bright club

(the last poem of 2009)

it took me almost a year
but i've finally got them all
for the better part of eleven months
i've spent all my evenings in space
just me and my trusty butterfly net
one by one i gathered each and every star
the shooting ones were the hardest to catch
they're not fond of stillness you know
one might even suggest
that they're a bit on the temperamental side
but you didn't hear that from me
i've spent many mornings patching holes in my duffel
because of all of their fussing about
but i've got every last one of them now
tonight, the entire world will look in wonder
at a sky that's only barely lit by the moon
i'd have taken her too, but there just wasn't room
when the blackness blankets us this evening
i'll take my sorry looking duffel bag from the closet
and gently place it down on the centre of my bed
i'll board up the window and remove the light bulb from the fixture
at the stoke of midnight, with a new decade upon us
i will unzipper my restless little friends
and watch as a gazillion brilliant stars fill my bedroom
don't worry - i'll put them all back
eventually

incandescence

a perfect smile adorns her face.
stunning!

and how am i to sit still
without touching? in morning light.

such wondrous arch of her back
seemingly perfect

attired in cloth of a damsel -
i pace emptied of reason.

the dewy drops of her cathartic
heart

carry me atop the clouds
watch me unravel

the landscape rolls itself out
spanning forever

her arms stretched behind her head
reaching for the setting sun

her eyes
dancing over my palette

i keep going back to her photograph
breathing in its pixels

i want her to be mine
mine to be hers

these lamps play games with me
casting resembling shadows

touching and feeling
nothing.

comfort

we get comfortable
set in our day to day's
walking the beaten path
baby steppin 'round the clock
keeping saturday's and sunday's for ourselves
we get our routine down pat
meandering until its time is up
we get comfortable
we get idle
we get stale
we give it up

milk cartons

no one ever really disappears
the police are looking in all the wrong places
all the milk cartons in the world won't bring them back
the missing people of the world
aren't really missing at all
they are the pigeons you see in the street
so be nice

god forbid

don't look too closely into my eyes
you may not like what you see
don't reach too far into my insides
you may not like what you find
don't listen too attentively to my song
you may not like what you hear
don't fall in love with me
you might just like it

cristes mæsse sonnet

let fallen snow blanket thine rooftop pitch
rosey-cheeked children sleep nestled in dreams
darned are the stockings of mother's gold stitch
hung on the mantle and stuffed to the seams
anisette for father, whom sleep awaits
nectar of thine cattle poured in a glass
baked goods arranged on the finest of plates
left is the waiting for nightfall to pass
drawn are the sheers to keep cold at its bay
the moon is eclipsed as weighted sleigh soars
the flame of thine candles flicker and sway
in shadows he looms; leaves soot on the floors
downing thine chimney is really quite slick
for a man the size of jolly st. nick

warm fuzz

give her the sun
but it won't be enough
give her a rain
of solvents and dust
give her a palace
one she can touch
give her your eyes
they bleed as they shut
give her dynamic
chords of warm fuzz
give her an empire
built upon love
give her your sweater
no ifs, ands, or buts
give her heroics
worn on the cusp
give her italy
florence at dusk
give her your organs
your blood and your guts
she picks the strings
they bend as they rust
give her the sun
parting is such
give her surrender
enough is enough

feel

corrugated pores
ethereal glimpse
snug as a bug in new york
writhing stethoscopes
coiled razor
nailed to a cross made of wood
damning filaments
straying siren
tethered it spins round a spear
weathering agents
glaring defiance
stacked in odds soaked in sulfur
prickling sensations
boisterous charmer
ironed in arid upheaval
desolate faces
softening blow
help me to feel something more