Discounted Poetry

The day before Thanksgiving, I am home attempting a turkey breast for one. The rain is knocking brown from all the trees. I'm used to red and yellow  In the towns I used to live. Not here. Since last time I burnt a bird, A carousel of voices rode through My apartment, Faces and smiles young and vibrant, Conversations simmering and boiling And settled to calm and still. I struggle to remember every name And style of hair that circled, Coloring this room with curly blurry company, A parade of booming drums And timpani and brass That drifted out my window, Washed away from tangled limbs And down the parking lot below. And then, There's you, A ghost who visits Never speaking And never human to return, A bullet left beneath my skin That lights and burns on nights I am alone. - 11/26/25

Down Gervais at night With sandy lights unworldly gold, We walked the bridge beside the wild hungry cars And hoped the drivers were true. No one could hurt us Holding hands as traffic Rolled upon the city shores. The darkness, Even pierced by high beams, Kept the world and all its hopeless frantic travelers A thousand miles away. You kissed me Like a fasting nun, A running refugee, An angel trading glory For a forbidden lover Destined one day to die. I still can lose myself In your stained-glass stare Fracturing mundane headlights and stars Into ethereal beauty. I left a vital part of me On top that bridge so lost Another decade Down Gervais at night. - 11/25/25

Some just put it On a cup And hack the top To spoon the yolk. I knock And crack The shell And gently rinse The bits that cling Away And peel The transparent Skin beneath, But if you puncture The center, You are spilling precious Warm yellow Down the side. You wince To waste A drop. She deeply breathes. She overflows The secrets She never could say. - 11/24/25

Her castle cottage batters back Against the vicious thunderstorm, A basement strewn with gnarled bones, An attic full of apple cores, A phone without a battery... And she cannot be bothered So she shoos the servants away. The tapestries are purple and threadbare Yet reach unto the muddy cobblestones. I'm afraid to leave her there alone, And I am scared to stay with her inside. Her bathtub water's red. I haven't seen the others in a year. - 11/21/25

The brutal wind is numb  To crafting truces. Is this wire Spraying sparks into the gusts? I didn't mean to start that type of fire. I prayed this voltage found a live connection In your powered eyes. I've backed important circuitry Into some favorable positions Playing a naivety at first. Today, I'm bored with futile fusing, Forcing juice through Shorted cabling And patching cords. I want to swallow hot Your animated energy Until you blow, To snatch that active current  Crackling through Your wicked bursting smile. - 11/20/25

The students all left town. The moon is smoking cigarettes again. You breathe, The drop which clings Onto the bottom of the berry, A broken wilderness, A month without a rain. The hall is heavy with the scent Of bubbling lentil chili. The cat we still don't know Who owns Is rubbing down the walls. A folk song is crawling its way Across the ceiling. You say the days have weight, But life is not so long. You need someone to push you in. - 11/19/25

Meeting strangers at the coffeehouse, Collecting samples. The November maladies, The struggles finding hiking trails, Where to put the kids when summer fractions Into a thousand roasted shards, The failing sun. The grounds in the center of the French press Carelessly set aside Are decorating the mild breeze. The younger woman buzzes A charming caffeinated patter Completely unaware. You haven't patience for a drip contraption, Always taking sugar and cream With haste. The automatic brewer sits on top my counter. I haven't used it since July. I told you how in Venice You approach the stand And throw it back like a bourbon shot, Your morning covers, A left swipe, Or used-up lover, Warmth received And gone. - 11/18/25

You never swallow lozenges. You wait and roll Them slickly hours Over your tickled tongue, Richly bringing out Your thirst. They coat you thick. You fight the urge To bite. This room and bed is ours, Never mind the brick exposed. She reads a poem aloud, A broken hunger Bleeding through The humid night, Her reddened mouth still open From the final rounded Vowels. - 11/17/25

The cat outside the window Mews,  Defying the ambience of night. She pauses Fingering a volume bound in vellum And moves so close. "Do you always seek permission?" I could smell her peppermint breath And the vanilla honey scent Within her lengthy curly hair As red as wounds. "I do." Calliope is whispering to me, Although inside selected seconds, Silence proves the most eloquent. - 11/14/25

Toasted chocolate Trespassing over Graham cracker edges. She never cared For marshmallow. She rests her ankle Over mine, Her cheeks are yellow, Roasted in the glow. The smell of firewood Will settle in her hair, Into my pillow, For so many nights. I'll know. - 11/13/25

The muted cream  Of slanted blinds Surrenders to The light at dusk Creatively coloring Your vibrant skin Against my jeans, Relaxed hues Never knowing sin. This is how we drain away, The lying sun, The easy ease Foregoing effort, Empty oaths To try again Tomorrow. - 11/12/25

Maple syrup, Marbled eyes, Euphoria of sorts Before the hour of five. I shift my seat into The fully upright position. I only bloom When agitated. Squirm and snort Or call a physician, There is just a single line And you can't leave it once you're on. Besides, How does one get off the ride Alive? She thinks about her day aloud, A smooth ballet of words, An aria of anxiety And expectation. - 11/7/25

Iron horse that tore an iron trail Still reached the patio Where she deflected blows And smiled as the world Played court. She'd just returned From years in Europe Sporting short and curly hair Surrounding her narrow eyes. A friend invited her To my forty fourth. She confiscated my celebration. Our conversation Tangoed through the hours. She followed me across The midnight avenues Until she stole the lead And boldly took my hand into The dancing factory Where college students Bent, caressed, and stomped half-dressed, Pretending they were in the larger city Near the coastline. She was twenty-three And smuggled me Onto the sweating floor. Beneath the flashes Pastel pink and blue, She poured ice vodka Through my open lips, Massaged her back In tempo In me. Three am, Between Rihanna And Major Lazer, Someone swayed by And wished me happy birthday. Suddenly The flavor of the drinks Aged twenty years And changed, Grew acrid, Stale. I slid away. Occasionally We'd see each other At the ...

You show me to the darkened room And hold up strips still black As butter bubbles In the skillet In the kitchen Inside. You can't redo a shot Just because you will it. Bent above the wash, Awaiting chemicals to kick in, Flipping gently, Turning photos over and over again, I focus on your narrow eye, A sleepy sepia within the amber haze. I smell paprika on your warm accelerating breath. The water trickles slow. The eggs are likely Burning. - 11/5/25

It can simply be The pressure of the air, A subtle atmospheric adjustment, A shifting front Of cooler clouds Now moving in, An errant wind, Perhaps an eye defrosting, Humid bounce of short and curly red, A heated phrase half-thought through Never truly meant or felt Caught fire only by an accident Of proximity, Unknown uncovered Stress that slowly grew The darkest crack Across the ivory pristine eggshell, The other passionate and innocent of cause, Effect. I learned so long ago. You paste it back together. It will never hold as strong Or last forever. - 11/4/25

The blackest bird Is circling low, Watching our resigned endeavors. We're taking down the shelter, Prying battered boards apart in pieces Quite uncertain all the danger's truly passed us over, Unsure the suffering retreated down the road To break us nevermore. Your fire eyes are questions. I hold only empty hands And scattered tears of distant pools That drip my fingers, Make a trail  That always leads to me again. So many books of poetry, So many maps and charts I never memorized Now taunting cruel. A crow (I think) Is pecking at the broken glass. The summer's gone And left us seasonless. - 11/3/25