Teenage girls are the enemy

Teenage girls are the enemy
The slayers of fathers
The hard hearted
Mercenaries of betrayal
The cold hearted of
Survival and ambition
The cold vengeance
Of silent mothers
That excuse themselves
Because, after-all
They said and did nothing
As new women fell
Unguided to destruction
And mediocrity
And the folly of lovers
Much less than they could be
The puppets of scorned wives
Rejected for neglect and drunkenness
Winners of the bitter cause
Of ancient bitterness
The soldiers of battles
For wars they do not know
It used to be
That ignorance
Was the only enemy
Yet daughters
Those delicate motivators
Drivers of aspiration
In men to be fathers
Of new women
For whom they must die
Slain by the agony
Of compelled love
They have lain
With ignorance
Aided by silent mothers
They have it pinned down
In submission
And regret
Until the enlightening birth
Of twenty
.

Posterize

I can posterize
I got photoshop
I got paintshop
I pop
I can make color shifts
I got
I got photoshop
I pop
I can posterize
I got photoshop
I pop
I can posterize
I can change contrast
I can lighten it up, baby!
I can pop
I pop
Pop
I
Pop
I
Posterize
.

Conversations with Mary. When, In love, I fall.

And
I'm sorry
So
Sorry
That when
In love
I fall
Into the
Arms of
God
And
You
Are
There
The nights
Short
The days
Long
And
The heart
In total
Complete
And
By that
And
I
Mean
The
Whole
And
It grows
So much
Bigger
But
More
Inadequate
And
The passion
For all those
Clerics
Teams of Chaplins
Rabbis
And
Priests
Of strangers
Men in
White
Coats
Dancing
In circles
In the
Company of
Midwest
Seminarian
Monsters
That would
Pray for me
And Mary
God's mother
As we
Love
The slow
Penetration
Parting her
Lips
Those
Soft
Damp
Folds of
Skin
Speaking
In prayer
In circles
She prays
With her tongue
Brother
And
I fall
Looking into
Her
Eyes
.

At Priscilla's Request

I am emptied
At Priscilla's request
Of all pain
At Priscilla's request
I am driven
At Priscilla's request
From the stain
At Priscilla's request
I am nasty
At Priscilla's request
I am feared
At Priscilla's request
I am open
At Priscilla's request
I am steered
At Priscilla's request
I am crying
At Priscilla's request
On the street
At Priscilla's request
I am lonely
At Priscilla's request
I am neat
At Priscilla's request
I am nothing
At Priscilla's request
Incomplete
At Priscilla's request
I am talking
At Priscilla's request
Take a seat
At Priscilla's request
I am finding
At Priscilla's request
All the same
At Priscilla's request
I am sighing
At Priscilla's request
Again
At Priscilla's request
I am falling
At Priscilla's request
In the dream
At Priscilla's request
I am flying
At Priscilla's request
I scream
At Priscilla's request
.

For Terry

Oh man
I'm hungry
I could eat
a horse
a cheese burger
on rye
fries
dripping
with oil
soil
the open earth
accept my
deep
hunger
while
I remember
that
quiet evening
for two
me and you
dinner by
the light
of candles
I wore
sandals
and you
looked
so cool
in your
neat shirt
and tie
you swore
your
love
for me
for only
me
and you
promised
it would not
hurt
my
daddy
loves me
too
he wants me
to live
like you
how can
you
let me
die
when
it
is
my
daddy's
heart
that
cries?
.

This Bridge

Sitting here upon this bridge
In the dead of night
The street lamp turns on
One minute in every five
And I am startled in each turn
For all the lessons I may have learned
From this
.

Are these words that appear to me to be hung
In the annals of human history
Wrung from the aspirations of
My ancestory
In the future of children told
Of what little I have achieved
.

In these moments of darkness I compose
Well formed sentences that hold
The bold autoaesthetic
The sense of self in the world
The sobbing child curled upon
Soft white linen
.

