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Daydream Believer

Feel that thought in there – tangled
up in a tirade of others; finding
fault with the fastidious
and not enjoying the ride

There’s power in pulling it
forward
feeding it, breeding it, combining
it with fast fantasy that
creates creativity
and freedom

You’ll sleep at night

Embrace it, believe in it – breathe breath and give voice
as it dances on the page

and unfolds to life

Waking Beauty

You look so handsome
when you wear that smile – the one
unfolded in the folds
of sheets
as I open my eyes

Consideration of keeping us
creeps with the beat of rain
at the window
and I am tempted to watch you sleep
for a time

Perhaps it is a fear of falling
that finds my feet wrapped
in the leather of boots; firm to the floor
before I quietly close
the door on contemplation – leaving
memories on your
pillow
as a note, goodbye

Drunk Loins and Sobriety

Visions of forests – black trees
clasping hands of branches

You swim naked in
some stagnant pool

I watch and laugh

now the ground grows luscious – wild
flower like wildfire, littering
life with colour
as music flows from flying
angels – chirping

I could caress you
Make you undress me
Test me

But now it’s raining

and all I want is an umbrella
as I walk home through
fields
with soaking wet hair

Learned Vision

I like that climb of
the ladder – the
first brush of intimacies
with another soul

Scoping life
through lenses
is never quite so raw

So fresh

Beginnings are best
when blind – fumbling through
the darkness, guided only
by what’s given
up for you

Lighting a face in whispers

candles of truth
flicker in the night and
all of a sudden, you
see

Le Cirque De L’idiotie

I walked on feathers
 
made of glass, and
 
blinded by beauty
 
 
I danced.
 
 
Bleeding foolishness – it
 
fell from my skin
 
and as I twirled in
 
ignorant bliss
 
 
I bled
 
 
drip by drip – drowning the dancer
 
and
 
drawing a clown
 
for all myself to see
 
 
The main attraction, the star of
 
the show
 
at Le Cirque De L’idiotie

The Date

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I met this girl – Ronnie, she called herself. She was far too pretty, too fragile to be a Ronnie, so I kept things formal with Veronica. It made her giggle.

I liked to watch her; the blood in her cheeks would rise and I could taste her enthusiasm for my face. She liked my eyes, just like all the rest.

But this one was different. “Why don’t you smile?” she would ask, “Aren’t you happy?”

Her innocence warmed me and all of a sudden, it was too late. I wanted her. I wanted to keep her.

“Come home with me.” I stated boldly. Her eyes locked mine and she knew.

Veronica thought she knew everything. I heard her heart begin to drum as her hair blew the perfume that always made me burn.

“How do you sleep at night?” She asked; staring up at my home as her night began; the beginning of her end.

I opened the door and let her pass. “I don’t.”

I watched the artery at her neck and heard the delicious sound of it beginning to swell.

Veronica laughed. “Bram Stoker would have loved your place.”

I shut the door behind her…with a smile.

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The Encounter

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‘Please don’t hurt me.’, I heard her say as she slept. And that was the beginning of it. The precise moment my evening ended.
I lay there tormented; just wondering where she came from; what horrors she had seen, underneath her closed eyelids.
Her disturbing slumber meant no more for me and so I left her side to indulge in coffee that made me think of the waitress, in the Coffeehouse down town. It was the colour of her skin.
Those images soon evaporated in the steam as she came forward, dressed in a towel too short for her modesty.
‘Who hurts you?’ I asked as I stirred the whirling thoughts with my spoon.
‘Sorry?’ Said the stranger, walking around my kitchen like she worked there.
‘You cried out in your sleep…’
She sat down and sighed,
‘Your knee was lodged in my spine. I was trying to be polite.’

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