And For My Next Trick …Happiness

Sad songs soothe me, whether summer days spent soaking in the sun, or winters shut up indoors enveloped in a good book, warm blankets, hot tea,
My soul only knows despair with short intervals of joy.
Madness, maybe,
But you can recharge my battery in the woods, the forest floor my corridor to some unexplained source of vitality.
That or let me breathe in salty ocean air,
Drown my old self in the cold, dark, blue of the Pacific,
Rise from the waves anew.
Born again and again in and out of your arms, watch me take off
like Apollo 11.

Balancing the day and the night, the light and the darkness, emotion and might.

Couronne Moi

Days swell into nights,

We toil away cloaked in civility.

No respite from this hunger,

Soaks into my skin like the last days of summer.

Coiffed and poised for a total takeover,

Obstacles, slowly but surely devoured.

Power in my sights,

Read my eyes.

8/28/18

Budapest’s very own, Terror House Magazine published two of my original works today. Huge thanks to editor, Matt Forney!

Click the link below to read the poems in question and discover more from Terror House:

Hephaestion

Downtown sparkled
while the perseids kissed the night sky

Mars blazed
but summer heat gave way to cool breeze

Just dirt and a picnic blanket
yet it felt like the very definition of magic

Almost five years now
and still under your spell

Quiet

bathing in the silence
solitude from room to room
he’s naked and reclining, like a Toulouse-Lautrec
lips bitten raw, skin clawed
recounting the origins of old scars
places gone
time lost
soaking in a glass of Malbec
soaking up the emptiness

wade through the emptiness with me, into the dark, absent of thought

nous verrons ce qu’il y a de l’autre côté

Thirst

smoke-filled lungs sigh heavy
anticipation sewn through
soft flesh
into tendon
knicking at bone
bound and restrained yet
torrents of
desire
tenderness
love
pour out sideways
washing over every nerve
every road
lapping up all dread
all passion
power exuding from every second of surrender
ecstacy in its acceptance
“it is always by way of pain
that one arrives at pleasure”

guilt rises, subsides
a dark curiousity gnaws away at your insides

ç’est trop tard se retourner

Heat

hot sleepless nights
sweat trickling from every pore
shiftless in the daylight
in the evening, nerves trembling with trepidation, with excitement

freshly washed bodies swaying in the breeze like jarcanda blossoms
two electrodes sharing a thousand volts with one look
crashing into each other from the heavens
a hailstrom, a meteor shower
an ever burning flame