Irene

Red. Bloody red.
I see red and red all over.
Wine red bleached with black,
delicious --
Some times she gets so crazy I
I just want to seize her
Dig my nails into the ball of her shoulder
Pin her against the wall and and
rattle her ding ding dong
Pull on miss goldilocks of the valley
Until she bleeds
Rip from the roots
Torn from the seeds
Until I see       red.
Irene

The Aftermath

I want to sleep but I don’t have the courage to close my eyes
for fear of what I might see when I
open them tomorrow morning

Out the window she stood under that lamp post
with the yellow umbrella I gave her last October
and that green scarf I liked
Her hair in the wind; her brown eyes staring at the gutter
seeing her reflection from the dirt stained ground

 Continue reading "The Aftermath" 
The Aftermath

14 12 18

November 14, snow began to fall
Red sweater, sleeves too long; black pants too short
Three holes in his worn out shoes, a large pair
of frames on his snow clad nose. Ruffled hair
He stared at the closed gates and laughed like an
idiot. She just agreed to his dinner date.

When Diana rested and Apollo
slept, the sky was dark with no stars in sight
He would polish his dad’s black leather shoes,
straighten the bow tie on his penguin suit
Midnight, his hunchback mother would ask, “who
is she? this girl you are off to see?”
 Continue reading "14 12 18" 
14 12 18