Memory of Pain

If living were my legend,

I'd make it forgotten.

Like a ghost town disappeared,

Or a sunflower meadow burned down.

I would lie to my guests,

And tell them its all gone to dust.

Make them feel the pain,

Of something that never really lived.

I hope they would cry, in sorrow or madness,

Feeling the irony of the void, which my sweet heart embraces,

But legends are stories,

Unaware of the validity or truth in their lines,

And a legend is just how it sounds, it is lost,

Forgotten like the leaves of the tree of my soul.

Hellish Eternity of Love

I thought the heaviness of the years was mercury enough to kill,

Inventing stories from the secret garden to cleanse the blood,

Hiding treasures in the vault beset for only the imagination,

Becoming endless and eternal with the red rouge and plumpness,

Winning over the house of the tree of knowledge,

And spreading my wings over its beaten sun,

With songs of restlessness and worry,

Of starched diction and repetitive melancholy,

Floating on the clouds of misery of memory,

And falling deep into the redness of hell’s bounty,

Where my fiery instinct comes alive,

And the promise of my smoking flesh,

Is more than all the reason to live in the eternity,

Of the eternity with you.

Red Rose

I am woman,

Hear me cry in simmered sadness,

I am girl,

Watch me grow into a rose, bright red.

In ways I cannot stand, touch me say to me,

Beautiful beautiful is she,

I know your eyes and mind together,

I see your heart beating hard for me each time.

I wish you loved my thoughts my intellect,

My wit, my  jokes my silent judgement,

I wish I wasn't merely a bright red rose,

But also the dirt, the roots the worms,

Won't you see me far beyond?

Won't you bother to discover the black woe beneath the red?

Girl into woman,

Woman to withered rose.

Unashamed

I wish to know you all the way.

I want your hands right next to mine.

With no guilt no terror no remorse,

I want to feel your love inside my face.

Tickle my senses cold,

Heat the drizzling of this frozen spirit.

Numb away what all is said,

Pick and throw my pains up to that air.

Cry wet tears against my back,

Never let me run reversely.

Keep me intertwined in you for all time,

Walk with me, don't miss a step.

Hide these shamed eyes from the truth,

Guard my solitary existence from the earth.

Pick grains from your heart,

Lay them in mine.

Immerse this loneliness in sweet candy breath,

Absorb me into you.

Sharing Darkness With The Dead

Sleep comes easy,

Then it comes hard,

I listen to the footsteps of the dead,

And give them room to sit upon my bed,

I know you don’t believe I’m unafraid,

But I dream and speak,

Share and yell,

Caress and push,

The deadly souls at night,

Often some that I don’t know,

Bother my darkened home,

With glimmers of their distant hopes,

Which they hope that I can float,

I do not yet comprehend,

God’s purpose why I see the dead,

I just hope that they are lead,

To a place they can be fed.

Musical Enfatuation

It’s not that I don’t want to,

It’s just that I can’t,

Your saxophone up in the air,

Bursting exclamation points,

As musical notes,

You move with every word sung,

And caress the microphone,

As if in a kiss.

I would if I could,

I would if I could.

The Form of Life Alone

His shoulder against my breast

My head falls on his sweaty shirt

I dance as if there is no end

To this saga of beer frolicking in my hand,

I see the neighbors come and dance,

I see the birthday man drunk and gone to bed,

I am alive, I am toxic, with the waste,

Which I wish to be so many days,

Today my feet are red and hurt,

 But I can’t waste away the night,

For it turns up and down,

And side and up,

And I can’t waste away the night,

For it comes far and in between,

And whirls to the sight,

Of poems great as these,

Which cannot lend to rest in bed,

But instead stumble to their wake,

In words stolen from sleepen slumber,

In letters that still do not exist,

I’ve foretold it many times,

I am she who tells the truth,

I am she who forgets about the great Alexander,

And makes her own forbidden wake,

Do not see me when I’m dead,

For that is no longer who I am,

Burn me, sing to me, but do not look upon my face,

For he who’s dead is no longer in the sinner’s body,

But rises to the heavens and meets God’s delight,

I’ve forgotten that which crept into my flesh,

And ate away at my heart’s most stupid aches,

I’ve lived on and on and learned to love him to leave behind,

And let him live the life of his, and let me live the life of mine,

Which blessed it is with man so solemn,

Yet so soft and gentle, and consoling,

With a biased approach to interests of thy self,

And a heart as grand as countries rich and strong,

We will not reform, yet life is what is born,

From the earth alone,

And no one none truly knows,

The form of life alone.