Words wrung from the torments
Of our mother
Words stung from the unbalanced minds
Of possessive lovers
Words lunge at the passing suggestive whisper
Of love
Words greed and fill the empty needs
Of love
.

Words that last until the last
Tywarnhayle darkness
Are washed away on the whim of
Saint Piran's porth
And I sit and wait
For that light again
So that I may scribble what little
I may achieve
In those rare moments
.

Sitting here upon this bridge
In the dead of night
The street lamp turns on
One minute in every five
And I am startled in each turn
For all the lessons I may have learned
From this
.

Craving Planets

In a barage of poetry
The poet aims by the onslaught of words
A transformation of the soul
.

In cascades of rhetoric
The empty space between us fills
Like stars with bright distance
.

In the journey of light
The particles form waves of energy
That feed the production of life
.

In forests of questions and quests
The answers form like leaves
Upon trees
.

In hearts of creatures lingering there
The fruit falls
Feeding the earth like rotting corpses
.

There is life in the death of beautiful things
Whose moments of intensity
Are reborn
.

In changes of moments
There is nothing to return to
And we find the void
.

Yearning
The planets fall around the sun
Craving
.

Alphabet

A Beginning Can Deliver Everything For Gathering Harvests
I Justly Kept Love, My Noble Ouroboros
Please Question Reality So That Untold Virtues Will Xerox Your Zenith
.

Look at my legs

Smile into my
Digital
Camera
Baby
Look at my
Socks
I can take
Photograph
Of my ego
Sprawled
In
Underpants
Show you my
Angst
See
My ego
Look at my legs
Baby
I got them
Skinny kind
Look at my
Legs baby
I'll show
You
My underpants
Digitized
Camera
643 shots
All at
My
Funky hand
At every
Angle
I am a
Camera
I take
Photographs
Of
The
Digital kind
Original
Kind
.

Word Two

I
Self
Me
You
Be
Hurt
Open
Tree
Sea
See
Condom
Spill
Letter
Ask
Send
Boot
Kill
Trip
Bend
Tight
Ass
Arse
Tinkle
Tinkle
Glass
Cold
Hard
Stiff
Stood
Past
Lif
E
O
2
Me
I
You
Car
E
Time
Tree
More
Be
Be
Crawl
It
Fuck
Now
Now
Suck
In
Beyond
Swallow
Time
Time
Long
Open
Close
Be
More
Be
Be
Ache
Cry
Sin
Rust
Iron
Bin
Hole
Sky
True
Not
Me
You
Brim
Brush
Blow
No
Know
Ouch
Crusty
Open
Itch
Me
Scratch
It
.

Word

Opening
Closing
Inbetween
Wide
Deep
Obscene
Long
Long
Belong
Ate
Eat
Tea
Whore
Sail
Boat
Short
Fat
Moat
Inside
Tickle
Speech
Open
Shut
Neat
Image
Time
Tell
All
Everything
Smell
.

Canta Alway

There is a Canta Alway
I do not know what it is
But I have seen one
Somewhere it is full of
Promises
.

What is that Canta Alway
I don't really understand it
But I know that I have thought one
Where it is full of
Tears
.

I ate a Canta Alway once
It was not satisfying
She sat on my gut and beat my heart
Her optimism is full of lies
I know how she
Tries
.

Where is that Canta Alway
Can it spell its name right?
Hiding from me in the shadows
Full of promises and
Sides
.

What shape is the Canta Alway?
Square like the clock on the wall?
Or like the time passing stairway
Basement descends
The darkness is full
Of places to hide
.

I see the Canta Alway only once in awhile
When it screams for my attention
With passion it loves me
With passion it rejects
There, in the darkness
Safe spaces
Sites of redemption
.

