In small yards, behind walls, that were built and forgotten, in trashcans…the fallen leaves were quietly burnt. Arid smoke, climbed as earnestly as late October vines. Ask me, but I forget, what the color of smoke meant, a newly elected pope…fog…an emergency or a the last cigarette of a lover perhaps. So many meaningless things to remember, in one life. If they all were only tell-tale facts, not having to witness the truth easily replaced by what was imagined took place Each of the essentials are spun thread less- almost barely visible…one for Fate’s cut, all the same length, the body, a strand of hair, a leaf, all share the condemned of what the neighbors claim, they saw and then again, who said what? The other is envy, surely that was what you meant to burn in Fall. It was openly talked about for months, behind closed walls as well, people who live there in some other land that might as well not exist at all, offer tea or something warm on these cold days, kindness, caring as a petty trepidation, an ignorant thought, please go away, or why don’t you stay? For all your provenance I always sensed the moment you filled the air from where you come, never leaves the fear of finding yourself, knocking at some stranger’s door.

I thought I heard your voice come through the door, of the Church with the statue of a woman, who has a halo above her head, whose face seemed to know, the crippled man who sold flowers wrapped in plastic, so their petals would not open, until someone out of charity or love, bought a dozen, to place upon a table where an empty vase had been waiting, or perhaps into unexpected arms that would land softly on an open kiss, maybe that’s not it at all, it might have been, for the person that lived alone, in a building, filled with some familiar odor, and music from a record player which crooned a forgotten story of a man who fell in love with a beautiful woman who left to go far away, as he sings his sad tale of what he should have said, his voice resonates clear above the background of laughter, coming from somewhere else on the stairs, that lead to the tar roof and the rusted antennas, which sway to the cadence of coos from pigeons flying down to perch on the halo, of the woman holding in her hand a heart with a bracelet of thorns around it, and a knowing smile, as I walk away with flowers that have yet to be unfolded.

La flor crece salvaje y el corazón salvaje llega a ser doméstico mientras que ella sonríe su sonrisa jaguar pequeña de la sonrisa Ella es una pimienta. La pimienta comienza como flor. Ella, un fuego de un beso . Ella, el agua fresca bebida rápidamente. Understand and see this? It looks just like a finger, But it isn’t this is the one thing this man wants In your mouth, in your ear and God only knows where This beautiful creature suddenly appeared from those eyes Su conversación La esquina de la sorpresa Las historias de Y mi corazon sin la flor There was the lover she de- parted one testicle, but he had only one. The other five kids, she only wants nine. There was the call from her mother; "Who are you with? What are you doing." I am with an old friend, I am eating salad I am not that old, we met two days ago and she normally doesnt eat salad. Her mother she said, once stood there with a kitchen knife. I note that, only because my heart is sensitive, vulnerable, as veterans are, honored with medals of bravery, courage, and a multitude of scars to prove they have been wounded more than once but never gave up the fight of hoping they would die sweetly in her smile a peony against a sapphire sky in a light breeze, gently moving not to disturb the petals not making a single one fall, instead lifts so slightly the trim of her skirt revealing her, navel azure star, a hidden arbor, arching limbs, and a possibility that exist filled with lush foliage reading its shade as a respite against the heat of the summer sun Los caminos son sin fin Una cruz de la oscuridad Un corazón de ninguna vuelta que he alcanzado Debajo de un árbol de susurros O aún Cristo como Rabbino Bella del bronceado, Su vestido de algodón blanco y de la sombra Cuántas veces cepillado contra mí Dejandose toda al aire Denuda de flor y brisa Iluminado y no la he visto antes ¿Sus palabras interminables, mi amor? Me acostaré al lado de usted en la cortina de un árbol y del lado de un museo de arte We debate ancient Egyptian nipples, I say the heat makes them hard She claims it is the cold, But concedes in warm weather, many women do not wear bras or wear bras that reveal nipples. She hates man that stare or start conversations beginning with the weather. I hope she doesn’t think I like only nipples, there is so much more to her. Seria una paloma amarrada Sus pechos, dos polomas desnudas y amarrada A mis ojos de mi corazón, mi murmur del vino Mi amor busca pura locura de brisa She takes me to more jewelry and shoes than my mind can wear there is more time with her my heart still begging to be dragged along . Qué hace que el corazón sabe para comer, la flor o la pimienta, o yo, el que ha sido comido por su sonrisa?

