At first sight

Love, born once,

dies a thousand deaths.

Eyes meet,

hearts dance,

flesh burns.

Like chocolate tasted,

love quickly fades

into but a memory.

Eyes tear,

hearts pain,

flesh longs.

Each pillowed night

cries in darkness,

lies in bitter solitude,

only to repeat

till the last drawn breath

gives blessed relief…



Look once, briefly,

then never look again.

Disbelief, like quicksand,

firmly grasps for grief

as demons delight once more

dancing to the torrid story

of tripping stones

and stripping thrones

gods once warmed;

love once stormed

the beating chest…

a last failed quest…

unanswered prayers for lightning

frightening the remaining ghouls

on this great stage of fools…


Darkness fades as solar flares

peal forth, never knowing, ever-growing

toward a childhood no one dares

seek; sleek as a slick oilspill-victimed duckling

rising from the ashes of humility

who will willingly see humanity’s

search for a sister planet, built to sustain

Judgement Day’s cast-offs,

lest they wrest fate’s finest hour

from the mighty death-grip of power.

We’ll give them hybrids, no more;

let the exuberant soar

on the floor, head tucked between your knees

pleas bounce off His Majesty’s conscience

and the porridge is neither too hot or cold

we all fall into the fold

we all fall into the fold…


As colors swirl in the tray beneath me

and I feebly lift roller to wall

the memories just refuse to leave me.

I lift the darkness, I let it fall

and repeat till my strength is gone.

My chore now complete

I peak through my tears

pray my sadness will retreat;

instead, the torment still appears.

Reaching for another can, I must carry on…

Bituminary Park

Festooned by a quark in Bituminary Park

buffoons laying low like a luminary lark;

I feasted once again ‘cross the mighty dim Ardennes

never wishing for a secret truce and then,

‘neath the willow wonder thunder-beaks

a hundred other blunder-tweaks

and I’ll ride home again I don’t know when;

lest lavender across count for all their lethal cost

or fiends find friends to face eternal loss,

I can’t predict an outcome yet I hunger for the day

I’ll see the carousel and yell again some other way…


Violet rose petals

clutched in a death-grip

deep within the reservoirs

of musty old books

and dirty laundry,

wailing unrepentantly

yet focused like a laser,

the pathos represented by the reprehensible

sigil marking the dreaded forehead

headed for the River Styx.


Still, fire-breathing marshmallows

wrap their seedy sinews

round the last superego

beckoning hell to fell the Tree

and none will ever see the snow fall again.

Thanks a lot, Heraclitus…