No Parking, Any Time

Duane
Yard Sale
Speed Limit 30
Bus Stop
No Stopping, Any Time
Liquors
Check Changing
Long's Video
7/11
No Parking
No Parking, Any Time
Awaani
San Francisco Left Lane
Entrance Freeway
101
North
San Francisco
No Right Turn
One Way
San Jose
Red Light Violation
281 Dollars
Pedestrians Bicycles Motor Driven
Caution
End Landscaping
Space Available
Fair Oaks Inn
Mathilda Avenue
Sunnyvale Exit
Mountain View
Alviso Road
Ellis Street
Car Pool Is Two Or More
Call Box
2000 Feet Ahead
Road Construction Ahead
Downtown Sunnyvale Second Exit
East 237
Exit
Exit 30 Miles Per Hour
Call Box
Exit 20 Miles Per Hour
West 237
End Construction
Call Box
15 Feet
Ellis Street
Call Box
Buses And Car Pool Only
Car Pool Is Two Or More Persons Per Vehicle
Call Box
Mountain View City Limit
Population 75200
Moffet Field
Mountain View
Three Quarter Mile
Caliper
Call Box
Road Construction Ahead
Downtown Mountain View
Second Exit
15 Foot 3 Inches
2000 Feet Ahead
NASA Ames Research Center
AMES RES CTR
Moffet Field
Space Camp
Space Camp
Space Camp
Shoreline Amphitheater
At Mountain View
Presents By The Chronicle
Shoreline Boulevard
Middlefield Road
Amphitheater Parkway
Call Box
Buses And Car Pool Only
Adopt A Highway
For Information
Middlefield Road
Shoreline Amphitheater
At Mountain View
Presented By The Chronicle
Shoreline Boulevard
Only Only Only
Amphitheater
No U-Turn
No U-Turn
WRONG WAY!
Bike Lane
No Shopping At Any Time
Movies Next Two Left Turns
End Construction
Pear Avenue
Movies
All Digital Sound, All The Time
The Best Seat For The 21st Century
Sports Page
Tow Away
Parking Restricted
No Stopping, Fire Lane
No Stopping, Fire Lane
No Stopping, Fire Lane
No Stopping, Fire Lane
No Stopping, Fire Lane
No Stopping, Fire Lane
No Stopping, Fire Lane
No Stopping, Fire Lane
Fire Lane
Additional Parking
No Stopping, Fire Lane

I Give You Liberty

I give you liberty
You give me weapons of mass destruction
I give you the will to be free
You give me your sanctity
.

Was God here?
Did you see?
Did HE pass this way?
Did HE linger?
Did HE stay?
.

Was your God here too?
Did you see them speak?
Did they speak of you and me?
Did they see?
.

I give you the death of a tyrant
You give me smiles in the street
I give you my life in a bowl of alms
You give me food for my mother's charms
.

I died on the streets of Baghdad
The price of freedom paid
The seeds of the future laid
.

You died on the streets of Baghdad
In the name of liberty
In the name of history
.

Was your God here too?
Did you see them speak in Eden?
Did they speak of you and me?
Did they see?
.

Dead Fish Don’t Swim

Rolled down the riverbank rolled into the river
Water calm twist and quiver
Water cold wiggle and weave
Can’t remember when I moved so clean
Chasing the rhythm of the river downstream

Pack em in squeeze em In tail to tail fin to fin
Head to head eye to eye
Twenty things a flying fish can do in a fish tank
One of them ain’t fly! One of them ain’t fly
Ever stopped to ask yourself why?
Never seen a flying fish fly by oh my!

The things that dead fish don’t do
Are more than the things that dead fish do
The things that dead fish do are only one or two
Dead fish don’t go dancing
Dead fish don’t shake a fin
But the thing that dead fish don’t do most is
Dead fish don’t swim
Oh no! Dead fish don’t swim!

Never heard a dead dog bark
Never heard a peep from a dead skylark
Rin tin tin what happened to him
Dead fish don’t swim
Oh no! Dead fish don’t swim

Never seen a penguin on the wing
Listened for telephones never ring
Don’t you think romance is a lovely thing
Dead fish don’t swim
Oh no! Dead fish don’t swim

In and out and up and down
Plenty of chocolate to go round
Open your mouth and pop one in
Dead fish don’t swim
Oh no! Dead fish don’t swim

You can take a bubble bath you can change your clothes
Always be something lingering with a dead fish up your nose
Better to try and get it out same way that it went in
Don’t you ask for the fish’s help cause
Dead fish don’t swim
Oh no! Dead fish don’t swim!

