Two Short, One Long


I spoke once
And all her clothes fell off
Arms open, she was naked
Even flesh translucent
A glass house
Vine’d over twisting arteries
A nest for the trembling small bird of her heart.

I didn’t notice
Her arms were as open
As the tides
An emblem of solace
Russian gilded icon of mercy
Laying on rumpled sheets
But I sat at my chair
Just kept talking.

The wind came
In through the window
Blew her leaf like swirling
Out of my door
Leaving just a scrap of red dress
And a note I will never read,
Rustling about with all the others
Dancing about my feet
In rag tag exhausted limp waltzing
To the tune of my voice
Endlessly dropping poems
To the emptiness.


I am an old clay vessel
Glaze crackled
Weathered and stained
From holding much wine
Now empty of all
But memories of purpose
Forgotten on the back porch
Gathering rain
Reflecting passing clouds
In clear water
It is the empty moments
That we can then allow
Ourselves to be filled
With what is most important
Clouds, and the reflection of light.


will you come tonight
my love
you promised
a red hood and nothing else
you promised
and I am waiting
in the deep, in the dark
teeth sharp and white as the moon
hunger red and wet
will you come love
I am waiting
in the deep and the dark
for the promise
of tender lithe limbs
and cries beneath
the hunter’s moon.


One Response to “Two Short, One Long”

  1. he's my son dammit! Says:

    you must write for little ones
    draw them in to a healthy side of fear
    leave them breathless
    thirsting for more and eager to learn the pleasures of reading

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