This Door Neither Opens Nor Closes, Mark

I am in the morning thick my eyes

crusted shut in pseudo sleep

lurching into the sunlight your creaky feet on

Our bare pine floor, I know how much

needs to be Done today but That

is in our Future, now there is

coffee, black, brewing on the stove

your blueness shows through your eyelids

I sigh violets on our windowsill

- delicate -

(breakable, like a resolve)

reaching up plumped hands, in a cascade

flurry of bejeweled fingers my flower is crushed

I am in the daylight streaming my wings are

twisted cracking bones puncturing dark flesh

staggering through mundanity in my cubicle

6’ x 8’ and I’m breathless for a Moment

a found half-smoked cigarette, soon

wholly-smoked (my trembling lips)

my grey feet are become so terribly heavy

I am the evening twilight, nothing reigns

sweetness propelling me to conclude

You are there, near the yellow painting of the yellow gourds

about to tell me you love me

I am Ecstatic

heart cavity violetly drained of the wasted day

forbidden lovers : red wine and my tastebuds

assault of tears salted

those damned tannins and I miss you

floating softly on boozebreath and cheap cheese crackers

asleep, now, finally, again

Brain to Page