Poems #3

Girls' Night

I enter
a scene
of lights
and lipstick
and noise
and sheen,

and the earth opens up
for me
in expectation,
in want,
in what will I be,
in who will you love
tonight?

Desire for more
translates into drinks.
One becomes
three.
When is enough,
how much is much?

I cannot be filled --
until, until --
I feel you
beside me,
the back of my neck,
the bruise of my lips,
the shame of my soul,
the lift of my glass
to us.

I reapply
gloss,
and screw
back on
its laughing,
littering
cap.




Loss

There is nothing quite so real
as a gash

inside a love
inside a void
inside a howl

of a dog searching for the moon.

In desperate pleas
of darkness,
his weakness
and thirst --
though futile,
at first,
beckon
become
strength.

The Shakti stars above
reflect
in his lonesome
stone-grey eyes.
Puddles of longing,

belonging
to no one.

Truth be known
or unknown.
Like walking sticks without legs,
I cannot feel anymore.
I am numb
to the disappointment of loss,

like the dog who lost the moon in the night.




Shower

Glittery visionaries
weep in masses
and I forget
and I lose
my quiet senses.

And I see a life like a turnip
pulled from the truck.
Laughter ripped
and shrill
in the muck.

I see a babe
crawl home
into my arms.
Eyes as levers
pulling me in.

I see a waste of an ocean
and a burning beach.
To feel that heat
beneath my feet.

And then I hear joy
and I turn my head --
dreams
and tricks
and wetness
licks,

it all subsides into dread --
and then
and then
it's life
that's fled.

Die anew,
it's me
and
you.