there is a gap of returning green
between tulip leaves and starling flocks
February grey, like the new school building
on West 28th street obscures the sky

architects build squares on top of rectangles
assemble their plans where
place can be an embellished form of reason abstracted
from colors fragility to light-

sit still
the halls are lonely

slick backed visage
streaming shower
stop

like candles
burning fluently
as caresses
smooth as flesh

I am on this train
It is called life
It is never late
Reaching its destination

The journey
Is what you make of it.
The people you meet
The outside you see

The inside
that you see or not
To all an exprience
they remember.

Knowing the journey
A reason to travel
Distance no object
Destination unsure

Then that station
you are going to.
A place so new
The many questions

Then that first step

The streets are silent as I walk
Listening to the midnight talk
My sneakers fall on broken glass
Scattered shards, just like my past

In their houses, they sleep unknowing
Above the trees the light is growing
In the sky there is no moon
It will be daylight, pretty soon

Only darkness feels my pain
In the sun I can’t remain
No, in the daylight I can’t stay
Because I am
The Runaway

i am ready for your crushing blow

break my jaw

slam your fist into my teeth

and, smiling,

i will be sure to thank you

for at least being honest

and saying something to my face

for once.

Why does the slipper thrill you so?
Does the thigh sock make you rub down low?
And the whip brings you out in a right old sweat
The thought of the leather thong a frequent pest
What makes you warm in the parts down below?
Why do lace knickers give you a glow?
I will never understand the grip of the fetish
Some of them just make me feel so squeamish

where I live …you can't imagine …what it is like to be in heaven
the wind is free
the sun shines all day and night…
there is no need of a moon
where I live it’s like a fountain of love
all come here to swoon

Oh my friend all that I now can say
come home to heaven soon…

twill be a boon

the frustration and meditation,
the need for salutation …
recognition and the lust of all
that is tuned as sexual
all will be forgotten soon

tangle in the wind
his dreams and hopes
like steam
as mists

and covered in the light veil
of rain
in his brow
on his beard

his misses the turbid
moments
off the north sea
pulling on the oars

they glide in the swells
cupped by the hand of
the ocean

there is hope today
soothed by mead
by lamb

and laughter

Hopeless flies
the arrow
hard
against the wind,

a cry in the distance
of the desolation
of a desperate heart,

a sudden stop
within the enigmatic
eye of the storm.

The revolution
passes by,
and silhouetted faces
smile,

furrowed brows
masked by shadows,
and cloaks of falsehood
like a masquerade.

The drum rolls,
and bells toll
with an uncertain harmony.

green gecko dragon
under gentle falling rain
dancing on bamboo

.....

tall trees graze the sky
nibbling sunshine, dribbling
dappled bits of shade

.....

poets and lovers
hunch over the bottomless
well of heartache

.....

even in unveiled sadness
her beauty incites tears
I cry twice

.....

setience rekindled
eyes are brightened, heart is thawed
smiles from a daughter

.....

blue swells of sadness
gliding atop a smooth groove
she knows it by heart