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I am tortured by the loss of a crimson lover,

so silent and still.

His burning cheek against mine.

I feel your lips upon mine,

stealing my breath.

My mouth opens and you are not there.

I drink him with parched throat,

drank his soul and it was good.

You say that you will go, but I don't think so.

The wind says he will go too.

Lying in twisted waves,

you craddle me with phantom limbs.

I sigh and roll over.

The night begins.


Storms at Home- 'Natural Terrorism'

High in the wave-washed sky,

A celestial battle loams.

I hear the distant canons boom

from hill to hill.

The pounding pulse as the horses

run in a wild frenzy across the sky.

A sudden violent flash,

illuminates cruelly the chaos

above and below,

as windows in houses,

stoutly built to withstand any blow, light up

magically, a counter-attack

to the heavenly onslaughter to come.

The air is heavy with the smell of anticipation;

birds drop wounded from the sky

into the healing hands of trees.

Suddenly, the sky howls with rage,

and all is mist and shadows.


Then the battle begins.

Bullets rain down from the heavens,

shot without remorse from a giant's machine gun.

Bombs are loosened from clouds,

falling like diamond meteors,

breaking and slicing the stoney rocks.

It is a violent cooling of the steamed land and people,

as the rain washes away

the blood of a thousand unknows and uncares...

Then the rain slows down

to a gentle and loving touch on the trees,

dripping like a tap just turned off.

The earth gurgles,

swallowing the remaining pools of water thirstily, greedily.

The withered plants cry heavy tears;

relief or weariness, I cannot say.

The last echoes of the mighty duel

rummble omineously in the clearing above.

The trees stop their quivering and the clearing

expands and opens to a splattered sunset,

a child's watercolour painting that was dropped

in a muddy puddle on a cracked driveway.



Cry your tears and loosen the pain

that wraps around your throat like a scarf.

Breathe in the smoke and roll in the ashes,

the ashes that cover your nakedness.

Bathe in its burnt magic and dream...

Dream of fanciful balls,

where gentlemen reside with begowned women of the highest breeding.

Dream of polite halls and sparkles of gold and rainbow.

Dream your dreams of glory and may you never awake

into this world of spilt drinks and drunken brawls.

Innocence is peace of mind.



Pandora, for god's sake, don't open that box!

Don't make these icicle tears

crack off the narrow ledge of my eyes.

You play with your hair so gentle,

fingers so careless and cruel, but free.

Will they free me from the doom you bring?

Your lips quiver with excitement

at this package in your tiny hands.

How damned you are.


Internet Muse

They say no one hears you cry on the internet,

but they are wrong.

Everyone hears you there;

a thousand shoulders extended for a million tears.

Let us leave now and go online.

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