There was a time, a luminescent absconscion from pitch delusion into a softer demesne of hopeful lyric, when the penumbra dissolved and the curtains unfurled to the resonance of the first arching note, and I believed that every word was worth its weight, every phrase enough to assuage the gasping ache of festered grief, when I prayed to the illimitable haven of living voice to render each moment in righteous truth.

Give me crimson and gold, amber-inflected horizons and empyrean blues, inflect the firmament with scintillating flare and hue. When midnight obfuscates the last light and saps the sky of Polaris, Perseus, Hercules, all our silvered heroes, place into these reverent hands a holy convocation of the utterance I need to do right by these ephemeral moments. Whisper forever of that which I can only live through language, and that which I alone can speak into vicarious existence.

A year has gone by, four dry seasons of virgin pages fallen in perennial autumn. I press my ear to the cornucopia and it echoes, a hollow resonance like a dial tone. My hands fall, two empty nets at my side. The famine sinks in, sandpaper lips and impotent tongue, and I entreat once more the faceless churn of late masters and departed loves, What clandestine thieves transgressed the inviolate harvest of measured lines? Where has it gone, the amaranthine chorus of immaculate verse and treasured word? How can I invocate once more the sempiternel birth of ink and memory? And they answer at once, a tumultuous roar of ancient condemnation, unstitch their mouths and bear their scarlet teeth, seethe into my soul as one onerous voice, There was no thief, there was no thief, there was no thief… 



I prayed for rain
so you would remember
the sound of falling asleep,
a soft tintinnabulation
seeping through the roof.


Here in the damp heart of morning,
the dregs and apple core, sullen
cathedral bells over a groggy town.
Pull the sheets over your face
and pretend you can’t wake up.
Better yet, draw a curtain
over the sky. Smother the sunlight
and seconds and all trace
of wakeful yawns, coffee stains, the
quotidien bonjour, tell the world
Sorry, but we’ve made an
offering of Aurora“, tell the sun,
Sorry, try again tomorrow…

Every breath we drew

I lit another cigarette just to feel close to you, entreating worn nostalgia to come back again and let me breath in the old reek and curl of mingled smoke on your sheets, seething through the eleventh hour like an ephemeral harbinger of tainted ecstasy.

Remember it was you who first guided my fingers down the bed of dry amber, taught me to tuck the paper tight and even, to breathe in the flame so it catches for good and flick it from my fingernail into a mass ashen grave. Remember endless revels in the sensuous glove of midnight, a clandestine adoration I cannot diminish or rescind. Remember too, the weight and folly of words without a backbone, intimated gilded promises left inconsummate and smothered at the bottom of the ashtray.

And all at once the rack and madness of dismantled equanimity, kneeling on the brick with ash and spit in my hair as your name breaks between my lips, behind and within the veil of rain and fume as the last note of hallelujah burns out between my fingers-