Wellesley

The sound of silence.
Tires on a road.
Weight of other consciousness,
Intruding on your own.

Answers resting in the womb of winter.
Even as we try to bring them out with science.
Quicksilver running from eyes.
Endless empty screams of pain.

Peace

There are no swords here,
No swordsmen.
Only a man and a woman.

Needles

All the children are dying,
Passing into the mist.
All the old men are walking.
Passing the graves.
All the crows are circling.
Passing empty airliners.
All the records are playing.
Passing dulled needles.

Snapshot

I like mysteries.
I do not fear the dark.
I do not cower from pain.
No, I run from the light.
That exposing brightness.
Shining from pores and eyes and photo lenses.
I shrink and melt in the sun.
Praying for twilight.
So I can slink away.
Even though, like a fly, I am drawn back, against my will.
Shivering and sweating.
Afraid.
Mind empty.
Stuttering away.

Contact

All the sparks falling from existence.
Immense fractal tracts of time.
Distilled and sprayed at random.

Love V

When the line rings in the dark
Fling glasses off the table
I think it's your other boyfriend

Love IV

Toothbrush in my glass
Hair in the drain
Vodka bottles empty.

Love III

Licking sweat
A deer in rut

Love II

Will you wear that ring forever?
Stack it atop all the others.

Love I

I'd cut myself to shreds.
If you would hand me the knife.