"Indoor fireworks can still burn your fingers."
..... Elvis Costello


Kabir speaks of the restlessness of being
lonely, his lover away.
When here, you were the absence of absence.
When I loved you.
Your face was alight
with passion, yet in each of your perfect blue
eyes I saw the me
you could do without. I am gone now, and
you, where are you? Holding
someone else's heart in your long-fingered hand,
squeezing it as if it were the
erect object with which men show their desire.





Traveling by our Lights

Insomnia, my
Little boil,
walk with me
through the rabbit
fields as the
moon polishes
the silver
it hides
from thieves
and miscreants.
That star, the
one to the left of
our signs,
tells me that we
are the only souls
awake in the
whole world,
bloodied by the
continued insistence
of the sun,
shadowed by a
stubborn need
to show everything
in its best light.
Or put another way,
its worst light.
Insomnia, my
little bubble,
talk to me as if
I am a child
because what's
happened is
that I have be-
come that child
again, seemingly
helpless and full
of worrisome words.






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