The Boy With The Kalashnikov Tattoo

he stood apart
waiting for a girl
who smiled, and greeted him
with a kiss on each cheek
her lipstick forming flames
from the barrel
of a gun.

Barbershop

in the barber’s chair
I hear a Turkish love song
played on the scissors

Smoke

that sleep’s care weighs not my eyes
do I count the night in burning wax
and watch the minutes paint the sky
as smoking time which ne’er comes back

Hooray For Hollywood (unfinished)

there’s turtles on North Canyon Drive
and fountains spewing rust
no sunlit silver ghosts survive
beyond the desert’s dust
and on Vine they cross to red
on broken Steinway keys
yet all these movie stars are dead
just whispers in the breeze
that sweeps around the burning palms
under this setting sun
their memories no longer charm
a world that’s all but done.

Red Lace

my dreams are red lace
pulled across the smoothest skin
waiting to be touched

Heed Not

heed not the prophets
as in their zeal they forget
how human we are

When She Wakes

when she wakes
the whole world breaks
into shards
a million shapes
which in countless colours shine
as the night is left behind
and brings forth calico dawn
of patterned sunlight on the morn
a tapestry of passion born

A Storm In January

this storm wails for Hell
let loose all art of demons
to scream through the trees

Older Poems #26 : Firing Squad

In my dream
Goya is painting me
blindfolded
not just I
but also he
and muskets
take aim
and shot through
our brains are we
a coup de grace
of the infinite
eights
varied by Bach

The Patient Demon

quiet sits the angel dark
and on the world makes no remarks
from his red rapacious lips
only mankind’s fate doth drip
for Patience is this demon’s name
and gladly does he wait his time
as man’s own vanity has doomed
his race this angel to consume.