Dots On My Astronomy Chart

To a dedicated astronomer,His Planets,Suns And stars are his family. He lives In them,Ice-skates

On their Rings,Dines with their hitherto unknown inhabitants. He charts their course,and he Pins

Them down lovingly,pointing to where they stand proud,and look upon him,as he fancies,as part of

their family. I looked at the balls of fire last night,shaking with laughter and winking,enigmatic,yet

So familiar. They soon dissolved,in their stead,there came to my soothed senses,the faces of those

I See awake in my slumber. They laugh with me,they laugh at me;They cry with me,but not at me;they bring me memories of the days of pants which would now serve as mere underwear. One reminds me of the pangs and turns of my heart,the humanness of my body,the being of myself,

And I kiss It In gratefulness,to know I still feel,to know My soul smolders within me...

...The scene shifts back to the inky ocean above me,with distant lighthouses twinkling. I looked at my image reflected against the orbs,and It looked back,winking benignly now,even knowingly. In it's eyes I read myself,and the fireballs around it smiled-They had plotted for me my astronomy chart-My path around those I orbit..

An Obituary..

He'd had no grand send off,

He lay forgotten amongst

The Freshly minted grass;

Frost lying deep upon

His bony heart,

Wrought thin..

They hadn't come

to wave him away,

Say a mean:

"adieu,mon ami";

For of these he'd had none-

who would mark the

Stone with One drop

Of salt..

And there he lies,to this day,

Frozen,though it be warm;

Gentle face tense,

curled ears

Strained to Hear,

A grain of wistfulness

Of some true remembrance,

From a ghost of Christmas Past..

Scent

It lingered,

Pervading the pores of my

furniture,and painting my hair

lilac..

A little implausible notion

Stirred In my forebrain..

It comes from within,

But NOT without..

I release the shackles of my tongue

and taste the virgin flavour

Of wanton dreams,

that the perfume carried on its

Wingless flight..

And sank into a gentle oblivion

Of thoughts foretold but never

acknowledged..

I'd know it now in any gathering,

Of smells and sights and sounds,

It'll strike my senses and make me

aware of how insignificant my material

Lies..

But I'll know they can't take it from me

Not in a thousand years,

I'll be lain in slumber,

But I'll always have,

That lingering essence in every smile..

Nausea

Tossing and turning,In his little Green Ocean,He felt a hand on his shoulder..Above him,the sky glowed a sinister silver,yet

Spotless blue..A mix of iridescence One cannot describe..He ruffled his feathers,and unzipped his jacket,and Put on a much

warmer woolen overcoat. He dug his hands in deep and pulled out some yellow fragment of a page. It was sort of triangular,but

with slight perforations,flaky-a morsel of a past long forgotten..And he wondered how he could have become such a masochist,

Wandering the moory edges of his imagination..A grey spectral existence..And then he looked down at the grave..His own

wrecked brain had played horse polo with his guts..The rough waters of his thought had played with him,pulling out weedy green

splinters from his once-shiny speedboat..He recalled,and there flashed a rare moment of animal relish at how this had all

come to pass,His name on that grave he saw clearly..And then he shuddered,wiped the corners of his slightly pale mouth,coming

away with vomit,He hadn't done it really,he could never have...

Wordless

I stared at the
Crackling charcoal fire,
And I looked into it's
Emerald green eyes,
it spoke to me of
Truths untold,
And Lit My spirit,
Like a log,
In a dry haystack,
And I was ripped asunder,
tortured by the felons
As I sat,Grim,wordless,
gripped by a strange
Mirthless laughter...

He was cross with himself

And He crumbled on

Himself,Asking a simple

Question..If I'd been born

Under the Sun,

And Not the Moon,

would it be different..

It was all but a step,and the

Rock's rolled down,

He would rather live a breath more

But dare not..

For may misfortunes strike him

Not again,He'll be beyond

The hands of His demons

He blamed his fate,His

Trailing scent,he said,

Freeing Himself,

He'd sniff the Oblivion

Of fresh-malted brew..

And he threw a last half-smile,

laconically reflecting,on

His life of travails,

And flicked away his shoes..

He chose his way,

And he'd not be deterred;

For once,he'd made his fate,

And he'd known the result...

Singed Hair

I smelt the burn,Dry and smoking at the corners,suppressing a greater fire. I dreamt,I Fancied,

A faraway tree,with a faraway Castle..Treasure troves by the gallon..Paper Sesterii,Glass gemstones,bronze gold, Copper Diamonds..I picked 'em up,and loaded 'em In..The sacks I conjured..The Pictures on the wall of greying Infants,they screamed to me,"Lay down Coward,You see not the trickery?"..I let out a resounding High-pitched sound..You'll never catch me now..I've got away with it..I'm rich and I'm Debauched,I'm Wholly Unsound..I'll get away with all..I'll do,You'll see...

And then I started,I saw the smoke,it Came from my head..As I dozed and the candle communed with my hair,and I felt repugnance..My own torrid desires,flashed to me in a dream,Licking My temples..

Yet the glow remained,reflected in the dying embers of an orange-blue sooty taper,I saw the pallor,saw a gleam of that consumption that made me human...Saw those dreams of lust and suddenness, Which the candle now told me were real..

Madeira In Buttercup

A tip and a swig,

And a gentle swirling Whirlpool,

of sanguinous iridescence,

Of Calypsos and Champs-de-elysees,

Images,and wondering Laughter..

The semi-dry aroma of Lilacs

And Yeast,Of Elderflower

Drooping on a hot summer evening,

With vapour and Honeydew,

On the Wet wings of a Buzzard's blue drones...

I'd be gentle with her-Passionate,More like;

I'll take in the flavour,the warmth and

the Might,

And she's brew me a

Reverie,or maybe consciousness....

Crestfallen

He looked out the window..glassy-eyed,searching for some unseen deliverance.He sighed..and looked away,and around him again. On the clean old pillowcase he saw the childhood memories,once again,in that one drying tear. He was part of oblivion to them now..they perhaps never thought of him anymore. He was no more than a shadow,lost in the bitter travails of a merciless,gaunt lifetime. He stared at his reflection,grey and tired.Looked at his hands and let out a low,almost inaudible desire in his drawn-out exhalation..He wanted to turn over the sand in the hourglass,he wanted to return,to redeem,to reclaim. He realized..there could be no redemption. He was crestfallen.