Armistice

Armistice

A grey cigarette haze lingered

above the bed like gun smoke

over a battlefield and we,

the casualties of war,

lay beneath. When we kissed

I tasted Bataan on her lips

and she said she could see

Manzanar in my eyes.

At times love is a negotiation

between desire and history.

The clock on the bedside table

flashed in dim red numbers

as the battery was nearly spent.

After the passion runs low

there are not many choices;

a long march in the Philippine sun,

a desert cage of spiral concertina wire

or a one last bloody conflict that ends
with the squeeze of a trigger. 

SMG

Label Whore

Label Whore

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Thank you


SMG

End Jamb

End Jamb

The conversation was rife
with well timed
pauses; intended
to keep balance at
bay. I raised my glass, sipped
slowly--deliberately.

“We really need to
talk” echoed over
the tinkle of
glass and silver
night.

“Maybe some time” // “apart”

(caesura)

The evening’s exchange wore down, then end-stopped.

SMG

Sunset at Trestles

Sunset at Trestles

Daylight danced
with lengthening shadows
along the strand
as night pushed
slowly down
toward the horizon.

Eight hours
of waves and sun
had washed away
the work week, and
we collapsed in sandy piles
of smiles and salty skin.

Driftwood smoke
mingled with
misty sea air,
the sun teased,
then fell into
a waiting ocean.

I kissed you
for the first time,
and when the moon
winked from the East,
I thought that we
might fall in love.

The fire burned down to embers.

I searched for wood to stoke it.

SMG

At Last: Babylon

I told you I would write;
but morning after promises
rarely make it to sunset.

On a night before,
we wrestled in the sands
along the Euphrates
in an awkward exchange
of vodka nicotine kisses;
ebb and flow. You lied
and said I was your first
but Darius and Alexander
had left their marks
long before I tasted
your fetid waters.

Harlot that you were,
I loved you, even
as your gardens withered
and the sands began
to devour your beauty.
When I saw the writing
on your bedroom wall
I ran for the Tigris
afraid of the imminent
devastation of you--
of us.

I made for Lagash
without a backward glance.
With the thunder shake,
and screams in my ear,
I found my way to safety,
and the pure waters of home.

I know my missive is late
but I carried it by hand.
A promise kept,
if only to your memory
and the shifting sand.

SMG

Out of Chaos

Out of Chaos

In the time before time,
while I swam the Tethys Sea,
and wandered the plains of Pangaea,
you were there, igneous and undefined.

Through the Laramide epoch,
Chronos, Chaos and tectonic slip
worked their orogenic magic
and Gaia’s labor gave birth to you.

Into the Cretaceous I watched,
as a deep slow subduction,
drove you, compelled you upward
out of the plains and into my view.

I have crossed the alluvial sands,
and braved the ice of the Pleistocene
to lie with you by the glow of caldera heat,
and be quenched by your glacial waters

Dance with me, 'round the ring of fire,
and explore the depths of Mariana.
Sit with me atop continental divides
until we are rendered, consumed again by Vulcan

Reprint from: "Another Hotel Room"

Spanish Steps

Spanish Steps

The September sun pulls
beads of sweat from my brow
and I can still smell Beatrice
on my skin as I thumb through
a worn volume of Keats.
I want to stop time;
to savor this moment
and the memory of her skin
intermingled with my own.

The Piazza is alive
and so am I, and maybe
for the first time I know
what happiness feels like:
The smile of a woman,
the taste of her lips
and a warm Chianti
shared in the darkness
of a Roman night.

SMG

Late Fees

Late Fees

I know you watch me,
over spectacle rims
near the bridge's end.

You shush me
over index cards
and collected late fees.

I want to tie you up
or hold you down
and scribble poems
on your breasts
in red fountain pen
and let your screams
echo through
the Dewey stacks.

We both know
pain and love
are partners
over time, overdue.

SMG

Persi in Mare

Persi in Mare

I watched the sunrise
dance with shadow
among the spires
of midtown; a light
and dark ballet
of time's tireless march.
The possibilities of daybreak.

I set a note adrift
on the outbound current
of the east river
addressed to you
on the endless ocean,

“Good luck on your journey,
fair winds and following seas”.

I took the ferry from
the Battery Terminal
and watched the glint
of the midday sun
skip across the water
in staccato flashes.
From the port side rail
I could see the eastern horizon;
that place where the sky
pours into the sea,
and I wept in the silence.

SMG

Killing Uriah

Temptation bathes under
the desert night sky
in a far off Jerusalem.

She is naked breast,
innocent eye, and I;
I am David’s lust
from the roof tops
of Manhattan.

Smeared lipstick desire,
black lace regret
as sweat and screams
eclipse the sunrise.

Come this day, this ache,
this disregard of consequence
and the distant wail of Uriah.

Shadows will descend,
and a penitent man will weep
in sackcloth and ashes
but not tonight: Tonight
I am her King.

Scars in the Afterglow

Scars in the Afterglow

Her skin still glistened, wet
with the remnants of ecstasy.
I, with the gentlest touch,
began to trace the scars
on her back with my fingers.
Slowly she drifted off
as I kissed her shoulder.
I savored the saltiness on my lips
and her scent filled my senses.
The motion of time gave way to stillness
as I continued to trace the scars.
She woke, and with a sad smile sighed,
“so that is how it’s supposed to be”.
She dressed quickly,
seductive red satin falling
delicately over the cicatrix maze
that was forever etched in my mind.

SMG

Picture Prompt Challenge (featuring Jacob Lucas)



No Curtain Call

Sometimes

when the curtain falls

it never rises again.

No phoenix up
from the ashes
of failure

or Jesus
resurrected

on the third day.

Sometimes

the lights

go out forever

and the stage

is never set again.

The final act

of you and me

was some time ago

and there is no encore

in the works.

The theater of us

has become

an abandoned stage

and the audience

has long since

left, in search
of a new tragedy.

SMG

This was written in a fog of 12 year old scotch and the loneliness of another hotel room. In  response to the One Shoot Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge



Skiathos

Skiathos

On pure white sands
we tested our endurance;
speaking in tongues
and dead languages.
Eros, diligo, blysia, expeto;
lost words moaned
between half gasps
and screams in the dark.

We measured time
in moon shadows,
broken promises
and scars from lovers
long gone. In the glow
of muted embers
waves crashed
against the past;
a persistent hope
in the darkness.

SMG

The Miles in Between

The Miles in Between

You fell asleep somewhere over the Atlantic,
and I watched you as Stevie Ray wept in my ear.

I couldn’t help
but think back
to that little café
on the Potomac,
you so sure
of your disinterest.

I talked around
your façade
and searched
for open windows
over glasses
of pinot grigio
and warm beer.

Afternoon showers
chased us
from the terrace
and we laughed
all the way
back to your car.

The pilot’s voice startled the moment and you shifted in your seat
before settling back down with your head on my shoulder.

I smelled your hair
and thought back
to the months
and the miles in between,
you in the District
and me hanging
by a phone line
in the San Diego sun.

There were tears
and rendezvous
to mark the time;
nibble at the distance,
until I U-Hauled my life
cross country
in 72 hours flat.

I smiled when I saw
the Potomac again
and your welcoming
kiss made the clock
spin back in my head.

The bump and screech of rubber on the Amsterdam concrete
shook the sleep from your eyes so I took your hand and pulled

the plug on Jimi’s Slight Return so I could hear you say

“I love you”

SMG