The church is dark save the candles that reflect off the silver and gold icons The icon of Christ is covered in a deep purple cloth This night is not symbolic of his death It represents his travel into Hades to redeem the souls at rest She bestows upon me a crown of kisses, That bleed down my face Position 61 was just another place on a map, I don’t know its real name My group of 21 men was sent to support a unit of 45 in full retreat. The voice of the priest is hushed and the reader echoes back the prayers with a bit of melancholy in the tone and retort of his gentile voice She holds my hand, understanding the wounds masked are yet unhealed Places them together, each its own madden and vesper combined When we arrived we took up positions, on my left flank I could count 90 NV coming across On my right flank I counted 85, not good against 66 men who stood in their way. It would be minutes before we would be inescapably surrounded The purple cloths would remain on the icons for three days, at exactly 12 mid-nights the cloths would be lifted to reveal the white and gold ones beneath She bathes with her long hair, my feet, pierced, broken and put together again so many times in my life. I stayed behind to call in an air-strike. My Lt. Spencer came to fetch me for disobeying orders to pull back. He wasn’t more than 20 feet away when he was hit dead on by a mortar shell, evaporating him into a ball of fire, sinew and shattered bone. The blast sent me flying and buried me beneath a mound of debris. At midnight the faithful will rejoice loudly saying; “Khristos, voskrese, voistinnu voskrese! Christ has risen, truly he has risen!” She embraces this flesh of mine as if it were real; she cares for me in my times of need. Some would say it was miraculous that: the enemy did not find me, or I did not die from wounds lying in the jungle for three days, or that the pilot found me through the dense canopy. One of my buddies who died in the World Trade Center used to tell me; “Do you realize that it all happened Easter week? My friend, you have been truly resurrected, why are you still trying to kill yourself then? At the highest point of rejoicing, all the lights of the church are turned on. I will, as I always do, leave before it happens. For a man that has no religion moves from one dim place to another For he has swallowed the sun. And fears not his own death for mortality is meaningless. I try to make her understand. She doesn’t, she just loves me and I just worship.

For my friends: Miriam's and John's patience the last scream is silently sewn on the cornice of her dream of all yet to go beneath the barges and tugs churning the river coffee mud in bowels of ladled molasses, and soupspoons of remorse when she dove from the bridge leaving hope bending over the railing politely puking ; "What about me? I've been your friend for years, now you just let me go as if I was lint in the breeze." she could have worn a dress blown lightly as swans do gracefully bow instead of jumping feet first to then looking back in full regret on her bed of stolen seaweed taken by those who wear white jackets, orderly, doctor big beefy nurse (thrown in just to torment her) 'It's alright, we'll make you better. Soon you'll be able to watch TV. blue as a wedding dress she wore Neptune's overtures to his new bride to tie the knot, fathom that fished up from the ocean without a belly she could not hide anywhere inside 'We'll keep you here for your own good, if you're good that is? said the voices in her head "When you're bad we'll set you free You'll sea, the mermaid again and never more the pigeons feet On beams above the bridge."

