WINTER

We forget until dark purple and black clouds loom overhead.

Walking on frozen sidewalks, the chill a silver coating on our souls;

the wind howls

I dig my hands into my pockets searching for the treasure of warmth

The tips of my fingers begin to burn and I walk faster, pass the house

whose windows rattle with the cry of the winter clouds.

Hood pulled low I walk three blocks before the icy kiss of December

changes into a vampire bat wishing to drain my body of all its heat.

The cold robbing my memory of the image of poverty I run across

the street and spend my second to last dollar on the bus.

My hands still burn when I get off in Rockville Centre. It is winter

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THE THIRD

Rich before the fall of Babylon

Dancing naked in towers of moonlight

Cast out to die amongst the ruins of our lives.

I carved my name in sand on the beaches once forgotten.

Placed a letter in a bottle written in a language not deciphered.

Waiting in the corner of shadows for the third

Climbing rope-ladders woven on looms of dreams

I rise from the crater of a distant moon

Rich before the fall of Babylon

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DRAIN

Drain my soul of water, my body of blood

Hold my still beating heart before the pyre

Watch the hangman turn his back to hide his tears

Listen to the silence of embers as the sands of time run free.

Seek houses on dead-end streets that are not afraid of darkness

and of strangers.

Knock, then leave

Dream then wake

Draw lots upon wishes turned to salt.

Hammer nails into the carcass of my being.

Drain my soul of hunger; my heart of dreams