Fish look great when they’re swimming around
Blowing pretty bubbles with a popping sound
Dead fish don’t look so great
With chips and peas on a willow pattern plate
Without a river to swim around in
Dead fish don’t swim
Oh no! Dead fish don’t swim!

Memories of Zen

There are so many things that I remember
The closeness of him
Each moment we have had together
Is carved like deep scars in my flesh
Each drop of blood remembered
In that red cascade of moments
Fallen, precious on the floor of time
And there is no aid that I can find
To gather those moments of mine
.

As you walk upon the beach in Galway
And leave uncertain moments on the road from Dublin
As you
My son
Walk the paths of Europe to find whatever lies there
A prayer I leave
That somewhere on that road
You will encounter men wiser than me
Lost in some part of history
But able to bring something forth
Of the great mystery
.

Tears burst from me
And I am screaming from my passion
My despair
.

I have left nothing on the path before you
But a few solitary moments of enlightenment
Held in donuts
I fed you as a child
.

I was
Your mother
Your father
Your lover
And your king
.

But there is nothing now but the memories.
And I am fallen before you
Unworthy of your love
.

There is nothing
I am fallen in the pain
Of how I have served you
And I can never be released
From these bonds of fatherhood
.

I would release you
I will release you
From these chains
If I can
Standing
And accepting
.

And if I cannot do the job that is needed
In releasing you
Then you must release yourself
And take my life to your children.
.

For everything that I wished to give
Hangs loose from me now
In its sad delusion
.

Each Day to Ealing Broadway (II) : On Time

The streets are seeped with their chatter and noise
The morning cascade from the train ushers the men and the boys
As they vie for position at the head of the crowd
That emerges loud and a tremble from the station in Ealing
And the rush to the High Street that has them awake and feeling
Driven by self importance and reeling with pride
They hide their moments of indiscretion on the ride
To be "on time."
.

The Londoner
A working-class boy
Has his mind still locked in that shocked sentiment
That rattle and sound
As he rushes along the streaked street
And considers the urgency to be "on time."
.

In his mind
The petty things
Not the pretty things
.

In his heart
The fear
The hurt
And the grime
As each morning he runs from the train
To be "on time"
.

And the pain rises up from the depth of his soul
As he fears he may lose
Another job
Another goal
.

A service distinct
To the few
Has left limitations on what he can do
.

You boy!
You can work in a factory
Or a shop
People from these estates
Never go to college
So you just stop
That kind of thinking
Right now
.

Know your race
Be true
English working-class boy
Know your place
If you want to do well.
.

In London schools
Working-class boys are taught
To be good working-class boys
To be good factory workers
To work in a shop
To fiddle the books a little on the side
The working-class privilege
The ride humored and hidden
.

He makes it to the doorway
And that familiar smell
The street
The clothing
The gutter swell
The stench of the bins
The secret corners where the night before
Were committed unspeakable sins
.

His boss is there
As always
Before
To "open up"
To unlock the door
He is happy to see the Londoner arrive "on time"
For he too is a boy from the same streets
"You'll go far!" he jibes.
As he hides the stick by the till
With luck today
There will be no one to kill
.

Each Day To Ealing Broadway

The streets are streaked with the excretum
Of a thousand late-nighters
The caresses of industry and the morning chill
Have arrested the urge to kill
In the drunks that have spilled
Into the streets at closing time
And now sleep
.

The 7:30 tube train hussles girls
With shields against stares
That with lust peel to reveal
Shy and freshly showered young bodies
Whose language
Sitting cross armed and cross legged
Can leave only despair in the observing eye
And a rye dismissal
A rejection of the hunt
In the ignorant mind
That can only mutter in response
The phrase "Stupid cunt"
.

