Transference

He owns
an inimitable scent
that settles
in my skin
and hair.

Sometimes
I carry it
with me, surreptitiously
returning to his
remains throughout
the day.

Other times
I rinse him
down the drain
in a desperate
appeal for
self preservation.

Today, I
am somewhere
in between;
one essence
and distillation.

(In rememberance of where we were this time last year. I miss him so.)

Tradition

My brother
and I
got high
and parked
on the pier
at Menemsha.
We ate fried
fish sandwiches
and drank
Foster’s 40’s
watching
the sun set,
hoarding moments,
bickering
and laughing,
with the orange glow
against tourists’
silhouettes.

I connect at 14th St. (Revised)

Lost and distraught
E-ward bound,
ten paces away
a man,
an Asian man,
enters the train:
with jet black
hair and a
jet black
stride,
carrying crinkly
plastic bags.
Twenty third
street stop
head drops
to hand,
thirty fourth,
forehead
to chin.
Forty second
street passes
he wipes his eyes,
oranges tumble,
forty ninth st.,
it's mine.

Crilogy

The Impulse Disorder Crime

Merciless impulses
things stolen by you,
of mine.
Vigilance with
no exit,
sexually overwrought
and
deliberately
not responsible.

The Crime of Passion

Loss of control
with someone he knows
pillar of the community
and thoughts of burning
her alive
become the antecedent,
a fury, a vow
to settle the score.

Scissors in a
brown paper bag.
Nine times in a
parking lot.
Good riddance… again.

Lunch

Heroic
efforts fail
but he's too cold
hearted to care.

Some nobody
dies at his hands
and all he can think
about is lunch.

(Bento Boxes:
a compulsion,
like counting
granules of sand
on a beach
where no dogs
are allowed.)

Acidic coffee
residue
still lingers
in the back
of the throat.

“Teriyaki Chicken’,
tongue and stomach agree.

Staring Into the Mouth of The Beast

Paddling down the Wekiva River
alligators glide by
waiting for an opportunity
to put their great jaws in motion.

“If you fall out, mother,
I’m not jumping in to save you.”

Facing Fears in an Empty Barn

The fight between good
and evil
is only a state of mind,
a moral conquest.
If you listen you can hear
the visceral heartbeat,
beat, beat, beating
to extremes,
taking a rhythm
within personal conflict.
Old ideas become
new worries in
the imagination
of the imaginative.
Whether it be a
black comedy or
tragedy,
common sense tells you
to overlook
the obvious
ethical implications.
It’s survival of the fittest,
surviving your
own state of mind.
Can you survive
unconditional love?
Will unconditional love
survive you?
Facing your fears
in an empty barn
reminds you of a
childhood,
and the unknown.