I would do anything to be with you I'd join the sanitation department at some seaside resort so I could have a job, and live there. I'd throw the plastic bags into the garbage while catching a glance of your hair in the morning light set against the landscape of the sea. I'd memorize where you left your footprints in the sand and remember the sound your feet made as they walked along the creosote wooden planks. I want to step into a diner, (the kind that stays open long after the vacation season ends) and have people say; "That's the garbage man." He'll break your heart in a second, crack your soul as an egg, fry it in the grease of bacon on one of those long flat grills. I'd wear a white hat and grease stained apron, just to serve you, something hot, even if it was just tea you might ask for sugar and I'd smile as I put it down I'd go back to slinging hash-browns, making meters to my verse, try to find the words I'd want say to you, I'd wipe the sweat off my face with my sleeve, making you believe it was the heat. I'd watch your hair splash with the wind, and you would hold on to your cap as you compete with the ocean, the next wave would crest. You'd wear sandals that were black and lace, a treasure you plucked from a vendor's stall amidst the morning prayers of barkers hawking their wears and games, above the pilings, which hold up the pier below I'd be looking up watching you pass by me some concession wedged between the one that sells Italian sausage, fried peppers, onions on bread and the wheel of red numbers that click as if they're baseball cards, stuck in the spokes of a bicycle, slowly you would begin to notice me that person out-of the ordinary, distinct from the out-of-towners, or passersby, strolling stopping to stare with an amused glance, at the me playing the spoons, wearing a bright yellow suit, a rich blue shirt, a scarlet lake tie, a black slightly brimmed hat, with perhaps a parrot that preens the feather in the band of my hat as I sit there belting out my ballads; "Come lady step right up take a chance!? ?Go for the thrill of your lifetime." I'd take your ticket, strap you in, let you climb onto the saddle of a stallion with a bit in its mouth, going up and down one of your hands reaching to grasp the prize the other hand holding up in the air a taffy apple on a stick at the same time you'd be trying to lick your fingers, from the melted caramel that dripped down on your bronzed well-oiled skin how desperately you'd try not to get nuts stuck in your teeth you would want to go on every ride, everything that gyrates or defies gravity you'd want to be in the first car that reaches the peak, at the very moment it's paused to descend, and plunge inward towards the ocean calculated as a gull snatch- ing a mussel with its beak. You would find yourself in the evening where the carnival lights are strung along. Barefooted you would come to hear me play the accordion, be drawn into its song, be in awe of the way my fingers know each key without looking, your breath pacing the bellows moving back and forth, your breasts heaving as waves, you'd legs squeezing together tightly, each crashing on the shore, feet and toes wiggling in the foam, lingering for awhile until the morning light comes and I have to get up to throw the discarded plastic amusement bags in the garbage.

They will be the opening and closing Of a subway door Making every stop Locally, Sometimes on elevated tracks Above rooftops and tar Or Past the windows where people live Together as singular forms Wrought from the throngs We all Maneuver away from daily. Those people have something Or someone They can share Their lives with The television A meal A yawn A bed All the dust that has settled in their sleep Has made them forget Why they wandered Away with a stranger In the first place Where the scenery always changes It retains its commonality Undisturbed for decades Buried along with the realization We're still walking with A stranger I will know My lover Only when I see them Coming As affordable as a fare We'll take that ride A final destination To arrive at What we both have predetermined

i am a heterosexual Meaning I like the opposite sex, for me being a male , its women. Although I have had my ass grabbed by gay men; it doesn't bother me, it makes me feel my sexual appeal supercedes one gender. I like vaginas, I not quite sure why my brain finds them visually stimulating, and they must taste good, unlike Susan Liss, hers tasted like pot roast cooked in cod liver oil with Ivory soap marinade. Fancy scents don't do much for me, just as frilly or gimmicky sex wear doesn't either , I want to see women naked, unless they're wearing only six-inch spiked heels that are embedded in my chest. I am not into handcuffs, whips or especial leather, I had a bad sexual experience with a cow once, and til this day she still doesn't moo when she sees me coming. Behinds are fine, as long as they are not flat or bigger than I am. Most breasts will do, except for Susan Liss, she had ones that looked like tired old teddy bears gone bad. I like to suck and lick and just as much as I like someone doing the same to me, I like women who don't choke or spit-out semen on my clean sheets. I do not like water-resistant lubricants, they tend to leave oily stains on the bed. I love women that bite, leaving sets of teeth, black and blue marks on me. I love women that have strong inner thigh muscles and vaginas that can squeeze the juice out of an orange. I adore women who can wrap their calves around my neck applying pressure without making me pass out. I like surprises, a mouth full of ice cubes, or some Rush under my nose will do, before I have an orgasm. I am especially fond of women who stuff chocolate liqueur truffles that will melt at 73 degrees up themselves. I like forceful women, as long as they have some social or sexual appeal and don't want cut some vital organ part out of me. I don't fuck women that are a 100 pounds heavier than me; since I have a bad spine and like my women on top. I aunt into whores, had enough of those in the Navy. Nor do I like women who find it appealing to talk dirty, saying things like; Hey big boy fuck me harder. Hey , I am an average guy, not a supermarket ride, and I'll never put quarters up someone's slot Most locations to have sex will do, but truthfully sandy beaches gets a bit abrasive on my male member. I'm into woman that like anal sex and put an occasional finger up my rectum, I'm not sure if that means I have laden homosexual tendencies but at my age I ain't gonna find out, I'll wait until I am older and forgetful, at that point if I can still get any sex or even have sex , anything will do. In fact I am not sure what being a heterosexual implies For me its all of the above, and I never, never get sex confused with love.

