Number Eighty-Two

Your heart is twisting some commotion of clouds after all
and all the rain of windowsills
somehow wisps you away
The pittering music calls
The lovemaking, scattering, falls
like winter follows bitter frost.
Pictures of gardens are pictures of us.

and flickering bright in tremors of blood
so solemn you whisper of death
to stumble all over a lover
your body embraces sweet graces and i
imagine the most beautiful of roses.

- Music in Regine, 2008

Number Nine

When I close my eyes there can be flowers
there can be sweet stickiness and
there can be your eyes.
What with empire towers
falling around the ceiling emptiness
soothing wrinkles of skies
did make for these lonely hours
dreaming of the lightness
where your bloodstream lies.

When I collapse fingers to yours
fall in empty ache so dreamingly
and collide with intruding starlight,
the empty crow of lust roars
thick for toes all tingly
cooing some modest might.
Amongst seashores
afternoons ache menagerie
cupping love to bones skintight.

When you close your eyes I imagine flowers
a garden of golds for greens and
there can be your eyes.
Beaming bright rain showers
all crisp clean serene
To reprieve our destiny dies,
To cover light with ours,
To mortify machines
and steal away demise.

-Music in Regine, 2008

Canon for a Jaded Love

There's some breathing hiphop from afar
beating your heart
all broken yet bathing in
what's here now.

You're looking like love
like lust
all longing yet here with
what's here now.

And So smoothly suddenly
like flowering rainstorms you grasp,
all pulsing and free before,
me here now

You're not letting go.
So I grip that grasp.
Like love.
Like lust.

There's a stumbling rose
gracing a neck
all wet with what's real aloft
from what's here now.

Your lips can barely move in ecstasy
like a wounded soldier
all for the prize they carry on
to what's here before them.

And you move across the field the chin the charge the breath
like my lips of the dream you've spent loneliness on
battle cry the canons of your bloodstream
come here now.

You're not letting go
of what cannot be real beyond this night.
Like lust
Like love.

- Music in Regine, 2008

Woolf

For twisted toes I can bleed something beautiful
Trickling to trimming to slimming down the ether before you.
Bright and cold.
Shoulder grasps and comfort confronting now
The crescendo, lament
Vibrato and content
Was water so
to turn toes so terrible a white?

-Music in Regine, 2008

Number 21

The sidewalks made like broken bridges
beaming bright our
Brooklyn’s bodies to balmy baseball boys
And the napalm bomb
cannot hurt us now,
only imagine the imagery to injury
and tear the terror from our tears>.

-Music in Regine, 2008

City Day

I felt the cool sidewalk bliss
The cigarette smoke could envelope me
Into this abyss
And carry off and onto the streets
Sweet so soft september in
breezes so unfitting to our season.
The waves secreted something sacred
to reason
amongst our tattle tale thieves
and me
I’ve past so long ago.

For dreams carry nothing on
their backs
no weight, no wait,
no better day
With corner coroners
and sidewalk cafes
comes ethereal humming and strumming
away.

I felt this past, this has to pass
Hotheaded heat
stuttering choking
to speak
of towers just branching,
embarking toward rain.

-Music in Regine, 2008

Smallness

Open trembling nighttime wounds
to sickly sordid dreams we hold
and the tempest wrecking clashing curses
what hides and swaddles in coats from cold

A dress of blue
flow sweet tempting locks
tempered and swayed
the broken matron did carry forth
the treasured tinker box
what with clasps create
some days gone by
some bittersweet yet
on this cusp of a lie

- Music in Regine, 2008