A Shadow Behind The Mask

A connection in a time
when there is a mask
to be worn-decorated
as it is, it still hides
the eyes of the beholder.
These eyes, the windows to
the words that flow from
the pen, are mask
by day and guide
through the shadows
by night.

she sleeps,
guarded by
the very light that seeks
to blind her.
her soft breathing tells
me she is sleeping well,
while my own eyes, burned
by the night light, seek refuge
in my notebook and in the
tender touch of her right palm
against my thigh.
she sleeps unaware-
her role
both the guarded
and Guardian.

I still remember it-
You behind the
church building
sneaking a smoke and a kiss
trying to fondle my breast.

We kissed for hours
Your lips, so soft
but I taught you
how
to use them.

If the devil knew your name

would you court him, let him

in to all your secrets, caress

your breath and accept his lips or
would you grab his balls and give

him the kiss of death he deserves?

I imagine you in fifty years

imagining me and what I

would have been if I did

not become a space cowboy

The girl in the pink hat

Sometimes, when you pass someone in the street you can't help but wonder. I wonder about this girl...so here she is:

The girl in the pink hat did not see me.

Her long flowing hair, which was only slightly constricted

by the offending item, hung over her face,

restricting our views of each other. Yet, I saw her.

I saw her in the slouched jeans,which only enhanced

her round buttocks, in the army fatigue jacket,

that failed to hide her womanly curves,

in her hands, which lay delicately by her sides.

And then...

The wind, as I had wished, had its way with her,

and laid her bare for all to see. She looked up and saw me-

I caught a smile, and content, made my way home.

The dreaded writer's block

I seem to have a serious case of writer's block. So, I figured if I could write down what I was feeling, it would help. Here it goes...

A whirlwind, a hurricane, it comes all at once

and then just as quickly it all hits a wall and stops.

An emptyness, a nothingness, a great big black hole,

emotionless, withering, it all turns speechless

and I stand still, unsure.

My Murder Foretold

Hands pull at feet-a dark

passage has begun to unfold

before my eyes, a retreat

in the forest, tarnished, by

unflinching fists and eyes, as

yet unseen by mine, but there

none the less-earth removed,

then restored, the cover up complete.

Inside

She shouts "Rape!", quietly

to herself in her head, staring

in the mirror, seeing her face,

not a bleamish, not a mark, but

she can feel and she can taste

his lips upon her, forcing the

score, wanting her more and

never understanding she is some-

where else, she is gone, just a body

remains to play out his game.

He will hurt her once, no more.

If I look inside the can, will I see what I want to see or just another reflection of me. I climbed the stairs and landed firm, until I realised the banister was gone, my neck was in a noose and my slow death has yet to be confirmed.

As I wait my turn, I see your all your faces, laid out before me, coming at me, like a tsunami. I reach out and she catches me from my fall, softens the blow, feathers in tow. Death feels far far away, its not coming for me, not this day.

I feel inside out, with insides out. My heart and mind exposed, I still can't make sense of me. Call the cavalry, I might need rescuing, from myself. A true work of art, the picture of death, fit for austerity, yet my virtue profanity.

The noose is cut, I fall in to the dark. She follows and fixes my broken parts. Like a superhero she woes me, surprises me and stays. Who would have imagined me, all settled with a warm stare and a full tender heart.

The cracks they appear and I think I'll lose my mind. Give a shout, be brave, "call out", she says "if you need my help". But I've lost my voice, the music plays silently inside my damaged head and I've forsaken all beauty for laughs of the dead.

There's a path that leads from this place, an unwanted fate. I caress her thighs, erase all the lies and follow the river that flows between. The torrents carry me, her taste requires me to open my eyes and see her there upon our bed.

Breathing does not come easily, but her lips conquer me and all my fears. As white light descends I wear her name, etched upon my skin and I know I can not win this battle. So I form an arch and watch her pass beneath this crumbling edifice.

All this, yet the hands of another surround me. I am bound in flames of passion that were never destined to sustain, where rain pours as tears. There is a deep pit in which I stand, freedom is what I strive for in this make-shift grave.

Had I imagined all my mistakes, would I have taken all the steps? I'm not sure, yet life continues to follow me, a lost lover pining for the touch it once felt. Resignation is its gift, as it lingers now opposite, willing itself to hold me.

At dead of night it takes me back in to the fold, whispering our names with promises of everlasting love. I am not the keeper of my heart, but she takes the key, giving up any pretense of mutual dishonesty or ill will.

We awake every morning entangled in each other's breathing. Sleep encrusted eyes search out the oncoming tenderness beneath folded lids. Had all time stood silent I would be happy to confess my delight and my disdain at it still.

Time moves on, the seasons have changed and in the mirror I see a face I don't always recognise, tied to that of another. Unclear images of a past sometimes chase my eyes, but the waters wash them away and I am free to live.