Alleyways became my inspiration,
and I found my audience in bars!

Ocean views became somber,
and my meds made me think I was
drowning.

Someone said that I would
fall in love with typewriters,

and monochrome photography,

and drinks twice my age!

But someone also told me
that nostalgia would break me,
and that I’d babble about
being the greatest thing

while shoving napkins covered in
faded ink and ***** in my pockets.

And while you were haunting me,
I was doing my day-job.

So I saved up for a shotgun,
and like buckshot through a sonnet,
I finally got you out of my brain.

You!
Ringing bells.
Flutter.
It yells!
And
it never stops
singing;
voice reached
the top.
Half cracking;
fading.
I
can tell
the angel
fell.

"It gives me wonder great as my content
To see you here before me."*
—William Shakespeare — Othello, act II, scene I.

She, veiled in night-breezes of darkled hue;
This cream Inamorata as you've called her.
She wishes to calm the seas; your eyes a turbulent blue.
The remnants of a broken heart she hopes to stir,
With the enchanting embrace of her halo-like arms.
Like you, this angel sought heaven all along.
Enthralled by her and all of her innocent charms,
You now cling to her and chant every love-song!
If World be willing — if malignant stars never shined,
Then she would fly to you without any fear,
And she'd cradle your heart; a widower's heart that pined
For this dusky form that you now hold in your thoughts so dear.
But tonight she waits for you in after-curfew dreams.
So luminous is her light, though the darkness it gleams!

She, —
lace papillon
who sits motionless
behind the
glass.
Perched atop
lacuna wire,
ran through wings
handled by
gears.
I lift her glass
confinement
and
I touch her while
she's still. Clock-
work ballerina;
lifeless
until I wind
her up...
I let her
go on. "La danse!"
Create
steam halos
as you
twirl into
the night where
envious moths
tap the window
above
my bed.
------------------------
Papillon — French. Meaning "butterfly."
La danse — French. Meaning "The dance."

Urban Nights, 2009.*

I’ve walked this city and saw such life,
But I regret to say that I didn’t see yours.
Hand in hand, a husband and wife,
Whose open arms swing like those open doors,
In this city where music spoke,
And where stone broke
Under my heels!
Where lights blinked,
And where jewelry clinked.
Such vibrant thrills!
Where the crowds gathered,
And where the cold beer splattered.
A kinetic spill!

And I walked this city.
Saw some birds, who dined on breadcrumbs of pity,
As my lips half-pressed against the glass.
A fog around my mouth and a fog around my heart,
As I saw some kids sitting in a small patch of grass,
Where the city cared enough to remember the flowers blooming
Under these steel and concrete buildings in the dusk, still looming.

And I’ve gathered the sights and sounds of the city at night,
But I don’t have a photograph of you in this dim light,
Where the stars twinkled under handmade pieces of art,
And where the couples from earlier gather
Not yet wishing to depart.

And now I’m sitting in a booth
Feeling alone, although I’m not in this ongoing affair,
With my quick glances back and forth to see that you’re never there.
And while I’m nibbling on my nails and hard bread,
A single thought stays there in my head;
If you’d only knew
This city is dead without you.