memories in the space where the human was

maybe it's the weather
summer with a hint of rain
happy solstice once again
or that i wrote you
wanting to hear your voice
like the times we were a dysfunctional tribe
and everything felt more alive
to me.

digging up the reincarnations, i give you a red one.
they're the most popular.
all these naughty tendencies coming back
like a fame whore attendee with a penchant
for bad hats, foreshadowing the  trenchant
  commoner princess playing baccarat

returning to the scene of where you were, i place
a bookmark on the sand, fold it over, stand.
it's true i once thought we were fated, raced
to find an outlet for your needs so my hand

wouldn't be the one carressing  your laundry.
but i needn't have worried. i was, by far, too fat
and you're kinda like me, with a squeamish quandary
(  i make the slant rhyme, my only one,  in fact)

"why is my attraction so physical, why the ideal?"
when   ideal carries a concealed knife, ignorant
of its location , buried deeply in a congealed
desire that i seem to  unearth, not so much intent

 as muddled in lipids i can reveal
with my therapist-love trap, my pink room
that heals if you want to be healed or kills
all hope resting here, find your own moon.

anne visits me in the structure. she is keeper
of skeletons awaiting suicide,. the vulture
in the supper. .her head nods at the reaper
in  a suit of gasoline, she smiles at his culture

the way that he preens. at last i have you
his purr the motor of a sweet chevy
his scent an arabesque of heat, shadow and blue
his kiss the last you know , so heavy.

but i digress into the poem and its rhyme
forgive me, i know you haven't much time
like me and some others you feel the coil
unwinding, we haven't gathered for oil

but art. not money, but art! that means beauty
in all its carnality,  i want to live the poem
i told you once, then left to find it. my duty
as you saw it, smashed, a mirror for a home.

and so in shards i see your eyes,
reflected out from where we were
the never changing battle cries
of love me now, forever, cure me

  hold me, take this razor sharp tounge
into your breast, into your home .
these songs  are for the quick  of you,
 the slick sweet slice thick of you


i want to go abab, but always aabb
the rhythm changes with my moods
i want to cling to pattern or lose me
let  the poem be master, live as fools.


it was thus with us. returning
reincarnating   others thoughts
  doomed to sketches burning
brightly  , fire consumed,  unbought

 unsold i wager. exchange like melty
diaphanous canvas on tumblr
scrolling off the page, lost in a smelty
pistache of art like beauty rumbles

the eye, like knowledge stiffens penis,
envy and courage: sometimes at once
sometimes with a delayed  venus
on the half shell patina. we were dunces

and not only because it rhymes.
we didn't see the clock hands move
or know  the parable of time.
or is that just excuse?  sans groove

we dilequesce and look for reason
aren't lovers still the silliest season?