Weekend Pity Party

She's draped in my doubts as I long to undress them,

from a wound never healing into halfhearted gestures.

I fall slowly forward and down into dirty,

with a mind left unleashed from the tether of passion.

I'm a parking lot sun drenched but empty and cracking,

and a foundation fallen from the weight of my weakness.

She's luminescence incarnate on the path toward redemption,

or maybe just a reflection of salvation's illusion.



Writhing in a poisonous lust of my making,

from dreams lit to lightning but lost at my leisure.

Friday to Sunday thinking one day turns to some day,

left to contemplate Monday with a life living death.

Jane into the Now

She walks past, tense; into the now, oblique.

Dressed darker than damaged

in winter's last vestige,

she refracts light bent back inward,

luminescent from within.

But I feel it, her radiance;

I sense it without perception,

a welcome change to be swayed

back out of my head.

She rains down reason on me without words,

laughing softer than sane

and warm to my weird.

Shot with a tremble and her world weary sigh,

she slays me spent

toward past feigned redemptions.

Still, clawing need and knotted nerves

tear me up when we touch,

only at long last dissipating through

into her pools of blackened blue

while the Velvets serenade

on a rage of New York cool,

reflecting back a fragment

of the essence of her smile.