Hunger

A flicker bursts and light fills the

A cupboard opens, he withdraws a

And sets a pot under the

Where it fills quickly with

Clatter clatter, the pot on the

He twists a knob and a burst of

Proceeds to whine and heat the

As he noisily opens the

The drawer slides open to reveal

And he prepares to set the

As bubbles begin to rise in the

He rustles plastic and pours out

Noodles sit hard and golden in his

He absentmindedly stirs them with

And soon he has a piping hot

Sliding effortlessly into his

He absentmindedly eats

There is no rush

This hunger was easily allayed

But

Please

“Shut up, my dear,” I gently disapprove 

the record of squabbles of my fighting
champions. That I never would say, aloof
as I am. Yet a referee siding

the wronged parent of the day, musical
fist-fight displays; I deftly sand off those
abrasive words. An almost farcical
restraint, I discreetly strive to compose

exacting essays in a library
Of expectations. I hear that quarrel
on loop. Dash quick; go forth in liberty!
Raucous retch, my spirit like a feral

child in the basin. Convulsive quivers.
For all to end, I quietly whisper:
(“Please.”)

Sweetest Smoke II

I like the word –
Cigarette.
It draws out sweet and hushed
The slow burn
Of smoke within, without;
Rolling forth between tongue and tooth
Sip, un-sip
I daren’t draw that sound
From out the depths of your bitters –
That glow a damnation –
Lest they wink out sweet and high
Irretrievably into the nigh-tte.

Sweetest Smoke

I remember when
We collided
How you bruised me then
Beautiful flower
Indelibly indigo
Upon my white-throated youth
A plea snatched from my mouth
To feel the slow burn
Twisting into my skin

Branding the pillow of my thighs
In acrid smoke
Sweet and bitterhigh
Ash into the sky
Gasping and watery
Cigarette burns behind my eyes.

Discourse II (Aftermath)

I remember your hands upon my neck
The only time it felt real
As we splintered the final pieces
Everything in pieces
At our bare feet
Again and again
Until the sweat was finally salt enough
For the wounds
And finally we swallowed that ocean
Finding the salt that christened it
Still nothing extending beyond the wall
Of lungs and skinBut courage enough
To rail against that penultimate concrete
Not in anger
Not in hope
Only a tribute offered up

To a futility finally acknowledged
The last of what remained
Left in that empty stairwell
Something intoxicatingly sweet
In that nihilistic abandon
And a final freedom to realize
That sad poems do not rhyme.

By Extension

This gust of wind all too familiar.
A derisive cold brush
Sieved through open fingers,
With the outstretched arm
Almost wavering
In its resolute endeavour.

Need there be a reason
For self-endorsed altruism
Or the crippling guilt entrenched
In every concern extended.

To be helpless or helpless
In the delivery of assistance,
Which sports greater irony,
Which sports greater agony.

Perhaps it is the inflation of which
What more good we may accomplish
If we'd find some, more, and even all
Luck and cooperation...
Thereby making sense of this shortfall.

But with this, logic too, will crumble;
Just as the hand retreats and nestles
Back in snug jacket pockets,
Silently beating at one's incompetence.

Then extension, intension, intention --
Could possibly matter
no
more.

Turning away, embrace
The more that is out there;
Gently file away,
All reproach and despair.
For somewhere else,
A firm grasp will seek
That extended hand.
Of mutual aid and reliance
This bond shall stand --
Silently making amends.

Walmart Whale

Mom, there are whales
Amongst the parking lots
Majestic blimps they be!
D'you reckon they sail
Down the aisles of shops
On the tides of Kool-aid seas?
And seas they have fared
Of Dew, Pepper, sludge -
These surreal submarines.
Perhaps if I dared
And gave one a nudge
It would belly-up with ease.