Hard cold sweat beads dribble down the frame of my face
My mind in a frantic race against time.
Will I make it?
Will it be too late?
My body rounds the corner at full force,
smashing into nurses,
the contents of their trays now sprawled throughout the hallway.
No time to stop.
I must keep moving.
I make my way to the elevator,
too crowded, I head for the stairs.
Never stopping,
faster! faster!
Fifth floor.
sixth.
seventh.
eighth.
As I reach the ninth floor, I begin to sprint.
Not stopping.
All heads turn in my direction.
I am almost there.
Room 201.
202.
203.
As the spray painted silver numbers 204 flash in front of my face,
I bound through the door.
I am instantly numb.
The sight of you in a hospital bed,nearly lifeless, pale, and fragile, brings me to my knees.
Just a couples weeks earlier you were so full of energy, so.. happy.
As I walk closer to your bedside,
the full image comes into focus.
Laying there so still, so quiet, any slight change of breath would be noticed.
You have no hair.
A place where once my fingers loved to graze,
a place filled with endless complements,
Hair so blonde it would make the sun jealous.
I weep at your bedside.
Memories streaming down my cheeks,
drowned in the salt water flowing from my eyes.
I take your hand.
So cold, but yet so normal.
The one thing untouched by the cancer.
Your long fingernails, perfectly painted just the way you like it.
I gently kiss your hand.
You dont move, or even open your eyes.
But sure enough you smiled.
Not your big cheesy grin you always do,
but a smile so small, only few would notice.
A smile just for me.
And with that smile,
I whispered "I love you."
And you, the love of my life, so young, and so beautiful,
took your last breath.
With your last breath came a small draft of air.
And in that moment,
I swear I heard your voice carried through the room,
The soft tone of your voice whispered back;
*" I love you too."

the universe was marvelous last night
you took me by the hand
and we walked for a few miles
past the playground and the morgue
our lungs left vapor trails behind us
as the bitter autumn air licked our cheeks
but I didn't feel a **** thing
except for the warmth of your palms
pressed tight against my back
pressed tight against my back.

Slow snowflakes, idly sifted over bridges
Can't cover lead-gray river running still
Rare works of art, brittle stars of airy frill
Melt silently on waves or heap on icy ridges.

The wind holds each and tosses at its will;
Each flake alone, in snowstorm wall unseen
Flies, falls, and vanishes -- as well as never been
For ever more burst down from toiling mill.

This twilight snowstorm time to think what wakes
Frail, fleeting beauty seen in people, clouds, and flakes.

Six tongues in my mouth
Six minds in my mind
Six knives in my back
Six bullets.
Each tongue wants its turn
Each mind wants its way
Each knife wants a hand
To pull it.

The razorblade of wind has cut the lisping night
And sent the sun up
In the east
The mountains idle glowing
In morning's sundust storm
I see the restless leaves reflecting seas of light
As tiny trembling mirrors
But in my mind will rest
The pitch- black sea with roads of boatlights
And pale Old Man as from a Tarot card
His wizard smile
In still and tender dark
In rustles of shadows
The Moon
       The eye of daytime action
                     the
                          tor
                              n­a
                                  do

04/2003

When the fire is out and its roaring long gone
Gone its heat and its violent flashes
The Baron comes slowly and silently in
My partner when playing the ashes
When the fire is out on a Saturday night
Out fighting and merciless clashes
The Baron is welcome; he always is in
To join me when playing the ashes