there's the stark impulse of stubble only,
the jet of your hair under my skin -
underneath it, me;
the kiss a part of the victory party
in the small fugitive places,
even more than
the concrete distinction will remain as
the night within the night;
a fraction of a kin-house
an uncertain principality -
where in the folds? where
can this neat razor heat
spill on your lap and sigh

jay-hawks

the first girl I ever kissed is dead.
she dies, she drowns, in an ambulance
twice, when they try,
to recuperate her sallow lungs,
the purple hubris of her skin
denies them the sickle celebration
of rebellion, revival.
it took four months for that to be the
story
only for before, the dark, wet memories of
a man stomping a stair-well in disbelief,
the wife distraught, the best friend on her own,
were only distended lessons in truth;
a PhD thesis on feminine grief
(I'll deal with this doctorately thank you)
so there's this sleeping, some voice
a stand-up of the self, in the round
he says - make up your mind on this one
they'll love you as much as I do.
that white horse charge
the still in bed change,
you near, you say things.
my dear
my dear, never
discovered as winter melts, boys competing
for the
sun years, go by, waiting
for a ring (where some snow melt was)
but you won't see me laughing,
those setting suns
those were the
eyes of Sarah Jane

A flare up

The distance of a warm-windowed rattler
renders the hapstance of my other
here's as bright bulbs, a swingdark
illumiate on an otherwise stream of
scenes, made pop-up things, given
resonant tones when pulled from history
in a slide by

near the hypogeum at Villa Sagrata

I’d run again but it’s all about
This being the only poem
I can read to you so to
understand the Umbrian context;
a truffle-song under the great spit
each castle soaring to the wood beamed sky.
Some will say, in the years to come, a halo
or force stood around him. There is no such thing.
Remember that she's a you
feeling, a Decemebrist amongst your scattered
harken script, a beat - immense dull deep -
of the new new

something overheard

I really want my...

But I was talking to her on the phone afterwards and the thing is...

Some little, lost part of me thinks maybe we'll get a bit drunk and go back to mine and

As soon as I said it, it was just....

well, it can't go on like that and

seeing him is torture.

Best friend back all that

So I'm trying really hard not to...

make love and I'll get to wake up with her again, once...

I still love her.

history

to be whole and delineated and complete.