There is a numeric keypad but I don't know astrology or the combination as it comes slowly first eye contact then becoming a smile unlocks the door begins the opening, Lines meaning full well put Your butt down "Please have a seat." in the polite voice bodiless and obscured behind a barrier, the head speaks as an oversized spherical glass bowl sits on its cold circular marble counter with a live orchid in full bloom, delicate petals curving to the left of where I sit, to her right is a curved wall and a blue light bulb cleverly hidden, it doesn't obstruct the view of the blank wall a tranquil and smooth gradation from cerulean into pure pristine white ‘I see a snowfield and a clear cloudless sky . I know beneath the snow is a field of grasses, wildflowers, and a young sapling struggling hard to grow up in the atmosphere of spring, the air is pronounced with the smell of fresh rain, and a red-winged black bird cawing earnestly for a mate I see her the most beautiful precious thing in my life, I run towards her, open armed, just like in the movies, the sky suddenly grows dark, lightning bolts strike the ground igniting the field into a raging wildfire, disturbing a huge flock of menacing crows angry, enraged fly down and peck my eyes out. She smiles at me again and calmly says; " The psychologist will be out to see you in a second " As I am waiting , I read a magazine about a faraway impending war.

See Jack See Jill See Jack and Jill Go up the hill On their way to school One day See Jack suffer from sociopathic - manic -bipolar - attention -deficit sudden - rage - disorder See Jack's backpack filled with guns taken from his uncle Joe's Gun Shop See Jack shoot all his classmates BANG- BANG- BANG- See the children all fall down on the ground DEAD See Jack before the judge See Jack tried as an adult See Jack get the death sentence See Jack's Parents cry Boo-hoo-hoo, Boo-hoo-hoo, See many parents cry See the smiling NRA See the smiling NRA try to persuade the slime sucking, two face, dog shit picking, Congress and President Not to pass a gun control bill See Jill See Jill get killed See the smiling sniper See you Bang-Bang-Bang See-no gun control!

Secrets rusting from tears unshed A weakened love that has been left un-fed I don't remember writing that stuff, Most of my memories fade when they're still not old now I wished for you To understand my love I love you as an affliction Perhaps to much has gone by When I think I have distanced myself from my past There is always something to bring back the lame little Italian Ice vendor who drags one crippled foot moves slowly up the street his hitting hooves replaced by quiet tires of a white truck the one with italicized words "Real Italian Ices" the word ICES painted with imitation snow (used imagination) to cap each word with that beckoning song Played repetitiously over and over the long last summer light of day Wedged between the cadence of dying cicadas those notes were struck by a toy piano , I owned when I was a boy I remember I liked one flavored the most The one colored Fall's early evening sky The one that made my tongue turn violet the thrill to chase the girls Hanging it out, yelling; "I am a one eyed purple people eater. I am the monster that's going to eat you!" and all the girls ran away Or worse, changed into women, But for the most I ate my fill And the rest turned down wrong streets on late summer nights, finding those ice cream trucks behind a fence Sleeping like sheep I know these are my memories I have neglected Too bury deep So hauntingly You rise up to greet me and we embrace while I wish you would understand How much I love you and how it has afflicted me.