Sugar Baby

I’m happy like a fool.

Only fools feel this way.

I’m aware of the fatal attraction emanating like a pheromone.

I’m tumbling in viscous liquid, black and bubbling, and sweeter than maple.

My melancholy candy lasts like a Tootsie Pop and rots teeth faster than a purple Gum Drop.

How many looks does it take?

Just one taste, you can’t recreate.

I’m too much like sugar, and oh so tempting.

It makes the babies addicts on accident.

Little boys that get caught in the pie will suck sticky fingers until they dry.


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Filed under Heartbreak, Poetry

Let Me Be Your Summer Girl

Like tequila salt and lime, I’ll be your

summer girl. Drink me and drive, far far to

a place in the trees, away, we will leave.

Interesting as these green leaves are I

find more interest in whose eyes I am staring.

Love in this summer can’t be merely

a dream. Smoke curls surround us; at last we

have found this beautiful, wonderful thing.

No truer feelings have been felt by we.

sweet hot sun pours on our unmasked bodies

like rum in a bottle upon thirsty

young throats. If love is a folly you can’t

make a hobby, but if love is both known

and shown and grows into habit each two

turn to one and then life is begun. But

oh, heavy topics spoke from your summer

girl, she knows not what she says. Those leaves to

which you seduced her have now reproduced

in her and created such strange and deep

feelings. Summer girls are only for fun.

and that is what I shall be. Take me out,

let’s go dancing in the dark of night be

It horizontally or vertically.

Take me out to the streets, show me each of

the things you’d love to show,

or do, to me. Love me sweetly on the

long orange days; breathe in my happy with

summer haze. Let me be your summer girl.

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Filed under Love, Poetry, Youth

We Don’t Fight Fair

All too familiar tears grace her cheeks
As she resigns to another night
Of sleeplessness and overwhelming desire.
This wanting is twofold, or maybe more.
Should we fight, and settle the score?
Or do we dare allow happiness to restore?
Its only just occurred that this ardor
Is supported by our assaults.
I gladly tangle with our troubles
In order to sustain this inamorata,
The bitter entrenchment in perverse dispute.
One fights with fat tears and wordy spears,
The other with shouts that commandeer.
I bear arms and battle scars to show our
Struggled love. We repel each other with
Fierce partiality, wrestling until yield
Or surrendered, realized truth that hurts
With the pain of unanswered prayers.
Our love is felt though fights.

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Filed under Confusion, Heartbreak, Love, Poetry, Sadess, Youth

I rolled down a hill today.

I rolled down a hill today.
Grass between legs, stinging sweet.
You were there.
singing to me, lulling sanity
back to its rightful place in my mind.
dangerous, we are as we mimic friendship.
insidious is this risky business.

banish those thoughts, its simple innocence.
as pure as the clouds we stared at.

tomorrow we’ll overcompensate in
order to repair the undone damage,
only thoughts, just thoughts brushing
like arms,
like grass on skin
like hands in hair
like electrons in air.

a storm is brewing, one of righteous
delight, mischief and spite, smiles
and kites and infidels stuck tight

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Filed under Confusion, Heartbreak, Love, Poetry, teenage, Youth

I Am a Byproduct

I am a byproduct of beauty. Yet beauty is merely a covering for masses of nerves flowing with the blue blood of those to whom no longer wish my relation. I am a byproduct; the leftover stuff; that stuff which was too imperfect to be final. Excess emotion and recessed revulsion combine for a toxic compulsion to only withdraw. The farther I retreat takes me closer to defeat. The things that compose me are not complete. The same can be said for my runoff being. This beauty is a falsehood, meant to deceive the sleeve wearing heartless. It’s simply something of a second skin hugging too tightly to bones.

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Tragic Tendril of Herself

Like wet heat rises off pavement, she is summer rain.
Steaming but not aflame.
Burning in a black vortex of white and yellow boundaries: sizzle for a little then smoke.
Her smell, not quite acrid, but still stinging like acid.
Her smoke tendrils curl and masquerade as beautiful, simply masking that hot damp sad.
A sadness of steam and solid opacity.
Smoking as she rises, again from the river dark, singing her song of fresh deploration.
She sings of the blackness, pure, paltry and putrid, the stuff of her soul.
She sings of what cannot be escaped.
She sings like the bitter birds after the rain.
A summer shower drenching more than the road.



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Fine, thanks.

Ah, the facade of fine.
Without the lost what would it be? A smattering of letters smashed in a handshake. Only the dammed are fine. The broken, the torn. Fine, with a smile begging for belonging. Oh, just fine, and a side of please care? Look at the lowliest, there you will find fine. Wandering in eyes like cesspools and reaching for your wallet. Fine is a greedy word, used by ones who need but can’t give. Fine just fine and handy dandy. The more gobs of fine you tack on, it’s cousins and siblings, the deeper the root of real. Real pity, and fake worth. Okay, alright…only forms of fine. But fine will always stand alone. Fine doesn’t need anyone- it’s fine.

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