A Bent Arrow

I'm fine with the artifice of your love

So long as it proves my point

of love's purity

however falsish

To You!

These are the closing days my dear

Ach!  How bittersweet

Like the dregs of wine

we just enjoyed-

Thank You for the taste

the thrill

the tenuto tender touches

To you!  My darling...

But not to us.

Oh I love you

in my way.

More

of course there's more

but not for you to explore.

No open door through which you may

Amuse yourself with my musings

Without these walls I would feel

the sufferings of all the world

Is that what you want?

The destruction of me through my own empathy?

Is it not enough I give this glorious show

of sequin

and stiletto

of costume

and wig

of corset 

and chain of fire and rain?

Must you barrel through and barrel my soul; collect it

as your souvenir of something pure

in this world of shadow?

Abstract

I lived in the abstract path of abstract music

Grew dissonant purple orange roses

till he came

turned them pink, told me to smile a little

so now the garden grows rosy prim

but that little weirdo lives in me

begging you to feel my thorns,

hoping you may view me upside down

and know the strange melody

that still weaves its way through;

breeds into the unsung forests.  

Uncomfortable

The artist is kept

slightly uncomfortable

happiness delayed

so that

you

in all your pain

may find beauty

Another

I cried then because

I felt like just another.

I was at once your only,

your Queen,

then just another. 

Common in an uncommon love

that was longer mine.

He compared her to me-

briskly, briefly

I--who was once beyond compare...

I cried because love died there

on Mulholland Drive.

It fell in pieces over the city.

My love floated down;

belongs to other hands, not mine.

Maybe someone can fix it,

We couldn't

One man's trash...

This Place

The spirit of what happened 

is not gone from this place

but who here can speak to past glories?

Add touch to feel

Consecrate an essence with concrete

Fill its hollow post

with something 

turgid

when it's only you and I 

holding tightly this chain-

fists

in memory of its misplaced pendant