Ambivalent Ghost

Creep close my ambivalent ghost

nothing you do is permanent.

White sheets, a window to the coast

offering false peace, turbulent.

Dissonance floods my shipwrecked head

wannabe autonomy lulled.

A broken camcorders thirst to be fed.

It thanks its destroyer now hulled.

Grateful now it's been several days

My mind at ease, no more solid smack.

Life's much different without your haze 

Ambivalent ghost I need you back.

Distant Lights

The Earth is in a well lit bedroom,

looking outside a window into the dark,

seeing only the lights that shine back.

The Moon outside reflects
that candlelight that you use to read,
turning the pages as your eyelids sink.

Dead Earth Blues

Earth is on his deathbed.

I lumber through his withered veins,

hoping that if my warmth reaches far enough

he may recover from his wintry disposition.

But antibodies travel with me,

wreaking ruin as they pass through

each forlorn facility that his once regal body held.

It is unfair to call their arrival apocalyptic

for they were here from the beginning,

and so long may it continue.

Death is a fact of life,

just as repair is a reply to ruin.

Though Earth is in the Winter of existence,

I can't help but feel hopeful

of shaking off these litter-like blues

and seeing out one more

Spring.

Lingering Festivities

There are few things more forlorn

than a Christmas tree left too long after festivities.

Like a reminder of  failures from the years, they drop dried needles

and disperse around the floor into places you won't find for months

and months

and maybe years later

so that when you do

pine scent, fresh as new, will assault you

like the memories of the past that haunt you in those 

gray quiet moments

before sleep.

Wrapped Up

Girls in their winter clothes,

a tree's falling leaves,

shade from the sunset,

a cold windy breeze,

the moon's somber face

a shadow's dim light...

the things that I love in life

never do shine bright

A song whispered sullenly;

the sun's gentle flare,

soft snowy fields of white,

and long flowing hair.

A night's somber cold embrace

a distant church bell.

My mind slowly crumbling,

my thoughts locked in cell.

For all the thoughts that I've fought

and all I might as well.

For all the care that disappears

and passion that's been quelled.

No more time to stand around,

no more time to grieve

for girls in their winter clothes

and trees' falling leaves.

Warm Wires in Winter

Alcohol, narcotics and prayers flavour the falling of night.

Our talk of games a game too, of a sort,

smirking dance swirling inwards,

skilled balance and mirroring of feet's skittish friction.

Your hair descends in waves I long to twirl and surf.

Your soul glows warm and woozy in my orbit.

Your pouty lips and gleaming bright eyes beckon

to realms purely sumptuous and light,

full of intangible glows and stampeding butterflies.

As our lips meet, sweet confidence decimates regrets

that could have been, grasped like tattered rags

by those too blind or quivering to act.

I hold you close, your charms now tangible, in grasp,

your lilting laughs and deftly wicked winks pepper the wind,

gusting across rusty heartstrings,

stirring from slumber groggy half-dreaming sentiment.

I feel a melting, melding into intimacies unmapped.

Yet each moment of contact must end.

Banter and power remain,

and yet I long again for that glowing coal of you, you,

a true you to warm tingling fingertips,

that secret soulful sphere of self you keep so safe, so guarded,

yet shines through like a jewel in your smile.