Some people smile
because they do not know harshness.
Others smile
because they know harshness too well.
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The Solstar shines on,
and I fall before his influence.
The heavy heat
knocks me to my knees.
I struggle to stand,
but cannot quite make it.
They call them
“The dog days of summer”
because even the hounds hide
beneath the boughs of trees.
I am a devotee of the dark,
and spend my sunlit hours
contemplating air conditioning
in cool, quiet places.
And so I wait for winter,
sunburned and sweat-stained,
counting the calendar days
until the temperature
chills the fuck out.
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Man, this heat
has got me beat,
so I tell the sun,
“OK, you won!
I admit defeat!”
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I fear that tomorrow may never come,
the stagnation and eventually entropy of the present,
and while I am aware that nothing lasts forever,
that does not guarantee change.
And even a guarantee of change
is not a promise of positivity,
for the future is like Schrodinger’s Christmas present:
we do not know it until it is unveiled.
To me, the waiting is the worst,
casting my eyes at the calendar
and asking in earnest every – single – day –
if tomorrow will be just like today.
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Window-washin’ all day long
while whistling a cheery song,
and each and every graceful note
helps to keep my heart afloat
and reminds me to stay strong.
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Lately I’ve been feeling
the need for some vigorous sexual healing,
for the kind of salvation that I find
when I’m tangled with someone supine.
Because there’s a peace whose only tender
is a heartfelt sweet surrender,
and once you let that love inside
you’ll grow lush with lust and pride.
Because when another throws you down
and feverishly goes to town,
when you trust enough to let them in,
it’s then that the healing can begin.
And yes, the right person will rip you apart,
but they’ll do it without hurting your heart.
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Savory or sweet,
you’re in for a treat
when you take a bite
out of a crepe tonight
(but try not to overeat).
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Sunshine
lights up my days
like a summer bonfire.
I pass the long hours sweating
until
the daylight begins to wane, and
I lay there shivering
under the pale
moonlight.
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This I know:
you reap what you sow
when you seek an “upstream” life
and invite struggle and strife
rather than going with the flow.
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The night passes
like a cheap whiskey:
it burns me.
It calms me
like a hot shower,
like a sweet dream.
It excites me
like an evening gown,
like a flash of skin.
It frightens me
like a coming storm,
like a night without stars.
It saves me
like a fierce embrace,
like unconditional love.
Like a long draw on a cigarette,
the night passes through me,
and I taste the fire.
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A (wise) man of two faces 