over the ocean, a summer morn.
She sits with her surf board, in her wetsuit, waiting for the light.
Once, she saw a mermaid out in those bright, deep waters.
Once, she dreamed she was one, living under the ocean, so free.

 The calm of the morning, no traffic on the highway by the beach.
No music or people making a commotion of their lives, of avoiding death.
She knows she’ll be no more one day, back to ashes and dirt and the sea.
Mermaids may live forever, but not a young woman, and not even our dreams.

 The sun is soft at first light, like a mother who holds her infant so carefully.
But as the day gets older, as we get older, the harshness cannot be held back.
She picks up her surfboard and heads to the water, to the crashing azure waves.
A mermaid song calls out to her, reminding her that something remains, after all.

Welcher

September welched on it’s promise of gold.
No soft feathers of angels graciously recieved.
No quill to write out the post-op report
on the deathly promise I once readily believed.

The smoke of Tartarus choked out the light voice.
Now the dreams will never call down the wanted seed.
The night is coming down, but I sent the reapers on in.
I could sing a lullaby, but that is just a symptom of heaven’s greed.

 Tomorrow, is the slit of the moon traded for a useless game token.
Melt it down to make an iron ring to sway the clouds to turn down.
Clouds are never heavy with the snow that quiets the daring raids.
A hollow promise is the coin of a tinfoil minute, a luciferean noun.

Her, Blue

Standing in the pool, thoughtless. A breeze not stirring wet, blonde hair.
The sun warm on her slim shoulders, drying out the harsh, chlorine water.
Not even a ripple of the sky above, the clear death of it, moves her in this moment.

 A blank glass against the world, the death and cunning of it’s delightful lights
on the other side, in a world seperate from the quiet within her, in sweet repose.
Standing in the water, warm by the sun, and their harsh in the whippings of the sun.

 And then, it all comes back, what follows from her eyes and into her heart like a wound
unsutured and untended, that demands a bride price in peace of mind and quiet sleep.
She breathes in deeply, all the dry air, chemical smell so harsh, a deathlike arrogance.

Small and Fragile Skin

Can’t touch the stars, or the emptiness all around.
Can’t touch the methane tears, or hear their dark sound.
Rocky and empty moon, cold and distant from the sun.
A hole in the suit, a crack in the visor, I am all undone.

 I look at the engulfing stars in the night above me,
I look at Jupiter and bright and angry, a hateful destiny.
And I wish I was not frail and weak flesh, always swaddled.
I wish I was an angel or a god, never to be denied or coddled.

 To soar into this endless night, touch every star, feel their fire.
To walk anywhere in this momentary wonder, that is my desire.
To fly through space on gilded and silver wings, without a care.
To have all of eternity to find wonders, and with her them share.

 But I am small and fragile skin, and I must hide myself from this place.
I must keep good air and the invisible ray’s apart from my heart and face.
I do my job out here in the distant darkness, and looming cold and death.
I turn my eyes back to the ground, as my visor grows fogged with my ragged breath.

Ace of Hearts

Safe in her arms, held close, held tight.
The moon is full. The stars so very bright.
She sings in my ear, a song of paradise.
The angels came to earth for a dowry price.

 Wake up together in the morning, still embracing.
The path to the sun her sweet eyes are tracing.
Just the touching of bodies, the intimacy of holding.
Two souls made one, into each other bodies folding.

 Work-a-day world. We get ready for our daily jobs.
We still enjoy the moments, don’t rush, no bitterness robs
as we walk hand in hand to the subway station, parting too soon.
Love more than desire and pleasure, a more holy, sacred boon.