Morning ignorance inflicted on pretty bare flesh
Faces glares from the hardened and mature stress
Of women that have been there
The scars hardened in the innocent crushed
The absence of tenderness
In the face of the rushed
.

The tube carriage rage
That leaves the commuter's page for the day
With the tense portrait
Of the face that espresses hate
Because the girls cannot hide
From the lust of the ride
The demanding stares of the tube train ride
Each day to Ealing Broadway
.

Bad Poetry/It Is Bitterness Sally

Your actions are bad poetry
So I thought that I would write one
For you
.

Don't ask me to say I'm sorry
Don't wait on me to say I'm glad
I wanted to rescue you
And I wish that I had
.

Seven years since I left
I could not have stayed
I could not have saved the children
From your disgrace and your rage
And it makes me so sad
That you should be this way
Learning nothing from what we had
Or how we came to this place
.

It is bitterness, Sally
It eats into your soul
It buys comfort for the fire
And warmth for the mind
A place to find places
You thought you had left behind
It returns you to the horrors
You knew before we met
That place of self loathing and of regret
.

I wanted to be your friend, Sally
To raise our children as one
Mother and father beyond the end
For the sake of our daughters and our sons
But the bitterness has become habit
It is so hard for you to forgive
The betrayal you have invented
And the life you imagine we lived
.

That's the thing about booze
You can't remember it all
You forget the horrors that ooze
From the failed dreams we have pursued
.

It is bitterness, Sally
It eats into your soul
And now the only way I have to talk to you
Is as the poet that you loved
To remind you of the good things
And to tell you I forgive
But in bitterness, Sally, is no way to live
.

The Ignorants

Mother
Would you have us lie down with you
To whisper sweet nothing into your ear
Would you rather we embrace your prejudice
Rub ourselves against the hate of this and that
Would you prefer that in our union
We hate them too?
.

Mother
Why aren't you like those women in the movies?
The mothers of heroes
Gentle feminine
Offering kisses on brow
Soft carresses of hair
In silent half light
.

Mother
Why is it so wrong to be smart?
What is it about that challenge
That leaves us unworthy
.

Wife
Married when we were stupid and young
Would you have us lie down with you
To whisper sweet nothing into your ear
Would you rather we share your indifference
And loud assertions
.

Wife
Why aren't you like those women in the movies?
The wives of heroes
Gentle feminine
Offering kisses on brow
Stroking hair with soft carresses
.

Wife
Why is it so wrong to be smart
What is it about that which challenges you so
Why is it so unworthy
That you would foster in us ignorance?
.

Wife attack, Mother attack
In expressions of self hatred
Two wrongs assert their right
.

All that exceeds their vocabulary is labeled unworthy
The smart denigraded and marginalized
.

We are smart-asses for knowing what these words mean
And we are worse for using them in our defense
.

Ignorance hangs like medalions of lead
From the necks of children drowning
.

Mother and Wife
What is wrong with those women in the movies?
That they should be gentle and forgiving
Open and encouraging
Peaceful and loving
Laughing
.

What example can you be?
To these new men and women
Sons and daughters
Without love and forgiveness
Without praise of knowledge
.

Role Models

Vain to the point of ugliness
Son of a black pimp
A gentle white whore
.

She despised him as a child
And felt the guilt of it
Her constant reminder
Of life and body sacrificed
.

Pimped full of neglect and pride
One more testimony to pimped manhood
One more gentle whore lamed
.

Seed scattered upon the wind
Of indifference
.

She tried to hide from him
Months in prison
Abandoned by her own father
Who would not accept a black child
.

Finally saved by her own mother
After ten years of it
A tired body
And a man who could find
Forgiveness
And love
.

New women and innocence follow
And from the lives of hurt mothers and elder brothers
No grace can flow
Since they deny themselves forgiveness
And find the physical handicap of anger and guilt
Burnt into flesh and bones
.

Circumstance
You wicked slayer of souls
And the examples now set by those hurt
Loom over the lives of these new women
.

