The Agent

She was an agent from another plane of existence
Higher, outer, infernal, supernal
He didn’t really know the difference
He only saw amatory, carnal, maternal 

He had to tell her the deal
He didn’t know what was real
He knew he wanted to save her
So she could give his life flavor 

She blinked in and out of his day
Like an impulse who wanted to stay
But was compelled to go away
By mistrust, shame and desperation
Which created the perfect instigation
Of a need to betray 

Was it her illimitable beauty that drove him to seek her?
Or merely that he was a perpetual seeker?
Were there really two people in this dance?
Or was he just dancing with the idea of romance? 

He barely knew who she was
Effectively just some sort of fuzz
Enveloping a shredded brain
Like a line of noetic cocaine 

How well did the Good Samaritan know the Wounded Jew?
What does he need to know in order to love you?
And to love you, what does he need to do?

We know that this nubile beauty
Is in many ways a drug
She is apparently also quite a thug
But love is a cocktail of pleasure and duty 

Love can’t be present when one is alone
Else the alleged lover is merely a drone
And a slave to desire
The immolating fire 

The memory of her thousand curls of brunette hair
Licking the oxygen from the surrounding air
Like flickering tongues of chocolate flame
Invokes a portrait of a picture-perfect dame
As a frame for wide turquoise eyes
That apparently contain a lot of lies 

Yet he’d forgive all of this
For a prolonged kiss
Not given with lips
Or even with hips
But with attention and time
Because then he’d know he were worth a dime 

What kind of thoughts would he send to the sky
After those days in which he thought he might die
In a trainwreck at the crossroads of fate
As she watched him hyper-vigilantly half-conscious through hell fire skate 

How could she disappear with scarcely a word
As if he were merely some freaked out nerd
Left to ride on alone
On a worn-out roan

Don’t leave
I will help you
The pair will make do
God will grant reprieve 

The Moment

Thought of as a lack of cacophony
But it’s a matter of identity
And one’s relationship to eternity 

She flies through my arms like a dove
She flies through my heart like a dart
The curve of a woman is her art
Carried by gossamer wings
Through a diaphanous veil she sings 

Why does it contain hardship?
Because it’s not a bag of dope
It’s the throne of hope 

Let me tell you a secret
This wasn’t a man chillaxin’
It was a man needing Venlafaxine
Therefore, he was everyone’s dipshit 

What does he need?
His woman and his weed
The words he wove yesterday
Before his sanity flew away
To stroll through the vaults of heaven
With compassion without leaven 

And his king 

Great Lord

A long, long time ago, in a land far, far away, there was a great lord who lived in a castle. He had knights and nobles and servants, as well as mountains of gold, and the walls of his castle were impossible to break by anything from this earth. But the great lord’s most prized possession was his princess. The princess was more beautiful than all the ladies in all the courts of all of the noble and royal houses of the whole world. And she had an apple tree. It was a very special apple tree, and whoever she gave one of the apples from the tree would grow strong. 

One day, the princess saw a broken old knight with only a black spot on his shield where a family crest should be. Moved, she gave him an apple and returned to her castle. That could have been the end of the story. Perhaps the knight would have thanked her and been on his way. Or maybe they would have sat together under the apple tree once in a while. But that’s not what happened. The great lord was furious. He told her that her apples were only for the knights of the castle. Then he locked her in the castle’s tower. 

Now the old knight heard the weeping of the princess, and smelled her fragrance mixed with the salt of her tears. So he sat on his roan in front of the castle’s drawbridge with his apple in his hand. His heart began to beat with power, and his blood began to flow faster, and he became strong. Now as he became strong, he began to pray, and a myriad of angels appeared on the horizon. Some of the angels were kind bearers of good fortune. Others were wise deliverers of God’s word. But others were angels of vengeance, and there was fire in their eyes. The strong knight thought of the walls of Jericho, and he trembled. 

This is the story of how the great lord gave the princess a strong knight for a champion. 

Jade Princess

The Jade Princess rode across the desert
And the mad templar would always follow
He tracked her through years of hurt
And dusty seas of sorrow 

She started as a little sprout
The meaning of her name in Greek
Years now there has been no doubt
Her flourishing he would always seek 

Thank God he didn’t meet her in church on Sunday
Else marauding Dutch pirates had stole her away
Enchanted by eyes which held black flames of Goryeo
Nothing in the universe could ever make him let go
The law of God and love commanded him to stay
She blossomed into his beacon as all else was stripped away 

Her hips and breasts grew into succulent fruits of men
Her soul shrank into fodder in the back of the lion’s den
All of this came from an unquenchable anger
At the prospect of abandonment by God into perpetual danger
The little girl prayed and prayed and prayed
Yet deliverance was delayed and delayed and delayed 

But after years of mistrust, she beheld God’s face
So the king sent his knight of La Mancha
Calling to her from heaven’s embrace
He would wink and say, “don’t worry. I gotcha.” 

