Nighttime Reading

Flotsam above the bureau;
the mermaid mirror swims,
a butterfly filleting
a timeless abyss of
glinting fairy footfalls.

Rose powdered dusk
rolled over dead in
Goliath chains of
puce dark

A satiny black tulip
opens to reveal
a plume of pale
spirit fire,
a tassel
of golden lion’s

Day breaks the
enchantment of
My eyes break the
glassy transmission
of sight with

s l e e p.


Lips of Croatia,
satiny with rubies
lining the vulva.

Night’s flower is a
crocus shaped
wine chalice
dribbling stars of fire:

ethereal blooms
of violet tint Eros in
the sky.

Borealis, bewitching
and fey, grows a
crystal garden
of emeralds that
are as plumb and
lambent as buttery
Sari silks.

To be kissed
by a feathery mouth
as beautiful sounding
as Croatia is
Tea and Sympathy
in and of
its self.

Monday Fun Day: The Diary Files

Here is a scandalous excerpt from my personal, juicy-licious diary of 2 1/2 years:

Whitish light makes a jigsaw puzzle: a porcelain necklace of sky behind the trees. The soft, supple, bold, fresh color of plant flesh reverberates lowly. The little hands of the profoundly green trees make the sky into a gem of logic:

The sky is a thing of serial beauty: of bone tinctured leather cut outs; of fulgid negative spaces; of mien and curvature akin to the quadratic alphabet: such is the bone sky.

Picket fence white apartment balconies make tire tracks on reality. Between each blanched piano key of the balustrade is a sliver of colorless air; is a [silvered] coffee cake of metaphysical substance.

Every transparent candy-stripe of oxygen hostels sequestered chunks of life: invisible triangular lines ramify, in the lingua franca of [semantic consciousness], the anatomy of a broken house.  Life is broken into [sweetish] pieces, like peanut brittle.