My Overindulgence Is Redheads

My single overindulgence is redheads
Man, I'll do anything for a flash of that gentle smile
That style and freckle
That turned head in the sun in ecstacy
That blaze of rum
And golden hazel eyes
That curvature that reaches every part of her
My hands are made to fit every single bit of it
Snug and prefect
Overwhealmed by it
Above, below or behind
.

New Women

With a passion that never fell
Upon the progenitrix
.

Father
.

He loves these
New women
.

Daughters
.

With an ache that ripples
Pain and terror
From gut to chest
Of helplessness
.

They are freed
Into the world
Bold
Vulnerable
And he
Helpless
.

These new women
.

The mistakes
With their mothers
Standing by
Watching
They run headlong
Unguided
Into the visions
Of destruction
To take the mother's
Vengence
On father
Possessor of ultimate babies
.

And the pieces
Fall
Inevitably collected
To rebuild
The dolls of our dreams
Or to live in an endless scene
Of regret
.

Why do they not stop them from running?
When they made
Those same mistakes
With their own father
.

Bitterness
The ruin of men
The last taste at death
In the mouth of the progenitrix
.

When all the man wants
Peace and love
Is denied to us
Helpless
Father
Yeilding
.

These new women
.

This Is The Licentious

This is the licentious
The deep thrust of my morality
Inside the pleading
It makes me happy
The swollen hardness of it
Throbbing
.

This is the licentious
Playing with little girls
Listening to their ecstasy
It makes me happy
The dangerous artness of it
Screaming
.

This is the licentious
Those clever boys
Pointing at penisesses
It makes me happy
The stick and the boundary
Lying
.

This is the licentious
Cool white open thighs
I stand here between them
It makes me happy
My stick, your boundaries
Sighing
.

What would have become of me if I had joined the Wrens?

What would have become of me if I had joined the Wrens?
I could have been a 1950s action hero that makes amends
Mummy and Daddy would have been so proud
But I met your father under the cloud of his prison sentence
.

What would have happened if I had joined the Wrens?
I could have met the Queen and made amends
For all the years of servitude my ancestors gave
For the oppressed blood in a maid and a gardener grave
.

What would have happened if I had joined the Wrens?
I would not have given birth to a revolutionary son
Who tells everyone that history demands the head of the Queen
For the raised-on-a-council-estate English Republican dream
.

What would I have become if I had joined the Wrens?
Perhaps an action hero that would set it all right
A revolutionary leader like some ancient libertarian knight
Or a Supergirl hero without the Kryptonite
.

What would I have become if I had joined the Wrens?
What would the Women's Royal Navy really have taught?
Would I be just another good servant of the Crown?
Would I be another working-class Mum that escaped the oppression in the back of a G.I's jeep?
Back in the States, would I too believe the Queen and her kind are just cute?
Or would my sons be there ready to shoot?
.

Painting In The Afternoon

In an unworthy moment I am stood before the canvas
A brush hangs limp from my right hand
And my eyes are frozen upon the feet of the easel
.

In Linseed air
I await the combustion
But nothing happens
.

It is bright sunlight
Hot upon the stark white gesso
Hot, hot, on the back of my head
.

I stare at shadow
Moving slowly across the ground
Someone said painting is like falling in love
.

Bitch!
Unspeakable whore!
How could I ever have loved you!
.

The shadow creeps
And the paint I have squeezed upon my palette begins to harden
Unspeakable whore!
.

The light fades
The cool afternoon, a glass of vino, spicy Punch cigar
The soft caress and tender words of strawberry blonde
.

Muse caresses soft tenderness upon my brow
Kisses brush away the sordid and painful memories
A breast against my chest stirs promises
.

Everything is sex
As paint jumps in sprays of color and denial
I fuck the canvas raw with each thrust and slow withdrawal
.

Painting isn't like falling in love
It is the base urgency of sexual moments
The canvas is a woman to be fallen upon and taken
.

