My Love Asks

My Love asks me, “What am I worth?”

I reply so sly, “You are worth

the stars, the sun, and the moon.”

She sigh, then smiles, then says,

“Those are not yours to give,

Mister Glib.”

My Love asks me, “What am I worth?”

I retort so smart, “You are worth

My very life. I will prove with a knife.”

She smiles, then sighs, then says,

“What would I do with your corpse,

Mister Suicide?”

My Love asks me, “What am I worth?”

I counter cleverly, “You are worth

Several years of hard toil and pain.”

She sighs with her eyes,

“What would I do there,

Mister Masochist?”

My Love asks me, “What am I worth?”

I soundly respond, “What are you worth

To me that I would give in return?”

She kisses me gently, then whispers,

“Exactly,

Exactly.”

Poet Possessing the Possessed

Space between my hears

I hear

Where fear might hide

Where fear might run

Afflicted

From the barrel of a loaded gun

Teach me a piece of mind

Find me a way to find

Orbits

Of a horizon’s event

Completed before Lent

I quit.

Intangible

Bet you didn’t think so I command you to

A wink, A word, an Idea

A think.

A sigh, My wonder of

Your why.

Lies, Lies, Lies, Lies!!

Panoramic view askew

No One asked your opinion and you gave

A view

A tear stained pew’s interlude

ScRAPEd  knee’s repeated

Injury.

Rattling and tattling into the night.

A poetic poem sown in a whole

Metaphor of a broken whore,

A chucked rock.

Words lost their meaning without

Even a small cry

But I cried and you don’t even know

Why.

Study in Pain

It wouldn’t start, it wouldn’t start. I crammed my brain but it wouldn’t start. A lonely melancholy fog envelops my morphine addled brain. Eclectic stabs of pain flex my dull continence with the grimace. The perfect grimace, my face is a mix of pain, disapproval, and disgust. All my emotion is carved with this constant erosion, which ebbs strong and soft.  I claw for a way to describe this perpetual twisting, stabbing, and broken-glassing, which drips and rips me day to day, wave after wave. Maybe if I understand my torment’s name, I can call to it and ask it for clemency. It is an it, for it has no empathy. It is a slow and strong force of reality, like gravity. It is and it defines the way of every day. No defying this gravity, it will be respected. It will be coddled. I heat-blanket it. I elevate and warm-bath it. I work around it's desires and whims. I cry to ask what sins, I have committed to deserve this sentence.

 The pain finds it's way up may leg and twist my stomach. I reach for the pills that used to soften my tormentor's screams. Now, they just muffle. There is a love affair between my tormentor and my pills. They together like king and queen dictate their twisted desires of how I will live. They will sequester me from living, creating a constant tiring need for daily distraction.

The Black Hole of Cygnus X-1

The place is in distant space. The brilliant blue star surrendering her fiery atmosphere to the egg shaped black void in the universe is Cygnus X-1.  Cygnus X-1 is 6,000 light years from our own sun. The artist depicts this painting by translating electromagnetic  information in to visual painting. The flaming cyan orb of Cygnus hang prominently in the right of the painting eclipsed by the frame. Cygnus’s companion is pulling in the translucent glowing bluish white environment toward the off left center.  The companion is a black hole wrapped in her radiant embrace.  The embrace coax by the black hole’s powerful gravity’s  attraction.  The intensity of the embrace is pitted by an oval darkness that cannot even be described with non-imaginary mathematics or reason. The malevolent pull of the hungry void swirls the excited flesh of the star into a frenzy of spinning plasma, hasten faster and faster in the ravenous maw. As Cygnus’s essence touches the skin of her dark companion. The combination of collision and acceleration spawn twin intense white spires of x-ray and gamma radiation parallel with Cygnus’s mass as they decay into royal blue leaving the top and bottom of the frame. These spire are all that remains of what Cygnus will eventually become. She can feel the destructive attractions dragging at her concealed core, deep in the blackness of space. The star shine dull as voyeurs of the act of destruction or rebirth.