A Small Factory

Outside the window-
the children watch cars, vans, trucks
fill up lanes with soot;

under the floor-
black water, still like stalled automobiles,
their mufflers blowing carbon;

in the floor-
black with flies blanketing
a baby lying on the mat;

home-
a human factory
in two square meters of black space.

Starboard

Tonight my eyes chance upon,
on this starry night, your star's glow
just above the horizon of this plain heart.

You fell onto this orbit, my love's weight
denting space where you spin. I studied you with maps,
to predict your journey across my sky

while sleep agreed to let me be intoxicated
by your sight. Your reflection starboard side,
made me grip the railings

lest I fall,
into love's unmeasured depths.

Alterations

You probably know
what an emptied seat means.
How blinking an eye could miss
the minute changes in the shadows,
and be burdened by what seemed
to be a desertion.

I am still here but yes I've changed
my seats, desiring a viewpoint
on how I can look at things, or you
not with loss of interest, no,
but with never ending wonder
of how you remained the same

despite the alterations
of the visible.

V-Day

Here comes Valentines
like a deadline,
and I've got nothing
to show for a result.

Unable to secure
a scarce resource,
a lover, for example,
it has all been a struggle.

I think I know
what's up for me come V-day-
a pink slip on my desk,
minus the chocolate and roses.

A Promise to Keep

The heart is treacherous, but by it our love we pledged,
wary of its fickleness unraveling what we held.

So, I promise this as God demands of me
to love you with all my mind, will, and integrity.

A poet wrote, 'i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)'.
I will carry yours in mine so you can fill up all its space.

So, declare to me this-
Dilectus meus mihi et ego illi qui*.



* My dear one is mine and I am his.

(w)Age(s)

"Stipendia enim peccati mors gratia autem."
Breath-deprived, the marriage is given up like doves
let go on wedding day. Where before the bride wears white,
now black is the motif, the sun eclipsed by clouds.

Soon, we'll reach the terminal
(si non sola mors me et te separaverit)
but the road is still bumpy up ahead.
We haven't paid ours

but the debt collector will soon find our address
and he might not care about the house or the old car.

Moved by a poem

To agitate the eyes, drive them fast
first here and then over ... there.

Between the distance of a millisecond,
was there consciousness of Newton's law?

To be conscious,
does it require conscience?
or science?
is there a con and a pro?
or a quid pro quo?

Is there a poem incapable
of moving a reader,
their eyes,
by a single letter?
or space?

This poem has traded
its abstract existence
for death.

To Lose Weight

Stepping on the weighing scale
is a sanity check for him
this morning after his head overflowed
with sound bites, moving images
and snapshots of her.

He tried many self-help books
on losing weight, compared the risks
and gain. He agrees it helps to have less
of her clogging his system,

that it takes time to lighten up,
to remove the weight of her arms
around his waist and love handles,
but he will do it the smart way
not looking damaged by the loss.

His new year's resolution:
Lose all of her this year.

Defaulted

This blank paper
is my report

about the poem
I meant to write.

I laid off words
when thoughts defaulted,

sans attachment-
clinical, precise-

to keep the piece afloat
in this difficult time.

But, I failed to live
within my means

and so the rest
had to go.