poems and eulogies

start with a word
they don’t care which word you choose
as long as you begin
and, later, end

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and of course it’s beautiful

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In here, out there nobody sees. Pomegranate seeds shred through my teeth and we accept it. He smiles and of course it’s beautiful.
A blood moon grows 10,000 times what it was, in here. Out there, nobody knows.
I count, up to seven minutes in Heaven and wonder, in here.
Out there, nobody waits.
Everybody talks.
Everybody spits venom in the eyes of people they love.

I love him for the birds, he just doesn’t belong in here. 
This desert is mine.
I sleep on cactus beds and wait….with time.
The sun is mine. I’ll keep it in a locket for those days that get dark, in here. Out there, nobody notices.

I smile. He smiles, and of course it’s beautiful.

If We Could

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talk about orchard red petals on wood tables
plate upon each other
soft eggs whispering to candle wax and I am

just buried in wallpaper
trapped in a past life
guessing on about oil in still life canvas

on a second thought my eyes shift
to roll back
and he slithers up toward my lips

because if he could he wouldn’t exist
yet here we begin
just two pieces of black ice
melting pastels into sunset

and if we could get it back together
from memory – where it is what it was –
we would pluck tiny pellets from
pomegranates in winter
for juicing

individually

without each other

Lemons Rinds and Jack

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It will always be walking through tough cement, lemon rinds and jack-one swift sailor high on a Black Sea 

drifting for eternity, fighting off starvation, making friends with an idea.

Love is not sold on silent blue moons or Ancient Greek mistresses riding them bareback

but deep inside a reflection, an abbreviated determination that divides calm nights.

I watch you pray for those hours. God isn’t listening;

He is creating. 

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two honey bees scribble
across Rupi’s milk
her tragic black paperback
blooms

on a blank kitchenette
empty plastic cup
waiting for a purpose
I tell it
“go”
but who am I to
say anything

Rupi says it all

if her grace has been missed
you should find it
gather up her past
in her shadow
and twist it
into purple origami

for me to dry
each drop
that falls because
of ways men
have touched her

in a moment

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a moment like that
like this
is crucial

lightning strikes,
dry heat
radiation
takes place

of
the sweet kiss
on my cold shoulder

I find seconds
in days
that last
forever waiting
to speak

whisper even

because tragedy
has hands
that rip through
this soul

this particular soul
that sleeps
like a demon
in benediction

that opens a
bloodshot
mouth
in his direction –

even the desert would
freeze over
if it knew him