. . .whispers
fire and brimstone
into your regretfully
attentive ear,
just loud enough
just convincing enough
to drive you mad. . .


. . .step too close
and the notes slide
through spaces
between his fingers,
plunge into wooden floors,
radiate and boil
until silence is gone. . .


. . .the luminous warmth
of an electric device,
a glassy texture
that never dares
to smudge,
the flat and permanent
black of words agreeably
uniform. . .


. . .they're earth fire, crackling
and stinging until
my mouth rips
open, screaming
heat and burning
ether, a painful
joy for once in
this life. . .


. . .I imagine
your trim fingers
fastening earrings,
dabbing daring lips
and wonder if you
found your poetry
there in the dresser
drawer, tasteful and
nestled in velvet-lined boxes
or bottled in prism vials. . .

If you would like to see more of my poetry, just send me a message or friend me, and I'll friend you back.