"The Truth"

"The truth" was the term they used
to slash like knives with insecurity
to voice every close-held fear
to hurl their hurt as accusation

I clicked the remote and tossed it
in one smooth motion rising
striding purposefully to her room
a swath of indignity left in my wake

You've never given me ANYTHING
I feel WORTHLESS when I'm with you
You're the God-damned ADDICTION
that hasn't brought pleasure for YEARS

My pulse quieted, my eyes cleared
and I saw her red-eyed waiting
bleeding quiet rivers of pain
grief her only defense against my rage

I sank into a chair, my mind vacant
like a drunk driver in a car wreck
detached from my fear, idly wondering
if I would ever be okay again.

All New and Updated

To see the final version of my compilation, which also includes a more purposeful sequence, please download the PDF version of "A Testimony to Survival."

Thanks,

Dan

When Love Stopped Weighing Me Down

We are synchronicity
Pattern emerged from chaos
As the winter robes the ground
In crystal lace and ivory furs

You are serendipity
The grinning bias of circumstance
When nocturnal pens joined our Horizons
I did not yet recognize my muse

I am blessed
Which is what Haitians say
When their hearts glow brilliant with hope
And their minds throb thickly with doubt

I am grateful
Which is what the Japanese say
When atonement is less than it seems possible to ask
And more than it seems possible to bear

This is love
I suppose, not the poetry I imagined
Not Shakespearian couplets nor scintillating rhyme
But the steady march of two soldiers.

Here is this metamorphosis
Early struggles of distraction into
Aliens on this third planet
Our home a wasteland of ancient battles

Another Tribute to the Death of Innocence

I’m told hearing is the vibration of tiny hairs
tiny fragile hairs swimming in yellow fluid
twitching and clenching to life’s pounding beat

like the wasted boxer with lifeless eyes
a handful of hits for the knock-out
and every fall is a high-pitched tone
the last shriek of a dying nerve

I remember the stomach-twisting boil
the first hair of innocence tearing away
the pounding of lonely adolescent hearts

two bodies ruined together, forever
waves crashing together, dissipating
writhing in the awful pain of relief

and did my innocence die shrieking,
pawned in the search for connection
sold to the slavery of guilt?

I'd like to think I held something back
that this high-pitched tone of a headache
means there is something left to die

and so I stand careful guard
not daring to inquire too closely
for fear I watch over a tomb.

Returning Home, Wondering if you Feel the Same

you were my ice cream joy
half sugar half symbolism
my heart breathing in
the easy lines of your smile

such joys are made to melt away
to dissolve like innocence
but we stood: together,
destinations alike

and you were the fleeting soul
of every numbered side street
counting down to you; always
to you, always to us. For now,

you are my whiskey joy
the pain I choose to endure
exchanged for those I cannot
distilling years of careful intent

into a young man, empty eyes
and an empty bottle screaming
down the highway, counting,
subtracting every mile marker

from the impossible sum of separation;
this love does not shine brightly enough--
I cannot see it through the mist-- but it is
my Mecca; perhaps enlightenment comes

on arrival. And if I drew
a picture of all happiness
even now I would draw your face
for you, dear, have been all my joys

Armchair

She sits upon her beauty
like a favorite armchair;
no longer a brilliant novelty
from a biological furniture outlet
but a fast friend, old
as the peremptory mistress
with which it came.

And what man could help
but swallow reality in shots
and revel in the impossible
which sprung a dizzy surprise
(like Athena, from the head of Zeus)
into a damnably sober life?

She slept atop her beauty
as if upon an antique loveseat,
arm covers hanging askew
polish worn on the corners
so nothing distracts from that immaculate grain.

And what man could resist,
when divine fortune stretches its hand,
to grasp that hand,
and perhaps even pull the tiniest bit?

She slept upon her beauty,
embracing her pillow with the
carefree affection of sleep

And I watch, paralyzed
by the fragility of this moment

And the depth of its candor.

Love was a Cup of Coffee

Love was a cup of coffee,
hot and bitter and pungent;
it was excitement and relief;
it was our tour guide, our savior.

And we subsisted on it,
happily succumbing to addiction,
laughing when they called us addicts.
Caffeine is but chemical; coffee is more.

Then one day you set it atop the car
and drove off without a thought,
the mug teetering precarious
on every careless corner.

Our love is not waiting, my dear,
though it cools within reach,
every jolt and curve a cut closer
to its end, broken and abandoned.