beauty, love, men, poetry, women

Coffee, with demons.

Being good

Practices

Magic spells to ward old devils away

Being able to leave your phone unattended,

Without the low hum of fear

Running nails down your spine

But no one notices

Because you’re supposed to

And no cookies for the bad boy

Who is being a good man,

Coffee with my devils,

Black, no sugar

But he ladles dessert spoons worth,

Into his

She’s asleep,

Could go through and tell her,

But no, goodness is simpler

And I don’t beg

There is no notion of getting lucky

There is

There isn’t

I know magicians

And she told me about

Compassionate compromise

So, in the wan hours of morning,

Sat and talking,

With my demons,

Educated to a point of refinement,

It is almost invisible.

And the only things cut are

The horns from his head,

But sometimes,

They still sting.

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beauty, love, men, poetry

Paternal Column

All now is father,

Bear the pangs

With aplomb

Voice in the throes of

A roar and how much better

To be heard than to find

No one was listening in the first place

Say less, act more,

A little more kindness and gentle ferocity of spirit,

Here, no hope but action.

And when you find weariness

Has the force of gravity,

I will be your column.

No matter how deep the cracks

Go inwards

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beauty, love, masculinity, poetry

Still

The smoke coils upwards,

Faint and always in the process

Of becoming something else

Invisible to the eye

But sensed

When you’re free to be quiet

I replenish in solitude,

Connect to the self,

As the day rubs its eyes,

Breathes in and if you

Concentrate with the earnestness of

A child’s wish,

You get to breathe with it

Aware,

Playful,

Burdened with the charge of

Dissatisfied hungers,

quiet concerns,

But still,

Still,

Still

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beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

Civil Twilight

Does the soul bruise

Breathe in the chill perfume

Of evening

As civil twilight tips its hat

In my direction

Spent days in comfortable silence

Speaking on the page

Life is a symphony

Some melodies remain

Others added

Some dissonance

Kept and others

Are wrong notes

Useful to remind me

That the trick is to keep playing.

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love, masculinity, poetry, women

Meat, Salt, Water.

Not so much simple

As elegant

Tender to the possibilities

But within myself

A king in his kingdom

Tasted failure more than once

But won’t swallow it

Until the alchemy of determination

Makes it sweet

And made sleek with certainty

Happy without the pofaced rhetoric of

a past where I believed

I knew what happened when you’re

Making other plans

Escaping the idea there was a way to

Have my cake and eat it too

But now there is meat

Salt and water

Strong enough to bear it all

Love until you bruise.

Leave you to sleep and

Watch you

Ache with all the sweet, daft shit

I’m too strong to say

But what you feed in me

Knows.

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love, masculinity, poetry, women

Meat, Salt, Water.

Not so much simple

As elegant

Tender to the possibilities

But within myself

A king in his kingdom

Tasted failure more than once

But won’t swallow it

Until the alchemy of determination

Makes it sweet

And made sleek with certainty

Happy without the pofaced rhetoric of

a past where I believed

I knew what happened when you’re

Making other plans

Escaping the idea there was a way to

Have my cake and eat it too

But now there is meat

Salt and water

Strong enough to bear it all

Love until you bruise.

Leave you to sleep and

Watch you

Ache with all the sweet, daft shit

I’m too strong to say

But what you feed in me

Knows.

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love, men, poetry, women

She loves as we love

Psyche with the blade

At Eros throat

And in so doing

She let things fall apart

And the handmaidens

Became howls and squawking

Because she leaned too far into

The swamp of whispers

Fed by envious sisters

Because they believe they’re doing

The good work of sisterhood

Never satisfied unless beauty

Rubs dirt to mar it

And here Psyche followed

Instructions

From those who envied

But saw it as love

And so her sister ran to

The cliffs edge

Let the winds take a bitch

And Zephyr doesn’t arrive

The rocks delivered them

And in pieces they suffer less

Than Psyche

But of Eros,

He was torn apart

Renewed and torn again

But all in love is fair

And immortal Mother

Waits to bite hard

Psyche between her teeth

And as with the Gods

So it was,

with

Us

But here, my fury

Did not shake the mountains

Nor stirred a single wave

On a single ocean

And yet my own inner divine

Knows such tales return

Wearing different faces

So, shall I invite you in?

Leave the blade blunted

Undrawn

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