Archive for Late Night Silence

marisol dreams & i dream too…

Posted in Cigarette, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on August 30, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

intensity under marisols constellation

without a need for explanation,
i could already identify a
strange certainty that we’d already
traveled deeper into this dream-
laden evening than the clock would
say or the calendar could prove.
pasting 150 nights to the ceiling
only strengthens my desire
to paste 151 on the same
canvas. marisol simultaneously
shines & reflects her dreams;
i hold on to my front row seat
with no intention of ever
letting go.

assigning numbers to such evening hours
would only distract from
the dreamer & dream. her deep
respirations rhythmically assure
me of a dream i come closest
to fulfilling only when awakened
amidst her light of day with our
familiar moment of recognition.

not even the shaking ground
beneath our feet under threat
of worsening wind & rain,
there is a quiet heartbeat
reminder of a dream, a face,
a voice.

marisol perfects her smile
sleeping off the after-effects of
accidental indifference to
sensational connection. it
keeps us breathing each others air
until we light mismatched cigarettes,
admiring the reddish glow reflected
in each others eyes under our post-
sunset skyscape.

————————————-

Sometimes I dream of you when I’m awake. We’ve been a long time coming darling & you are everything I imagined you to be.

the other end of the rope…

Posted in Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Marisol, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

zany antics

it was easy as listening,
developmentally capable of
debating pascals wager until
ease of passage overwhelmed
the refractions of short-timer
echoes as strings & reeds
vibrated their way from M-
theory into popular conscience.

passing out cookies to a large
crowd of heretics displaying
his generosity; stunning yet
too easy to imply real sacrifice.
verdict passed on via the
jealously wrathful, late to the scene
carrying its own semi-translucent
luck.

miracle kilter sounds like
hooves rhythmically tapping
cobblestone streets in some
forgotten era. even
without horses the sounds
come to life born again
on the backs of draft animals
pulling their weight &
a few pounds that rightfully
belong to a rider.

all of the signs & most of the
veterans agree on some
obvious equivalence. past that
i wake up hoping for luck
& the kindness of marisol. poly-
synthetic luck responding to
desperation if not prayer. aesthetics
aside, she’s holding air signs
in the water while i stand
on solid earth. copernican logic
in Linnaeus’ world.

we speak different languages
with equal precision & talk for
hours about anything but
everything.

—————————————–

During tough times it is necessary to find even the small synchronizations of hope for better days to come. Johnny Cash sings again from the iron house, & in this fucked up world, even the hurricanes end up unimpressive. Not so for the eyes of the girl looking to the past for a map of the future. Dedicated to my own sleeping beauty. Where words fail trust is the coin of the realm.

quasar the vermillion dust (part 5 the finale)…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Poetry, Quasar The Vermillion Dust, Series, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on July 14, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

closing time

heard from a messenger;
that girl is smiling
because she is breathing
the same air running wild
in my alveoli. disbelief
on my part until the realization
we were listening to the
same music too. might even
have shared dinner
& split a milkshake down
the middle.

i reached out for her
with a name that was &
wasn’t hers, hoping she’d
see i was only here
because i needed her as much
as she needed me.

———————————–

To M, even if she doesn’t know why. We all have our reasons, even when there is nothing reasonable about them. With love.

Authors note; this is the final poem in the quasar series. I think I got what I wanted out of them, but that as always is a matter of opinion rather than factual observation. Anyway thanks to all who read them. I appreciate the support.

the music is playing & i’m not going to bed…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Insomnia, Marisol, sex with tags , , , , on July 9, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

forever & three days

slip-walking’ those
leveraged steps along
the path through the park
leading to sweat falling from
a neck tracing a spine above
beauty. we walked
the long way home holding
hands while gradients of darkness
admitted more & less shadow
until the sun rose to flick
insolent patches of grass
into the light.

me & my ladyfriend attack
masquerading sunlight attacking
our headquarters built of pillows
& sheets. all the shades
drawn in preparation for combat-
napping. there’s no war among
comrades fighting battles together
as old wounds show up hurting,
punctual s’ever. her smile quiets
my exhaustion while i try
to comfort the source of her
tears.

as i wipe away her tears i feel
my cheeks drying.

————————————-

Because it’s easier to write than say.

crb.

sometimes the crows they come…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Fear, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Peter Singer, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

first timer

up until now, i never
kicked the last breath
out of a hand-wrap to feel
the night close around me,
etc., fade to black. blowing
balloons in the oxygen
spiked air of a late evening
in springfield without rationale;
i wanna fuck my fiance while
she works tagging photographs
with biographical information.

my eyes are tired
but i can still laugh when
the meaning of this quiet
evening spills out of the
sky like spaghetti & present
something less than expected
& more than desired.

life with dark hair falling
across eyes colored to the tune
of the day played on a wind
instrument tied inside the case.
there are no expectations to
abuse as she moves a finger
across the screen. the last title
is omphaloskepsis & the picture
came out perfect.

——————————

For someone special. You have no idea what you mean to me.

long ago & far away…

Posted in Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , on June 27, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

lost in thought

of course you could become
slavishly obsessed. i’m not
much for that sort of thing,
but it used to be a free country
& who am i to tell you what
to do?

i’m under shadows darlin’.
& you told me all things are
impossible. i couldn’t agree & we
parted ways. names didn’t
matter then, & don’t now.

flying stingers
buzz everywhere as bees go
on searching for sugar,
ready to sting.

