Hurrying to dress for work
I grabbed my gray t-shirt
lying on your vanity's plush chair
beside our bed,
put it on beneath my shirt
and scurried out the door

On my way way to work
in heavy traffic
faint aroma of gardenias
tickled at my senses

At work, at my desk
I wondered where
the perfume came from
and in the warehouse
I could not shake
the faint traces
of that sweetness

MASK

I hope that you will understand:
I have no need to win her heart-
I just have years of need to know,
Did she understand the part
Of me she saw so many years ago,
One April night, when time stood still?
She'd looked into an emptiness
That only you have filled…

terrible wish that all will be fine
screaming in a foggy night
without a sound heard
by any ear
but the one in your head

a kind of madness
that sound begets
hardly delicate --
klaxon's shriek of awareness
sounding doom on one note only

sounded first on first day
plays
long through years
'til last day
in human ears

loudest at the end --
then silent
over -- it's over
silence gathers
gladly

everything comes down
to a few moments
of time
in life

VISIONS
(A Journey in Three Acts)

Act-1: The Leaving

To the land of my fathers I now must return:
You know, it’s not that I care to roam.
Leaving you here, by your wheel and your urn-
Leaving love, leaving life, leaving home…
Yet, as evening must follow the morn,
All those visions, once bright, are now gone;
And the dim light of dusk is now turning to dark,
Yet I know that I must carry on-
I must carry on…

Act-2: The Realisation

what where

hour to hour
day to day
on and on
we go
to where sometimes
where
isn’t where it
should be

not really lost
just haven’t found
what where is.

necrosis

seeking my own council
watching clock that only tics for me

writing the dirge to be sung by a silent voice
on my passing

lest I forget
I am not this flesh, these words, or the vow of chastity
I have broken again and again

freelance pedestal of light
illuminates a lost cause

while
perfection glances at its own
faults

counting them on fingers and toes
of amputated limbs
still warm
as necrosis sets in.

vcp

30 November 2010

day was a rasher of bacon
sizzling in too hot a skillet

judge said -- thirty days
next case

I was a greasy spot --
a turd on the tarmac

I felt like ashes.

love is a
a tree
that flowers in
the desert

if it bears no fruit,
its branches
turn to
inevitable dust--

to be blown on
whispering winds
of sadness and grief
so deep,

even angels weep.

gypsy read my palm one day --
. . . boy, you in biiiiiig trouble!

I know that --
tell me something I don't know

before other side comes --
you're going through a world of shit

sounds normal
anything else?

that'll be 20 bucks,

is this where the shit starts?