Day Thirteen, Poem Number Thirteen: “Drowning”

Love is for the young
or the young of mind.
It is foolish, reckless,
it is responsible
for more than one crime.

As a young man, I dove in
to several pools’ deep ends.
The waters were warm,
Clear, and embracing.
I surfaced every time free of the bends.

Years expanded the blue.
I swam the deltas and rivers
that invaded my closed places.
Until I arrived to endless seas whose
cold depth made my heart shiver.

Sometimes I still jump without looking,
but the ocean beds are dusty and dry.
If there are always other fish in the sea,
then they’ve grown wings to fly.
All that’s left are brittle bones
that creak, groan and sigh.

Day Eleven, Poem Number Eleven: “Jude, The Patron Saint, Falls In Love”

These are not Halcyon days and nights
for those wearing exposed hearts
stitched clumsily to their arms.
They should be afraid
or at least alert;
put up your guard!
I say.

The hospital volunteer in her vermilion stripes and exhibitionist skirt,
offers to help the ailing and hapless but even worse
our body’s defenses are low.
She infects this vulnerable man,
an unprotected soldier sans armor
caught in her barbed wire,
destitute.

Like a dentist, she comes in grinning, porcelain, smiling innocence
brandishing tools and clamps and other things that are good for my health.
And if I’m a good boy, here’s a sweet, except
my molars shatter every time
they bite down on your
hard candy,
doctor.

Another role, another face, she fills the shoes gracefully, a glass slipper
forms around her foot, molten glass never burning the skin.
Instead the clear membrane embraces it, thankful to have been chosen.
Until the day the scuffs and the dullness
become embarrassing
and she kicks it off
shattering it.

At last, a waitress comes around to deliver the check,
and the price is hefty, perhaps too high to pay.
She knocks over a bottle of wine yet
her charm is disarming so
I don’t mind the stain.
It all trickles down
to the bottom.

Day Ten, Poem Number Ten: “Sobriety”

The love falls from her eyes,
The bottle rises to my lips,
She says I’m drunk on your lies.
From my mouth the problem drips,
drips,
drips.

Day Nine, Poem Number Nine: “Tonight and Tomorrow”

Tonight the moon looks like a flashlight peeking out from a closet bulging with grey suits.
Tonight the moon looks like a night light obscured by cobwebs in spooled loops.
Tonight the moon looks like a pupil less eye judging our every move.
Tonight the moon looks like the only clear spot on a magnificent bruise.

Tomorrow the sun will shine like the second hand cufflinks on a poor man’s suit.
Tomorrow the sun will burn like not being kept in the loop.
Tomorrow the sun will warm like an awkward first kiss when you make your move.
Tomorrow the sun will heal all but a damaged heart’s bruise.

Day Seven, Poem Number Seven: “Open Book Closed”

Your secret name is Karintha
known only to me.
Like Toomer’s nymph
who grew into a woman wild with freedom
and made the men lascivious.
You are
irresistible.

You are free
in a world you feel trapped by.
The souls of your feet never touch the ground
as you dance through the air.
Thick fingers paw at the hem of your dress.
You are
elusive.

You attack with a smile
targeting only me.
I have married you fifty times
in my dreams, in yours, and raised a family with you by my side.
But I am like all the rest of those men who were enamored.
I am
mistaken.

Day Five, Poem Number Five: “Tear You Apart”

Her eyes were
two tiny suns,
blazing blue.
Her eyelids, when lifted,
were open blinds
brightening darkened rooms.

Like an atom bomb
she shattered my windows
and peeled off my skin.
I walked into her light
ignoring the smell of cooking flesh
maintaining a toothy, skeletal grin.