Old Memories Of Paris, Café Au Latte

Old memories of Paris, café au latte,
iron wrought on a kitchen sink
where she slimmed her figure
on a butcher block.

She dangled like a wind chime,
toes on pointe,
testing the winds and
the Gods on
Wisdom of Love.

Pretty little music box, my doll,
bathing in sunlight
through reflections of The Tower at
dawn. I asked her what she saw.

Her answer was as black as a widow
living off space between sun flower seeds.
I turned to her soul and spoke
to her in cotton,
she understood,
souls always understand what is next,
and why.
I led her to confession.

She rattled all the way,
dangling eight unworthy legs –
shooting silk like
it meant nothing,
because that is all she had ever known.

By sunset, she had dried up.
Everything that she had devoured
had taken over
and spit her spirit out.

The Loose Hurricane

That fool of a Hurricane came along
wearing her precious
golden wig

her bitch stamp

tempestuous temptress
violence through
internal bricks and boards

I am a carpenter
a blood sculptor
The Queen

my masterpiece
in matching
nailed to the walls

my precious dynasty
garnished with
parallel features
inside and

muscles and brawn
My King
mixed with this

she rushed him
in her
giant waves

into her vast Ocean
her wet white body

then ripped and yanked
at my prized
until defeat ambushed
from behind

she resigned

and I was left
with my masterpiece
to clear the clutter
the debris

watching the Ocean for the
return of
my King.



Guilt Knows How To Find Me

Tonight, he rolled over in his grave just
to slap me
in the face.
His skin has been eaten by the life that
takes people after life!
Staring at me with blood shot eyes, I
He knows!

Although it’s dried up like a raisin, my
heart does still work!
I found it at the home I used to
belong to.

He knew it was there. It had tried to wander off…
to find a new home; a substitute.
It wasn’t safe out there! It
strolled back to
where it learned expansion and
willingness to endure.

Before his home was a coffin, he
screamed his words, so that they
might take up more space in my head.
“Your heart is a rook!”

He came back tonight – flesh falling from his bones,
eyes bulging out
of his skull –  he found me, laying in this steady bed,
to drop his backbiting insects upon me.


The lampshade walked in the house
covered with dirt and cobwebs.
It had spent a few years in purgatory,
with tools, hoses, and rusty chains. It
my nostrils with the hardy
scent of automotive oil.

It walked out the day that he did. Hand-in-hand,
they stepped on clouds, right over my head they
stomped! The heavy weather came
pouring down on
my head. Lightning struck
me so hard that I couldn’t
move or breathe for…two years at least!

I just stood. Struck into that moment.

Recently, I saw him walking back. He
noticed that I stood still; staring in his direction.
He took my hand and guided me out from
beneath the clouds and he sat me down on the couch.

That was when the lampshade walked in. Covered
in the filth that I stared at for so long.
I pulled out the vacuum and sucked the
grit out of the shade, polished it and handed it to him.

I watched him set up the base of the lamp and helped
him search for a brand new lightbulb. One had been
sitting around for just this occasion.

The Castle

Back in the distance, just past “far-enough”,
a stone-cold castle stands proud and alone.

A few years back
the castle
was a warm home. The doorway smiled and
welcomed home family, the windows were
always bright-eyed – lighting up the insides with the
soft rays of the sun. People tended to the needs of the house while
small children ran outside
the castle laughing and playing,
the castle kept an eye on them and
laughed merrily along.

War broke out one day, amongst the people in
the home. The castle hid the children in closets, protection
from the screams of the people on
the other side of the walls.
The people were rigid and stuck in
a rage of powerful fear. They kicked at the castle, took hammers to the walls, and
ripped the coverings that closed the castles’ glass eyes at night.

After that day, the home was never the same.
The castle couldn’t smile and the children
didn’t play.
The people didn’t smile. They stopped tending to the
castle and made themselves sorely busy.
The people removed things, bit-by-bit. They barely spoke
to each other, they didn’t even notice the
somber castle.

It was early winter, dark and windy. Colder
than usual. The castle was anticipating the return of the
people to start a fire and warm up it’s stones, but the people
did not return. The castle waited. It waited through the fall of the
leaves, through the icicles and frozen pond, through the light rain that
fertilized the once abundant land….but the
people did not return.

They must have took something very precious
because the castle was never the same. It will not smile, or
brighten the inside with light anymore. It is empty and cold.
It locked up it’s doors and just stands, proud and alone.

The Candle

We caught the ground on fire, didn’t we?
Lit sparks and watched them turn
into burning embers and, later,
charred remains.

What remained was toxic left overs.
We tried to posion each other, throwing
flames from our eyes; smashing
the feet that we used to provide
the platform for standing.

Fury filled in the gaping holes that
we used to fill with affection. Your arms, my source of
comfort. My words, I only remember to bite you!

Memories come and go, flickering like a candle.
Maybe, we didn’t
burn it out completely, but saved it for later.
Maybe the love was too mature
for us to handle.

I have grown and here you are, standing
right before me…one hand extended to
strike a match and attempt to
re-light that candle.