Your Kiss is Jazz

Your kiss is jazz in a
dark room full of
smoky shadows
and the breeze
that blows the curtain
quiver crazy
laughter stops,
my breath
tip toe, tingle, tear apart my
tattered soul
folded like
an old
newspaper, words
but still
the same meaning.
shredded like
t he smoky
between our
enrobed in the glow
of the street lamp.
Your kiss is jazz
in a dark room full of
smoky shadows.



800px-Bare_Oak_TreeShe is the light in every room.
She is the shard of glass that dances across the floor
after the bulb has shattered into a million pieces,
all like her but none like her because she dances
and they only fall.
She is the open window and the curtain blowing;
she is the breeze that causes bumps to rise up on your skin
while you sleep in the middle of a naked night.
She is the bead of sweat that forms just below your nose
after the chill is gone and the twilight is torrid and tempered.
She is the morning sun that enters your eyes
when you first wake, and the first word
that pushes its delicate head through the space
between your sleepy lips. She is the inhale that follows.
I am the exhale, the emission,
absorbed into the trees.

Child Runaway

I was a child runaway
inspired by hobos and train hoppers
possessions in a pillowcase
thrown over my shoulder
(no harmonica, though).

The farthest I got
was the strip of woods
at the edge of my cal-de-sac .
I dug a hole to house my goods
and dined on canned pears.

It got colder after sunset
but I had forgotten my jacket.
The bathing suit wouldn’t do
and I couldn’t start the fire.
I went back home and had a bath.

I think next time I run away from home,
I bring along my mother.
She always knew how
to strike a match
and pack a coat
and draw a bath.



My home is by the crystal bell
on the mantle-piece.
     Ornamental treasure,
     porcelain glass. 

I am taken from the shelf
when company comes,
     proud possession, passed
     from hand to hand.

I do nothing but smile,
as there is no other way
     my painted face,
     so pretty.

When the evening is finished,
and all have gone away
     I am returned to my
     solitary pedestal.

The Great Flood (An Homage to Rhythm and Blues)

The Great Flood
Thunder tiptoes up my trembling spine,
intertwining vertebrae, slithering and serpentine,
entering the hollow of my throat.
It makes a great leap forward and manages to escape
through gaps in my clenched teeth,
filling the room with electric vibrato.
I vacillate on unsteady feet as it passes from me
and all of the hair on my body stands erect,
zigzagged, charged, quieting my intellect.
My brain ceases function, I’m at a junction
where my body and my breath join the great energy of the primal sound.
What pours from me in the stream of one long breath
is that which I absorbed through my pores,
and through the great tremor on the floor of the thundering blues.
It was the electrocution by the amplifier cord
that danced across the Muddy Waters and sent the flickering flames
deep into the heart of me, igniting the inner parts of me
with a fire that will refuse to die.
This is an emotional commotion, like a spiritual revival,
where there is no bible and no steeple,
but people quaking and people shaking,
arriving at the Crossroads and falling down on their knees
as the same fire joins the current of their blood.
There is a great flood and two by two the wave takes its victims,
jolting, jarring, and electrifying them,
bolting, sparring, offending and amending them;
it hits them like a runaway train, stun-gunning their brains,
severing the line with the Ball and Chain.
Acoustic feedback reverberates in our souls,
the sweet blues music just rolls and rolls.
We lay flat, dispatched in its path,
emaciated, satiated, and saturated by the great flood.

The Shores of Azemmour

By the shores
of Azemmour,
the fishing boats
sway back – and – forth;
tied to the docks,
their wooden hulls
a hollow thud.

Whitewashed houses emerge
from the sea,
and stretch inward to kiss
the Oum Rabii;
sway back-and-forth;
in their places,
but solid,
along the shores
of Azemmour.


The artist takes
the scene in stride,
with his lady by
his side;
they sway back-and forth
before he vows his love eternal,
like the shores
of Azemmour.