Charm

I am nothing but images in your mind
I am the found that you cannot find
I am the charm on the wrist of time
I am the lost of a momentary rhyme
.

Jongen en Meisje

Bonded in every strawberry blonde
In sensitive and gentle song
She rides on the cliff of ecstasy
And is ash laden on the end of me
.

No woman in all humanity
Has been loved as much as she
Not even those who Helen see
Have loved one so dearly
.

Nor has there been a passion felt
Before which a man has knelt
For which his pants are belt
And yet for which a tear is dealt
.

Her presence alone brings such care
In each and every worldly stare
There is in each moment there
That which oceans still in quiet waves
.

In fear I am held in tragic sway
Each second of every day
There is that these Norse gods will dwell
And come to claim that which they left so carelessly
To wander earth with one such as me
.

Her hands and lips upon the staff of me
Seems not course, nor rude, nor plain
She daughter of those gods I fear
Is right and natural mistress here
.

I am healed by the mere thought of it
To know that this a woman can be
That none before, not mother, not lover, not wife
Has given or ever shown to me
.

No hint of that gentle care
No tease of that special air
That awakens when in morn she rises
And the attention of the gods is plain
And I watch for fear they came
.

Broken Hearts

Daughters break the hearts of fathers
it's the natural order
.

My heart is broken each day I read the news
I don't read the news too often
innocents dying
.

I broke the heart of my cat once
garage locked
we break hearts by the most trivial of things
innocents crying
.

I have not broken your heart
but I will if you let me
on riverside and under trees
in the gentle rain
again a lover's heart will fall
.

Broken hearts are so perfect and
full of beauty
.

Heraclitan River

Each step I take
In this clear water
Is no step that can be made again
By father or by son
In metaphor and clean air
We walk in the Heraclitan river
Pacific manifest on Carmelian shore
We drag our toes through wet sand
To mark the way
Ahead
.

I Died On The Last Breath Of Her

I died on the last breath of her
Fallen and shaped like a sack of old cloth
On the ground beneath the stolen moments of our love
Her majesty gone
She was my innocence
.

I cried on the last yawning gape of time
Held to the ground by the weight of old sack cloth
In the hand of my forefathers' stolen dreams
Their majesty gone
Here is my open wound of childhood
.

Some snide bastard quite the game ahead of me
And dragged with them the sullen opportunity
I wanted to chase after it
Its majesty
But soft contrasts hard fell on open ground
.

Watford what do you have left of me?
That Caratacus Green where England hides the likes of me
Beaten to the ground by fellows laughing from wet pavement
The Victoria School
Where boys are made into their image of working-class lout and scum
.

I died on the last breath of her
There in the mud, a fallen sack of cloth
Boot and thunder in my sides
Our last moments of love
She was my innocence
.

The Bare Door Calling

These images of violence in my childhood
rush screaming from the room
the door is left ajar
and I am lying upon the floor wrapped at the base of it
my father kicks and slaps the wind from me
lest it be tarnished by these moments of history
I see his face now
my mother screaming that he should not kill me
Kill me Daddy, kill me
lest I live long enough to write poetry
.

A romantic moment in the kitchen
lies dark and sullen beneath porcelain
the stench of linoleum and piss
comforts the silence I find there
my parents scream at history
as though she is some whore
listing here with her legs astride
and I crawl inside the comforting womb of her
to make drawings of stick people copulating
I am surprised that my tiny and hairless penis is hard
that never happened before
.

I tell my cousin Diana
who has it in her hand
that there is something wrong with it
I lie and tell her that I have been going to a doctor
who will see to it
this stiff traitor of my unthought intentions
ready long before its time
leads me to my first act of dishonesty
unwanted, my father forcefully thrusts himself into the whore's gaping womb
and leans over my shoulder
he likes the drawings, he says
.

He asks Diana what she has in her hand
"It's a stick penis," she says
a toy in the game of children
my father is happy and smiles
"It's our little secret" he whispers
he's so happy, in fact,
that he wants to play bouncing cousins
with Diana on his knee in the armchair
between his legs
pale bare sticky fat flesh
smells of fish
"Touch it." he pleads to her
.

