Tag Archives: desire

Once More See Mermaids

It’s the end of autumn, no more lurid colors
or golden sunlight, or mild afternoons.
Now it’s only the colorless and drab
wet days of an East Tennessee winter.
Her long, dark hair is tucked under the
hood of her navy blue sweatshirt.
Her head is nodding, like she’s listening
to music, maybe lost in a more tender world.
She’s wearing tight leggings, as grey as
this late afternoon, and I’m ashamed of
the thoughts I have looking at her, more
ashamed that I even feel love for her at all.
Lost in the rhythm, she looks out on the river,
that is fat and wide and slow with damnation,
but still beautiful, despite this ugly city
and these industrial remnants on the shore.
I love her, and I wish I could send it all away.
She never liked me, only polite because we were
co-workers, and because it would damage her
“Christian” image to be rude to someone.
I want to say goodbye before she leaves
for a post doc in Ontario, and she is gone
forever. I want to hear her voice, see her face,
let my heart choke it’s self in longing, one more time.
But I leave her to her reveries, to her music,
to her more tender world. 4 decades and I’m
finally learning to take a fucking hint and stay away
from people who really don’t like me.
It’s winter. It would be a fine time to walk
in the riverside park, and dream of whatever
worlds are childlike and mad, and have no truck
with sex or romance and it’s bastard desires.
To once more see the mermaids that were hunted to extinction.
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Diane

French accent as thick and sweet as an eclaire.

Rag tag and bright are warm clothes you wear.

I see oceans and Rivera skies in your blue hair.

High fashion, cool, something French New Wave.

You and me, dining and dancing, no world to save.

I would be your man, and I would always be brave.

Sharing a cigarette under a black umbrella, content.

Walking hand in hand, not caring were the night went.

I dream these things, of love of you; Dreams don’t repent.

France Gall, chirpy and naïve, plays on my headphones.

In passing we are friends, and I put that flesh on bones.

Dreams are the river washing smooth discontented stones.

Just One More Morningstar

Venus still shines bright as the dawn rises,

just one more Morningstar I don’t need now.

She is still in my head from closing time,

long pale red hair, crowning her sweet head.

Washing a beer glass with a rag, singing low,

a distracted beauty, as I left to face the night again.

Venus, shining bright, I have seemed to guide

the days of my life by her whims, reckless.

Morningstar told me it would bring freedom,

but it all just ended up ashes, maybe pretty words.

I think of that pale red hair, and her soft song,

and wonder if love can come from sentiment and lust.

Backyard of a friends modest little place, a fairie tree,

sitting in his little girl’s tree house, cursing Venus, but I followed.

Cursing Morningstar, but I followed him too, greedy for fix,

greedy for a touch, greedy for the fire that warms only once.

Try not to sleep again, make the day something, something good.

Dream of that pale red hair, but maybe sentiment and lust only fail.

Horror And Lightness

Space between the air.
Beyond seeing, but not feeling,
I know she watches.

A face behind the eyes
Of a swimsuit model’s poster,
Tempting me to leave.

The sex and the sorrow,
The promise of a mystery
Beyond what I see.

The promise that she
Can look like that model
And that she can heal my scars.

Horror and lightness, like first desire,
Fill my lost and empty heart,
As a Cara and not a Joan promise

The sea where demons stay asleep
And that flesh and spirit make the stars
And the moon will always be the eye.

From behind the eyes of a swimsuit model
She beckons, the sweet and little death
Of washing away sorrow with magic.

“Will you come?”

“Will you come?”

Perfected Skin

Swimsuit model, with long dark hair,

a glint in her blue eyes; devil may care!

Lithe and strong, flesh made taut as wire,

like iron on the anvil, made strong for desire.

In azure waters, sparkling like blue jewels,

in places so distant from mortal rules,

she is goddess and siren, and she calls, calls,

to some dream beyond my madness and falls.

On my wall, queen of my restless fantasies,

with her in wild islands and warm tropical seas.

A carnal heaven, lust and love made one, perfected skin.

A place where what’s coming can’t find me ever again.

Alaska. Cinnamon. Snowflake.


For Her Distant Magic

Circus girl, in blue costume, with icy frills.
High above the ground, walking the tightrope.
She is serene and as unknown as an angel.
Her small feet walk without err or misstep, perfect.
 I watch her from the darkness, at her in the light.
Between heaven and earth she walks, flesh divine.
The air is without comfort, the fall without mercy.
She walks undaunted, uncaring, without fault.
 Spotlight on her, so high above, so far from me.
Her costume glitters, her face set, her beauty cold.
An angel of the air, she walks between worlds.
I, all too human, fall for her, for her distant magic.
 On the other side, once again mortal, a young woman,
she smiles at us in the crowd, and bows sweepingly.
I clap and cheer, thinking a love her, not her fleeting grace
as angel of the air, a walker between worlds, flesh divine.