the streets aint so cold.

A woman beggar asks me for change
For a moment I stop, confused.
Not sure if she is asking me to bring change about
Or if she is my fork in the road,
a glimpse of tomorrows to come.

I wish she hadn’t talked to me.
Instead let me wander,
let me simply be.
Not for some great cause,
But because I have no point to make.

‘You got some change?’
Her head cocked and loaded.
I tell her I have nothing,
She glances over me for signs of truth.
And decides I’m lying.
Another stranger disappointed in me.

I say to her,
‘There is nothing I own,
No trinkets do I keep
To stave away this brooding day
Where we walk upright while the mind sleeps”

she sees my bubbling mania
and the spit the gathers around my words
Sees obtusely deep
into the black molasses gait of my eyes.
Sees the swan that sang through its death.
Sees the man that’s worn away to kindling
with no spark to revive

The cut of her eyes softens to a lull
head bowed, sadened, she takes pity.
Hands clasped she nods to bless me.

I am documented in her book of sorrows-

Chapter 1: Charity for the impoverished heart.

I have a crush on death

The frangrance of our bonding fades
Only the scent of longing remains;
to choke ceaselessly at the neck of my future
But courted by death, I am appeased.
I smile as the shadows spill over me,
A winding clothe – I am set free.
And I gave up the ghost
In hopes of joining you;
Of traveling to a universe, parallel
Or somewhere along those lines.
I fall on your hilt, so I may be by your side.
So damn tired of all this nickel and diming
That draws and quarters me into shreds
Bite sized pieces,
I am fit for the phantasms lips
Am fit to be digested
And become a part of you.
Until my soul is your soul
And my needs are your needs
And we become more of us
Than we are of ourselves.
Like an old man’s face
That tells the story
Of every person it used to be.
I am blessed and destined
to be absorbed into your seas.

Phantasm yet again

I awoke early on Friday
The weather had started to warm
And my brow was moist.
There, you lay, unassuming.
Here, I stared, unabashedly.
Wondering if you could feel my eyes
My cornea scanned from the crown of your head
Around your lips, inside your ears, to the nape
Of your plum skinned neck.
I was searching for an entrance
To get inside your head,
But I didn’t have the directions
So I stayed lost in your mystery
Happily sent wandering south
Where your breastbone and clavicle and ribs
Come together to cradle your heart
Like a sleeping child surrounded by thorn.
And I hear your pulse;
Thudding like thumbs on summer Melon.
You are ripe.
Frightened, I pick the fruit,
yet resign to the rind.