I sneak from history's womb
and slip across the floor guilty
for what I have glimpsed
in that armchair
I again hug the base of that bare door
comforted by fury
the smell of piss and linoleum
in this mix of history's moments
I cannot say that one event is truly connected to another
but I see his face now
my mother screaming that he should not kill me
Kill me Daddy, kill me
lest I live long enough to write poetry
.

Vapor From Your Skin

I want to be nothing
Unknown and unhurt
A whisp
A skirt
Vapor from your skin
An undisclosed sin
Camoflaged
Hidden from sight
A burn on your thigh
A sigh
The unnoticed tear
The unspoken fear
To walk past you untouched
Because I loved you so much
.

Conversations with Mary (II)

Naked white virgin mother of Christ appears in my dreams and
she prosecutes my soul with her appeals for release
.

Her screams awaken me in the darkness of the night and
I am surrounded by her bliss in the midst of the fight
.

I sweat the tears of angels that weep for her plight
I break the hearts of children stolen on that first night
.

I set myself in prayer as her glory fills the room and
she tells me of the children and
how she must ensure their doom
.

Her hand upon my head she pulls me to my feet and
I am held aloft in prayer before her bleeding eyes
.

The naked scars glare red and sore
The pain I feel from her once more
Burns tenderly across my skin
.

I am deaf
I can hear nothing
.

The silence ignores the slap of me against her skin
as she holds me to her
Yet I do not feel the touch of her and
I can see she does not feel the touch of me
by the scream that is in her eyes
.

She is again denied and
I awaken from the silence of my wet dream
weeping
.

The seed sticky upon my belly
Between my finger tips
I bring my fingers to my lips
To taste the moment
And in a sudden vacuum of silence it is stolen
.

I break the hearts of children stolen on that first night
I sweat the tears of angels that weep for her plight
.

Conversations with Mary (I)

She appears from nowhere
Naked white virgin mother of Christ
Nipples pierced, torn and bleeding
Blood streaming at the first light
And guided in the caress of tiny hairs
Rivulets cross the soft contrast of her skin
Finally gushing red from within her open thighs
A torrent of pleasure and lies
.

In that first light
I am erect
Swollen taut
Breathless
Caught
.

I claw at each moment
And careful commit
To careful memory
That caress
That scent
That taste
That sound
That sight that I see
Afraid that I may lose the mystery
.

She presses her flesh to me
And I am bloodied
Stained with her mystery
She whispers her calamity
In that cool bright light
In that morning light
In my conversations with Mary
.

In that deep dark blue
Of her eyes
The heavens have fallen
On this earth
She whispers her calamity
In the cool bright light
Of that morning
.

Her lips brush tenderness against my ear
I am lost and I am fallen
At the moment of her touch
And the shock of her tale
.

Mary comes from the Mediterranean shore
Where, she confesses, she has taken the manhood of her son
And in some divine incestuous draft
Has consumed his salty seed
And she has swallowed
She has swallowed
.

Her lips part at the sensuous memory
She clutches at me
She rubs the raw and bleeding quick of her against my thigh
In slow sighs and certain passion
She brings herself to the point of ecstasy
.

I am helpless
Raped, frozen and petrified
In the deep dark blue
Of her eyes
.

She is enraptured, tortured and tense
Condemned now to await the bursting storm
And driven to madness by it
She must wait that moment forever
The penalty of her pornography
And she whispers to me
Her calamity
"I am a Jewess," she whispers
"Condemned by the Romans"
"To wander this earth as a Goddess."
.

Possessed in her urgency
She whispers of the texture of his skin against her lips
Of the rise in each draft as she brought his seed into this world
In a soft and smooth song of beauty, of peace and of grace
.

In that first light
I am erect
Swollen taut
Breathless
Caught
.

And there
With her final gesture of rape
I am abandoned
I am left standing in despair
My seed upon the floor
.