——————————————

Thoughts brought to mind by the destruction of the last bits of the past. It doesn’t take an exorcism, evidently, just a garbage bag.

more than 48…

Posted in Cigarette, Descartes, Hysterical Romance, Insomnia, Late Night Silence, love n' luck, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on May 21, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

more than 48

it was only our 56th day & i knew
i’d hurt her by chance as well
as i knew she’d never admit feeling any
pain. we’re too far gone for any kindness
to soften the harder edges of what
used to be; i’m already bleeding
at the edge of tears knowing i let
a princess down.

i couldn’t take her where we shoulda
been; my car wouldn’t start & i for-
got my wallet in the coldest bedroom,
collecting silence like souvenirs,
(poems are free to the public)
i can’t sleep on this lonely night.

i told the mirror it was bad luck &
piss-poor timing. i shaved off more
than 48 hours of stubble at 3 a.m.
lookin’ for a smile that had disappeared
hoping it would dramatically reveal itself.
i ain’t angry, just disappointed in a
smile i couldn’t coax out of hiding.
been more than 48 hours on high alert,

she has no interest in Cartesian
dilemmas, even if she worries about
it without knowing what she’s worried
about. forget that fucking Gordian
knot; whether alex cut through it
or not, 56 days have passed & the sun
shines down as the earth rotates. all
that’s wrecked will be fixed with
sleep & the days last cigarette
smoked down to the nub.

———————————————————–

Thomas Paine once wrote “These are the times that try mens souls.” I’d always taken him at his word, but lately it would seem to be far more of a metaphysical than metaphorical comment on the trials of life. Ah well, you do the best you can & hope for the best, just like everything else in life. Off to bed; two days in a row is a real killer & tomorrow is already here…

of course you’ve seen a fool…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Learning About Life, Marisol, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

low dollar dreams

ambrosial taste oncoming
momentary amnesia sets
in. everything will surface
sooner or later; drawn
deeply into a ten finger-
hug laminated with skin
cream smelling like kiwi-
almond texture spread
with the same care with
which one would assign
seats at an office get-
together.

whatever is forgotten
won’t be the more im-
portent fixtures of day
to day living or even
subsistence level farming.
instead we’ll lay down
& compare stars, moons,
planets & asteroids from
the comfort of our bed.

i’m not asking if you see
your beauty reflected in
every photon dashing
around the room; i’m just
sayin’ i can see it clearly &
know those stars & planets
& moons are only background.
from where i sit, i can watch
you lay back to wish on a star,
faintly glowing from todays
light, double-sided stuck to
the ceiling, it’s only waiting on
you.

——————————–

Inspired by plastic glow-in-the-dark stars & the girls who wish on them.

she’s felt my tongue…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, love n' luck, Poetry, sex with tags , , , , , on April 4, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

she felt my tongue

darkness of predawn hours; i’m
waiting for the sun to illuminate
& warm a world outside my win-
dow. monday morning ticks by &
all i can do is wonder when you’ll
be back. i saw you close my bedroom
door to disappear into the world
of carnivore’s delight. i ain’t
worried about your clean claws;
won’t be easy but you already
know how to fight & win.

you already know we ain’t gonna
fight. my razor blade arms & 9
finger grip seem mostly for show,
a rubber ball bouncing along to a
rhythm nobody but us can hear.
when a shudder hits our horizontal
bodies you gasp & breathe deeply.
our tongues & bodies press together
until i can feel you relax around me.

countdown 96 hours. you like my
hair falling into your eyes so i
untie my pony-tail to let my hair
slide free. we’re sweating in the
late-night heat, moving together,
bedroom grins spread out on our
faces & tongues whispering those
forgotten promise nobody ever
keeps. you talk solemnly & i lick
beaded sweat off of your skin. our
afterglow shows in the dark.

bite, scratch & claw.
i’ve got red marks to stare at while
laying in bed naked & alone.
steam turns skin slick & drips onto
sheets pulled in every direction.
blankets & pillows kicked off the
bed wait to be returned to heaven
above. she felt my tongue wet & dry.

for now, i’m waiting for my
fingernails to grow, drinking iced-
tea in bed & smiling. the ceiling can
see sunlight glinting through
windows, warm & bright. iced-tea
ice melts in the glass. sucking
chips through a straw, tongue
lolling around the cold water.
she’s felt my tongue & i felt hers.
across midriff & tracing down
my busted spine.

—————————————-

For someone who deserves better & might even get it. I live to please. Customer service is really important to the boys back at the home office. You know how all that bureaucratic nonsense goes. Can’t walk two steps without dodging piles of dogshit & red tape. Well, every so often things work out. I can live with that. Like Billy Bragg said, “The boy done good, the girl done better / the season’s turn, we’re still together / the sky is still blue & tomorrow is another day” (TBDG by billy bragg) I just don’t do a very good Brit accent, so use your fucking imagination or youtube the fucker. But seriously, the boy done good…

life in post-op…

Posted in Cigarette, JL Stories, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Poetry, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on April 2, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

life in post-op

cashed on the smoldering
remains of once green charcoal.
it was easy;
i spent enough to be sure,
letting a double-preen grin
disappear under rising sentiment
in fast flowing red canals
pressing gas into liquid.

mycelia post-production attracted
sticky spinal fluid, shares all
vertebral fate; mine are fucked
even without self-imposed
amnesiac realities (& no, it doesn’t
matter.) i wouldn’t
know any better even if i
could.

i left the speedball delirium in
rapture, moving toward morning,
resolution with useless rubber legs,
tongue, fingers. my path past peak
steepens headed down. rare
mycologic power of simplicity;
red canals & alveoli are
something else entirely. still
questions get answered & jobs
get done.