you undressed me. shy,
as if I haven’t let you before,
you untied, kissed me up the thigh.
you undressed me. shy,
as if you haven’t kissed up my (sigh),
you locked the door, you did more and did more.
you undressed me, shy,
as if I haven’t let you before.

America is

America is a fern
and we all cultivate it.

America is germinating
and we can't control it.

America is in terms
that I can come to terms with.

America is a way
with words, America is
what it takes to describe
an urban landscape,
America is a blending of voices,
America is a sophisticated
form of art.
America is a day old
railroad of the new world
where the waters have never
been tested, where our trust
lies in the ones best at
acting their part.
America is what we make
out of a broken home, and
America will be the first to
cast a stone.
America sees us off, with
tears, and roses chosen
for us in a dim lit florist.
America already knows
where to find you,
and that the worst is
behind you,
America is a Grandmother
named Jones.

I can see your eyes
trying to hide behind glasses you surmise
no tendency to free nor fear to be

I waited as an outline
watching curtains fall to further shadow
making out a hunched figure -
shaded but clear as the note
you purposefully wrote illegibly-
Look at me!

You walked away bent and kept
your curtain nailed to your head-
and I gloriously alight instead.

Spirit says It will
give no more than I can take;
I keep on reaching.

I wrote a poem you'll never see –
a masterpiece; it took me weeks.
I love you and I wanted you to know.
I achingly described your lips
with tender, breathless craftsmanship;
it was a soulful, sinful epic wracked with lust.
Poetry herself, intrigued,
shook her head in disbelief;
no mortal girl could ever love so much –
and so, enamored by my words,
she decided to ****** you first.
I'm sorry, lover, but she had to go.

dead skin flaking off
the neighbors are fighting again
I can't hear what they're saying
beneath the music I listen to
feeling the chant of addiction
like loops like fruit
like an animal
killing another animal.
or a woman, waiting to hear the
                                                      opening
of a door:
walking out.

the lights are off
"it's because they're broken"
                                             you say
"they're not"

wrapped up
                     in blankets
in sheets                            in water

cut off my arms
                  my legs
and watch me swim.

You walk across the restaurant, sit down
and fold your legs precisely so your dress
conceals the barest minimum.  Around
your shoulders, silkiest of wraps caress
one side, and wantonly slides off the other
to leave a naked arm spaghetti-strapped,
suggesting what might later be uncovered.
Your eyes meet mine, warm mysteries.  So apt
from what I know of you this point in time.
We speak of writing, theater, and Bach,
mingling voices, counterpoint sublime;
laughing undercurrents as we talk.
I want to say you needn't try so hard;
it hits me you're not trying...you just are.

We were warworn; you were weary with
my wild, wayward theories
and as I worried, so it worsened.
That's the way.

You were waygone from your wanderings;
I was waiting for you, always.
You were wolfish, but
I wanted you to stay.

have you lately
maybe
rainfall will be
paved in solar reflections
twisted perplexions
frozen expressions
pitter patter eyebrows on a golden platter
frame the faces faces
going nowhere nowhere places spun on
fingertips
frozen lips
wordless have you ever noticed hips
hips thighs cries
hides denies
replies the faces faces
made up places
relief the end of
races