Fool's gold

Pirate on fire struck against this flinty skin

flickers, coruscates and then glimmers

just like all the rest and what's left

for good, for laughs, in cavities on

the living room widower's mouth is

a moth waltzing the air and this light

skull shaped thorax for mast lacking

the crossbones in your nightly banner

Chi é e non é

... someone once told me that explaining is an admission of failure

I'm sure you remember, I was on the phone with you, sweetheart.

Invece da spiegare chi é e non é, non voglio svegliare me e ne pensare a te.

Poem with your name in it

Dangling dangerously under clouds

Aftermath of bitter somber

Never thought of sleeping over

In this bed of gangly owner

Ears were warned I hear

Leap again in nest so near

Not considering consequences

Over time you'll lose your senses

Great adventure I would say

Under spells of empathy

Earnest talk and mild at play

In conducted entropy

Random thoughts that cross the brain

Ambitions grew and made me vain

Burning under silver suns

Until dark night overcomes

Dimming days that once were clear

Numbing hours, filled with mire

Yours, and never truly minding fire

I have no idea on how to be confessional

That's as far as my misunderstanding goes

and it often leads me to corridors

that are not especially large or long

like the ones in a house these corridors

lead to rooms behind doors and that's

where the action in this poem is set

But I will not talk about these rooms

for I have no idea on how to be confessional

Gauge

Swung my fiery sword

vent my spleen at the Lord

so abstract, so bored

too much milk

too much honey

and phone calls

corrupting mornings

[thank you, S. M.]

Late afternoon, April 8...

...

Then he turns in to the harbor,

where at once it grows calmer.

Takes off his hat and waves it

like mad - like an old-time cowboy!

Something he won't ever forget.

You betcha.

Me neither.

[R. Carver]

Axiom of the nightly idiom

Like a truism laid to sleep.