afternoon
into evening /
wine /
and the ever-jazz /
the ever-candlelight /

crossing battlefields
this afternoon.

crossing battlefields .... yes,
and pieces of steel.

thinking
about jazz
played
in small,
dark,
jazz clubs
hidden
downtown

easy
to touch a thigh
beneath the table

easy
to moisten lips
against lips
in the night

and to swirl tongues
against tongues

and to whisper poems into a poet’s ear

and then kiss the softness of your neck,
in the dark, cool, jazz club night

a life
which gives me time to create

and time
to hear the jazz
that exists
within everything

and a chance at the knowledge

and at the wisdom

which exists
inside us all

a chance
to hear the darkness,
and all the secrets the darkness holds.

black and white photographs,

of life seen from a coffee shop stage ...........

musicians

poets /

strip dancers

junkies

thieves /

girls who work the massage parlor rooms /

girls who work the street /

backstreet philosophies

backstreet dreams

backstreet meals
eaten
with a poet’s mouth

seen
with a poet’s eye

felt
with a poet’s heart

and a laptop computer
open
on a table /
window booth /
coffee shop
at the edge of the universe

is it more erotic for you undress
in front of a lover,
or to let her undress you
in the night?

would it excite you to see the desire in my eyes?

would it excite you to see the want on my face?

does the thought
of a woman
being
a slave for you, in the bedroom
excite you?

or is it more exciting
to think of yourself
being a slave
for her?

letting you use my body
to satisfy your wildest s*xual desires

letting you use my body
and my mind
to satisfy your wildest s*xual fantasies

do they exist in a shower?

do they exist lost
in a motel room downtown /
hot candle wax gathered
at the foot of the flame /
thin leather straps /
and a mirror set up close to the bed?

do they exist in poetry?

are they surreal scenes painted
on metaphysical canvases
created
in the night?

are the boundaries destroyed
by arrows of passion?

are limits
and rules
ignored?


I close my eyes and think of dancing with you slowly
on a secluded, late-night dance floor

my dress
cut
low
in back,
allowing you to feel
the softness
of my flesh
as we dance

the perfume,
and the sweet smell of my hair

wanting to smell your breath
just before we kiss,
and to breath in the air
that was just inside your lungs

knowing
I can feel your desire
pressing
as we dance
and wanting you to tell me
how much it excites you

I lost myself in the fantasy,
and let the words run free

But don't all poets?