words on white pages: i used to write like Charles Bukowski

EARLY AUGUST 2008
when
you kiss me
i can feel it
seeping into my skin.
with
closed eyes
i can see it
on your face.

one more time
and i promise
not to ever, let the
feeling flee from
its memory-captive
in my mind.

September 7 2008
Bury me in thoughts of hometowns i've never
really known.
Busy me with thoughts of secure places to grow.

Fragmented Thoughts of September 24 2008

-ice cold, the haze passes the path i walk
-a look from a child in their school apron
-the son of the store owner sends a smirk my direction through the smoke of a cigarette
-the man who delivers wooden palettes has a hammer in his hand today
-steps move slow, although hurried, on this uneven stone
-the sensation of walking to your judgements in the center wears on me
-fingers fumbling in pressing, push push push, up up up
-out of breath and weary, a nights rest and you've lost it all.

September 25 2008

i am a continent
there is a river
running from my north
it brings echoes
through darkened pools
whispering stories of another time,
another land.

October 13 2008
swallowing often-
trying to fill the gap,
between times
i do not know.

left hanging out
in midday sun-
eventually sure to dry.
the pupils of your eyes
are the crows that tap
interruptingly on
the windows sill-
perched and begging me
to look-
their dark stares taunting.

i fear not-
avoiding the eyes of others
(fearing only my own reflection)
in the darkness of concrete pools.

Ocotober 19 2008

light as a feather, heavy as a brick;
falling quickly
into opened hands
of strangers on the street.
swimming in sewers filled
with sand, dismal abrasions
scoring the surface of skin
dusty and lonely in the evening light.


October 22 2008
just
tell me your name, show me where you come from.
take off your shirt and love me,
pressing out lips together we can force a smile,
ignore the knot in your mind,
limbs flailing in your thoughts
remind me of fingers on dusty ground,
something is missing,
something.