You Make Me Want

Not a poem, really…just a rhyme.

I’ve shown you my soul,
Who I really am.
Do you know what I feel?
Do you give a damn?
Do you think that I’m frontin’?
Well maybe I am.
Might not have balls enough
For playing this jam,
Just know that you make me
Feel more like a man.

I just want to feel
Your skin against mine,
Know how it feels for
Our limbs to entwine,
Don’t know what you think,
But I think it’d feel fine.
You want the same thing?
Just give me a sign.
If I’m overstepping,
Tell me, keep me in line.

We got oceans and decades
And people between us,
No need to worry whether
Somebody seen us,
But I want to be Mars,
Want you to be Venus;
Want to talk to you dirty,
You like it obscene, yes?
Want to feel myself in you
And not just to dream this,

I know this is fantasy,
I’m alright with that.
It don’t have to go both ways,
It’s not tit-for-tat;
I’ll run hot or cold;
You’ll be my thermostat,
Since I can’t be your man
I’ll be your doormat.
I’ll take what I can,
And stay where I’m at.






Right Here

I wrote this as a tweet for the word-prompt ‘belong’. 

I’ll ignore
the clock
the phone
the world beyond
these walls
that here
on this rumpled bed
beside you
is where I belong.


Bourbon, beer, rap & self-loathing…

This viper’s nest
Inside my chest
Can’t be contained
By bone and flesh;
The white-hot flame
Can’t be contained;
Can’t hold the pain
Within this frame.
If I let go and
Let my soul
Overload, overflow,
I’m afraid that
All this rage
Might spring its cage
And I’ll explode.
There’s part of me
That wants to blow,
At the end of my rope,
Just want to let go,
Just don’t know
Why I hang on,
When strength is gone;
This life’s too long.

A Supernova Life

This freestyle poem was created by brainstorming for words and phrases that characterized Paulie Jensen, the antagonist of my WIP novel, Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of Your Fist.  Sort of a ‘word portrait’.

Son of a streetwalker,
Born in the city
On a sweltering night,
Teenage mama high as a kite.
He came into this jungle
Crimson face, fisted hands,
Roaring like a lion cub,
And he never stopped,
Tooth-and-claw to the top.
As a boy he grew,
Head of his crew,
Running wild,
This boy was too cool,
Work of art,
Poisoned dart to the heart.
Young eagle left the nest
Self-possessed, self-obsessed,
Standing out from the rest.
A natural-born hustler
At a tender age;
He hit the stage
Hanging out at the arcade,
Eyes on the men eyeing him–
“Hey, got a quarter for me mister?”
“Yeah, I just might.”
Looks like he’ll sleep in a bed tonight.
Self-employed rentboy,
Swivel-hipped, full-lipped,
Diesel powered,
Loaded gun with a hair-trigger.
All flash and swagger,
A little Al Capone,
A little Mick Jagger,
Chalked up, full cup,
Time bomb with a short fuse,
Pierced nipples, tattoos,
Standing between the bar and men’s room,
The men pay, the ladies swoon.
He’s charismatic, cinematic,
Cocksure, pure porn,
Takes a punch to the face with grace,
Spits blood and smiles.
An alpha dog, a lone wolf,
Little work, a lot of play,
Doing eighty on the freeway,
Speeding by, flying high,
Both ends of his candle
Burning like headlights.
Fire can’t burn too long so bright.
He’s gonna go down like Lucifer.

And when his fire’s out
He’ll leave a circle of ashes
That’ll blow away.
A supernova life,
Gone without a trace.

Not at First Sight


Adolescent companions,

Under summer constellations

We star-gazed our futures;

Spliffs and cheap wine by the lake,

I knew your features like my own.

So how did I not see you?

Late afternoon, autumn chill,

Sunlight though maples

Like fire against the sky,

And suddenly you were there—completely.

And suddenly I wanted you like nothing else.

You smiled in spite of the long waiting,

Unfolding like a mystery before me,

My eyes finally open, your secrets revealed,

That first kiss stole my breath away.