Advise tο you #1

Clothing your pain
with loathing's wool
bares your soul
defenseless

Swaddling your holes
with found scraps
weaves a trapdoor
for trespassing

Better to open up early
 frost in your toes
than rot from the inside
 mid-harvest

Love is strongest in pursuit, friendship in possession
R. W. Emerson

Your embrace

The memory was never better,
pink and warm
your skin sweating next to mine
 baptizing the longing
in a sacred font
the golden hue of your arm
a mere speckle
on my erased joy's icon

Z

Apostasy

Eons back, it was probably on a day like this
 my egg left and met a random other
 rolling inside a geode womb
scraping a spark to cling
 to a makeshift constituency

I was someone who left too,
particled and determined
a rock out of a mountain
heaved from a flood's muddy bowels
sitting there for uncountable years

 Lines and  circles surrounding me
 I heeded sermons of love's scraps
 cut on the bias, meant for redemption
I arrived late to the feast at last,
deciphering the hallucination of purpose

Only, linking the chain does not
alone protect or enslave or capture
the search for your deity,
your thirst for truth or
the sizing of time

The bought and the gifted,
the random and the planned
the multitude and the sole
derive from one
leaving

Valentine's torch

I can't stand the fiction of living

Mercy destroys all consequences, for a time

Clients

The gaggle of wives and moms
who gather for coffee and control
rationing out belonging
like a PTA match card
The more you buy the more
 the ante is raised
of inner circle harboring

The plain, small, only parent
averting eyes when you speak
hides a vast canyon of kindness
and dutifulness greater
than a congregation of priests
Lavishing her sapling like son with
the love she denies for herself

The sweets are just that-
oozing pink affection
for each other, others and their daughter
who possesses a steely perseverance
despite the hothouse flower demeanor-
and she is only six!
A majestic magnolia she will become

The one demanding most service
 and special treatment,
 which she truly relishes,
reigns like a lioness
 grooming her cubs to greatness
 with Buddhas's serenity and conviction
She is a rock on shaky ground

The dashing athlete, renowned professional
passionate artist, devoted family man
who gives freely of his time, his tenderness
his multitude of gifts,
perhaps because he is so golden
The tarnish of spending himself to ruin,
affirms his specimen's rarity

The woman who blazes in and sieves
sunlight in dark corners,
 gathers a firestorm of reaction,
shares her wounds without compunction
simultaneously offering touching affection
to your thirsty soul
Will have a tragic end- remain forever young

All of them I have happened to, decades at my work,
tending a garden of accidental plotting
 willing to coax fruit on grafted trees
 cursed with blight
and a spring that came so late
that harvest skipped the gathering,
fleshed out instead the stark glory of winter

Only I was the client, spreading
on their therapist's couch
year after year, healing
my inner child and mother alike
and all the gifts changed
hands, twice blessed,
in the destiny of connection

If you carry the flint stone in your gas pocket, you can light up your mind's fire anytime

Θωμας Κοροβινης

Fade

He looked worn, perhaps from fighting
weariness, illness or his demons

Benevolent light from grey overhead
did little to brighten the shadows

Only the ashen outline, bleeding
foggy memories, remains

Of what once was fueling
my heart's sunshine

Love's layers swept clean,
the scent of burn lingers

Last bastion of vintage
passion

Dimming