Chocolate eyes dance across the stage
Young prince guitar ablaze
Mind wandering through the haze
A spider’s maze of drugs they say.
Ah yes it was a perfect day,
a movie, a chilled glass of Sangria.
The colored girls stared and smiled
as your satellite of love flew
across the universe.
Never one to be afraid to walk the streets,
the wild streets, New York, LA,
November never made its way
sadly October laid you away.
Graveyard for Poets
A poet who grows old
is carried on bare shoulders of skeptics.
No one thinks he wrote a lick.
His name unknown in a world that knows
the names of all big stars.
He’s not one of them
so he goes to sleep on a starry night
never to write another love story
about the woman crying by his bed
her umbrella weeps in harmony.
What do you say when you’re out of words?
The dead horse won’t move
Phoenix won’t rise
like god above fluming ashes.
A hotel with only vacancies
a voice above the ocean’s roar
unheard unseen unknown
with no dreams sleep is barren.
A swinging sign
broken arm in the wind
for sale to no one
words cannot pay
for my rent or food
desperation is a lonely friend
time a lonely enemy
death the ultimate home for words.
How do you cage a child like a litter of pups,
mother across the street worried
onlookers with cameras mumbling
in disgust, “three bucks a ticket” for this?
The pups died in a week, no attention,
onlookers stopped coming.
New events elsewhere “for free.”
The AG elf smirks, “I have more.”
His mythical god would charge five
to see a torture among the pups.
So there for the world to see
Jessie waterboarded a Terrier.
I can hear the gentle wind
across your tombstone granite
blowing lightly empty words
words you never spoke alive
blowing still, still so slight
are you wondering
are you echoing
what was never said to you?
Yet whisper does the wind
as it careens lightly off trees
whispering soft repentance
for words too often spoken
Now I walk away
breezes brush my back
away from your death
with words left, still unspoken.
“Kiss me,” I said to her but she disregarded my offer, shoved it aside like an old chair. “Tell me where I should go from here.” I pleaded. Still, she gave no attention to me. “I love you,” My final plea.
She turned and smiled as crookedly as the road home and with one sweeping move she thrust a dagger into my chest. Love so final yet so capricious
The masses huddle
together inside freedom’s fence
barbed and deadly
horror crawls inside their hearts
for the man with a pencil,
the cutter’s weapon.