This is something that never should have happened
Or so they were told, in a sermon on a weekend
Templars must live locked inside temples
Unfazed by a little girl’s dimples 

All of you bastards hunting men to deplore
These stories of love have happened before
They come to fruition outside your parish gate
Unsullied by your gospel of hate 

It really doesn’t set a good tone
To insist that all strangers remain alone
It’s so ironic that only a young lady will see this
And buck like a mare scorched by your hubris

Do you really think they are just your ornaments
These diamonds from heaven trying to escape your predicaments
Just where did you get the gall
All in all you’re just another brick in the wall 

Captain of the Ark

In the grey and smoky fog of the dark and rainy street
Where youthful souls of corpses meet
A kindred spirit, so they don’t feel so alone,
A wild-eyed misfit prophet watches them run
Occasionally glancing at some banality on his smartphone 

No one knew he was there
Despite, or perhaps because of, the electric horror of what remained of his hair
He didn’t want their friendship
He told himself, as his heart sank like a scuttled ship
Into a dank abyss
Of diaphanous purposelessness 

All the dreams had already been had
But none of them came true
His cynicism would not survive the irony that the dream that wasn’t bad
He would have while awake, while wondering what to do 

He knew how he would be crucified
Ever since the dust-covered and war-torn months of 2005 

When his colleague trampled his nation’s honors
By the mouth of the enemy fellatiated
Our world-worn hero’s face was too ugly to be next to hers
So their answer was that he be castigated 

The dream one achieves when they escape their life’s custom
Until they scroll through their rolodex to see that they’re lonesome 

A curse one breaks with serendipity 

And then she was there
The angel he longed to see
Her sinews wrapped in delicious sweet milk
Her shoulders glazed by a honey cascade of hair
What would she make of his ilk
What does she see in me 

She didn’t reject his curious stare
If she were ugly, no one would care
Their murderous gaze wasn’t even skin deep
While he prayed the Lord her soul to keep 

With their pitchforks and cocktails of turpentine
The infernal masses would no longer contain their attacks
In their campaign against our friendly neighborhood Frankenstein
In order to protect their normal from facts 

A baby with harp and angel’s wings
Painted on vaulted ceilings among other things
In fever dreams above his head
He clutched the cold sheets beside him in bed 

The mysterious writers called it a boat
In that confusing old book they wrote
Then they called it a gold-plated box
In those tales not too different from Goldilocks 

What is this thing that the Philistines stole
It’s really just a human soul
It contains the law of God and lawgiver’s staff
But Leviathan has successfully split it in half 

The ticking of seconds
The conformity of chromosomes
Endless discussions for psychic brigands
Covering their heads in tinfoil domes 

For better or worse, the ark has been opened
And no one knows how this journey will end
How dare he make a friend
A happy finale makes the masses shudder
But in her hands is the rudder
There is no other 

They don’t get to tell me who I enjoy
Or whether it’s a girl or boy
Or quibble about too old or young
My words and kisses come from MY tongue 


You are so long overdue
For a poem that describes you
The effect you have on my heart
Is a divinely crafted art
Possessed by no woman before
Since before the days of yore 

Your beauty is a gleaming sigil
Of an angel’s unceasing vigil
That brought you to earth near to me
In my days of emotional entropy
Your smile, your laugh brings such joy
As to make me a man from a boy 

You fuel passion to my spirit
With every second you are near it
I love you my dearest Ana Maria Mironescu
And no fairy or pixie compares to you
Therefore my heart’s song is just a hum
Until the time when you come 

I am the Ocean

I am the ocean
Or really my heart is
A victim of furious emotion
Vulnerable to any cute Ms.
Who tricks me into daring
To trust that she can forgive
To believe that she is caring
And make love a life to live 

I am the sea
A source of life
To she who comes to me
I will fill her life
With adventure and passion
By my soul-changing aqua ink
In an overwhelming fashion
Through which I give her my drink 

I am the water
Utterly malleable
A dangerous father
For the one so fallible
To take my fish on the wrong day
In which I cover her with my waves
So that my love goes away
With no one there who saves 

However, she will not die in my deep
But in the depths of her loneliness
Her soul will not be mine to keep
In romantic and sensual holiness
Her love will just be a wasteland
Of scorpions and desert
With no sea eagle to take her hand
And to fly her from the hurt