Dreaming High

The light of your cigarette Glows like a burning star; The lawn is getting wet, Our minds dream high and far. My hair is a thousand birds Flying southward down my spine, And when you say those words Your lips taste like red wine.

One Poem

Only one small poem To make everything right; It’s not to show them Any burden is light, Rather a sudden wish To deny I’m foolish. I may lack the will To close a chapter, I linger on. Still. Describe you thereafter, Count words like moments, Imagine your comments. I may badly miss Your candid direct … More One Poem

Meta Poetry

I take reality and turn it into fantasy To get that dreamy boost and some fancy With a surge of heightened emotion Like an inspirational toxic potion

Lilac

Blooming lilac! Out of breath… Why so soon, you fool! Storms will bring you death, The wind is too cool. Five-petal lucky charms Won’t make you immortal; Blossoms in your arms – The weakness of a mortal. – We better die in reckless bloom, In seductive sunbeams and flirting breeze, Only to meet our bittersweet … More Lilac

11/16/2010: II

Hastily, nervously, hurriedly, I found my way through nail polish. Eye shadow and perfume, accordingly. A house inside of me to demolish. Those bricks will fall on the ground For me to tread them down on my way; I’ll listen to every frightening sound, But I will depart, arrive, and stay. The scent of night … More 11/16/2010: II

Like a Villanelle

I’m not a human.   They want to full themselves, Distilled liquors, lollipops, They will fool themselves Call me a lady, see my hips… Let me flow like a liquid! Till the cells are fluid.   I’m not a human.   He pulls me into his spell, But I see through the shell, My mind … More Like a Villanelle

Black Eyes and Black Ice

The blackest of black were thine eyes, Two death valleys of dust and heat. Our bodies danced on black ice, The gravity was strong and sweet.   No fear of the unforgiving ice, The fall won’t affect the grace. I’ll be caught by those eyes, Then brought to black space.

Im Café

Kennst du das Gefühl der nächtlichen Stunde – Gedichte strömen von der Zunge, Der einzige Gedanke – eine Sünde, Und nur noch Fieber in der Lunge? Tränen, die in Salzwasserflüsse Mündeten, und die nicht mal Küsse Linderten, trotz und dank der Glut, Verdammt mein heißes Blut!