Tag Archives: love and tenderness

Draining Light, Late Afternoon

The Devil is in my head, draining the light quicker

than the sun falling from my window, late afternoon.

Not even the thought of her, or the half empty wine bottle,

or the lamenting aria, can make me quiet, or feel anything.

Afternoon on a wasted day, and I wish I could sleep, sleep

until The Devil left for some other poor fucker, and I might

smile thinking of her kissing me, or delight in soft drunkenness,

or know the sweet sorrows of an aria for unrequited love.

The Devil steals all joy and light, but Jesus says I am an unworthy kind,

or all those assholes on TV who love him do, and so I put what tatters

of faith or hope in the one who loves me, even as the afternoon goes dark,

that what Shard of Eden can be found in my brokenness, comes from her touch.

Wonders Stored


The kindness of women, I’ve long adored.


               In soft touches and whispers, wonders stored.




               In the darkest days, the lowest ebbs of sorrow,


               One smile, one word, could let me face tomorrow.




               Even the wicked ones, would show a brightness,


               A caring light so warm, so selfless in its rightness.




               I’ve often wished, I could put away my hate, fear,


               The bitterness that’s followed me year after year.




               The desire to burn all of this world, even in my silence.


               Seduced by the drug of revenge and rage and violence.




               That having been broken, left to tears, I could rise above,


               And give only light and sweetness and such selfless love.




               The woman I’ve so long known, having been through night,


               Still gives a soothing dream, and holds me close and so tight.




               As I go back to the room where Satan waits ever for me to come,


               And I hold onto that angelic dream, to believe that there is no zero sum.