Exhale the Madness

I am a golden child,
the fortunate fool,
and every mother’s nightmare.
I garner pieces of the city
best savored with a broken heart,
and claim it in the name of the poets,
hooligans
and vagabonds.
The rampage of night
crushes pedagogic endeavors
of my nonpareil mania.
I’ve gone and squandered my good graces
to kiss the lips of the pretty faces,
now November nights
bedevil my ragged breath.
Turpentine and motel matchbooks
strewn across my mind like broken glass,
I exhale the madness
and go to sleep at last.

A Letter to Kore

There's a deliciously ferocious,
exceptionally wicked,
absolutely smashing thunderstorm
cackling below and flashing across
the wingspan of sparrows in the wee hours.
Gargantuan limbs of jurassic lightening
are raking across the sky
as the asphalt glows
in prose and vigilance.
I'm listening to vinyl under the deluge,
drinking from a banged up coffee mug
that has consoled me on many black Mondays.
My trepidatious fingers hug rose hip tea
and tap the feverish ceramic skin,
as morning birds twinkle from rooftops.
We relish in the early morning
and become undone by her discourse,
her dusk,
and her delirium.
The ponderous piper lures me
and I accede to the bliss
as cream slickly swirls
the abyss of a red eye.
I throw my head back into the sound,
the enticing sounds of predawn ricocheting
from the belly of the fury.
I throw my head back and I am sailing,
I’m traveling back to watching silent snowfall
coat the majestic evergreen sleeves
as we drive to the Oregon coast.

Felon

Lingering felonious angel

look to the sky...

eagle eyed and grinning.

Tremble beneath the azure waning,

like repentant arches of cathedrals.

The host of night sleeps

still dripping amber,

over a honey coated star scape

of the brave and loving Venus.

As the beaming sketches

of the climbing night time

climaxes into feathered quatrains,

A sweetness chases

a thorny kiss

into the beckoning lambs of night.

My heart swells

and stretches across the city's limits,

and the neon monuments

answers the midnight vagrants.

The southeastern fog horns

and lonely sea vessels,

Pass each other in the morning tides.

I sustain myself on their echoes.