Love Note

Peck on you, Rosa
where are you anyway?
two missed phone calls
& the passing of days

Ready to hurt yourself?
Ready to hurt yourself again?
Honey, don’t fall in love
is really what he meant.

That little
avant guard-ista
tasty like a pizza
winsome winds
beneath her
coattails, and charm
like starry-eyed
minnows in a pool—

Of course! She was
in love, swimming in it,
that rapture, that steam.
You must go on
she told herself,
since love is never
the same thing twice, or,
at least it shouldn’t be.

I cannot go on
she heard herself
muttering, but I
but you but are you
so different? But yes
it is possible
and you, so lovable
like a trumpet

which plays at
the end of a hard
battle, the warriors
coming home,
and crying,
I will go on
I will go on
I will go on


well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
serious as a star when only one star can be seen

yet I am the one left looking,
hearing your footfalls as they fade

I am the one who always waits, and you,
one of many who has found me by mistake

returning next to my dwelling
which I must destroy, in order to rebuild

this being the nature of everything

that which goes is always going, and
that which stays will always stay

so why, then, am I always so eager to change
irreverent love, which has no heart?


* 1. a flower, opening
2. a woman, stunning
3. a powder found on fresh fruits
4. a full, bright sound

Abecedarius in 26 Words (& Change)

Alabastrine, beauteous,
careful daylight, ebbing.
For gallant headwinds
include juridical knowledge,
lyrical mastery, & no place
(for) quivering, reticent
shadows. Tu último viento:
(a) wayward, xerophytic
young zephyr—

Also published here:

Rags to Riches

How simple it must be, the life of a rock
ignoring the pulse of the tick and the tock
forgetting which dirty magazine it took
to read in bed in lieu of a book.
A rock with no shoes, no sandal, nor boot
Not even a rambling foot—
Like an artist, it has no need for food
Taking from the soil what is bad and what is good
Believing it could one day become something special, a piece of gold.

Ode to Lipstick

How radiant, your Lustering lips
which pour sweet moonlight
onto our eyes for better seeing.
How sharp and well observed,
your Cupid’s peak distinct—
not quite Angel, not quite Diva—
a little Flirty & Perky Pink never
hurt anybody. Your Love Test suggests
Red Rock. The right to say, Viva Glam!
was all you ever wanted.
And me? I say life is good
when your lips are red
and your world, on an oyster,
is a lustrous grain of sand.