24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
A summer photo –
cousins in a chair.
Boys with poking elbows,
summer faces alight with fierce delight.
One can nearly smell the boy funk radiating from
the chortling, belching, farting swirl that
is the giddiness of planned pranks,
campfire smoke woven through their clothes,
the odor of fish upon their hands…
the ultimate silence
when they collapse into dreamless sleep,
over done by the sticky summer day.
Just one seat for the lady of the evening, chair fit so fairly for a queen
in the ladies room
dare you to even attempt to sit in it
Clothes adorned; so worn, splatters of blood and the human stain.
Ashamed because she never left this building
Death came to her that fateful night she stayed late
He never acknowledged her pleads
Halls filled with her screams of terror
No locks on this public bathroom door
A building full of empty rooms
Filled with spirits of the day’s passing
No one left to witness this sacrilegious act of desecration
only walls only this building knows
If only these walls could talk of what they see
Old buildings like these incinerate their secrets
The evil that lies within
Just one seat for the lady of the evening a seat she’ll have for all eternity.
~ism
How are rooftops like tree tops?
There are tiles like leaves,
and there are cinderblocks like
the branches twisting down.
If only rooftops could breathe like trees,
could only grow like trees,
could only give life like trees.
I need
Bittersweet, decadent
To inhale it’s scent, bite into the taste, let it melt my senses
My soul reaches out for the thing that it craves, the sweet dark richness,
To breathe, bite, taste,
Smooth and luscious,
Darkest of dark chocolate.
Too early.
Too bright.
Too much life.
Why too much?
I love time.
I love light.
I love life.
But not today.
Why?
I don’t know you,
I know what you smell like
I know your most favorite things
at least the ones you have written down for me.
But I don’t know a thing about you
I could wash my hands in the sink with my fervor than with which I understand.
I am acquainted with your absence, but there is no you to be present.
You are always the wrong person.
Wrapped in the moonlight,
I tell him everytime,
Hold me tight, hold me tight,
Let me feel the balmy breeze,
And let it nestle in my soul,
Don’t let me go away,
Just hold me tight, hold me tight,
Across the valley,
Hand in hand, as we walked,
Over those birch trees,
Where we wrote our names,
Just hold me tight, hold me tight,
You still cross my thoughts,
Apart from me in heaven,
I look for you everywhere,
Yet I see you no where,
How shall I fight my pain,
When you are no more there –
To hold me tight!
The devil called me in a voice so true
I could have sworn to hell it was you,
you left me here encased in flames
and the devil came and called me by name.
I’m lost, I’m lost, I don’t know where,
there are screams, everywhere.
I’m scared, I’m scared, what did I do?
What did I do to be abandoned by you?
The devil called and I replied,
it isn’t hard to imagine I died
a little death that pinned me down
with leather and lace and the crop’s harsh sound.
Oh baby, do it again,
leave me in Hell; I’ll crawl back up again.
I feel the Vibration
Of bass and tamber echo
Through my bones
As I breathe in breaths of
Pink moscato.
With curtains open,
Open wide like blue
Caffeinated eyes,
The world can see us
Dancing
Bare-legged and laughing.
There are passing eyes
Moving with the passing lights
Beneath the technicolor
That washes against the pavement,
But all I can feel
Is the smiling eyes
Of the moon.
She watches her
Earth-bound
Star-struck
Daughters dance their way
Into the early dawn.