Her onyx eyes
burn in my mind.
Black alibis
hide hidden heat.
Forbidden nights
in darkened rooms
on darkened streets.

She stills my screams
with silken thighs
in wanton dreams
on twisted sheets.
She leaves me spent
in unknown rooms
on unknown streets.

Her hunger fills.
our emptiness.
Stiletto thrills,
crescendo beat.
Two bodies move.
In hungry rooms.
On hungry streets.

r ~ 5/11/14

Hey Dad,
It's been some time since we last spoke. I miss you, still. I'm writing to ask that you pass a message on to Mom for me. She never was one for sentimental stuff; but you know that, already.

Tell Mom that she is missed by all of her children; we miss her especially on this, her first Mother's Day away. I will miss not calling or seeing her. I missed sweating over what to get her this year. I miss her voice those times when I just needed to hear it; the first time that Noah had an ear infection, those times that I needed to know what was wrong with my roses. She always seemed to have the right answer no matter what. Just like you.

Tell Mom that I'm doing well. I've stopped drinking. I know she never liked that. Tell her that Noah is graduating from High School next month. You both were always so proud of him. He misses both of you very much. You should see him now, Dad. He's as tall as I am. As tall as you. He has grown into a good man; he is a lot like you in many ways. Noah sends his love to you both.

Well, I just wanted to say hello, and ask that you tell Mom that I love her. Tell her that I understand. It was time. She missed you. You were waiting up in the high pasture for quite awhile.  I'll let you go, now. I know that you two still have a lot of catching up to do.

Hugs to Mom.

                         Love,
                         Rick

r ~ 5/11/14

I like you.
A lot.
Like, really a lot.
Like, when I look at you, I get
Tiny purple butterflies in my stomach,
And when you smile I smile too.
I'm acting like I'm in grade school,
Trying to sit next to you so I can
Surreptitiously lean against your shoulder,
Secretly hoping you'll notice me and
Maybe, just maybe,
Think of me as more than a friend.
I know I'm being rather obvious
But my heart refuses to sleep quietly,
Preferring instead to conjure up 1 AM dreams
Of your soft curves and loud laughter.
You know, my friends told me to act
When the time was right -
Well, I'm a terrible judge of timing,
I'm always too clumsy
I stumble over half-hopes and emotions.
I can only hope for you to see all the mess in my heart
You probably (I hope) know all this;
I've been told I'm an open book.

My body is the training ground for
All of the reject demons
My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight
To match with any worthwhile struggles so

My inner demons are over dramatic children
     They do not wage wars
     They throw tantrums
     They stand inside my temples and pound the walls
     When they do not get what they want
     And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue
     Then fall asleep when they get tired
     Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset
My inner demons are pretentious
     They call themselves demons
     When they are more like imps
     They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack
     And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that
     They broke something
     Then press on my heart
     Daring to call it an ache
My inner demons are clumsy
     They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes
     And slip and spill their handfuls of tears
     At inopportune moments
     As I tremble due to the ones
     That have tripped and tangled themselves
     In my heartstrings and vocal cords
     Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them
     And tear apart the inconveniences
My inner demons are shy
     They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse
     With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky
     Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin
     They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue
     With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises
     And hold themselves still against my capillaries
     As if their presence might distract my blood from
     Its daily circulation
My inner demons are hoarders
     They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain
     With reports and analysis of too many situations
     And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses
     Of each ventricle and aorta
     Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas
     Then pack extra breaths into my lungs
     Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs
     They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes
     Hiding until they can forget themselves
My inner demons are moody
     They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses
     And pry open old ones with feathers
     They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks
     They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton
     They tie my tongue with other tongues
     And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings
     They are self depreciating and they know that they
     Are not worthy of their title

My inner demons are pathetic
     I suppose they're right where they belong

It's raining.
Soft, cool knees hunched up against your chest,
Sitting there in a flowing skirt and knitted vest,
Quiet, at rest,
But you looked distressed, you look depressed,
Your momma knows your house is gonna get repossessed
Cigarette against your lips, unlit.
You look surprised the bus driver doesn't make you
Put it away,
But I pretend I can't see you
Watching night turn to day, your dismay on display
Hiding like a stray dog from memories of your mother's new fiancé
Last Father's Day when you tried to run away.
Well, now you're trying again.
You look weary, bone-tired and thinking about
All you admired, desired, dreams that
Expired and retired and why can't you see all the love
You've inspired?
I want to talk to you, walk with you,
Your skin is too pale, like chalk
I don't want your momma to hear that knock,
Empty face crumpling in shock,
People flock around you where you hit the rock,
The clock ran out for you.
Young ******* the ***** floor, feel like
No one adores you,
Feel hurt down to the core,
I tell you "This is your stop,"
You walk out the door.
I know I'm never gonna see you any more.
And next week, the weather's bleak,
I'm on break, I see your face on the newspaper,
Went to seek Death's mystique.
Raindrops sting like vipers, snipers,
I get back on the bus,
Turn on the windshield wipers.
It's raining.