Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Let us dive into the bloodshot pool

that has become your eyes...

Flap our arms wildly--

to purge the beast

from your waning body

Let us burst into each others flames

bravely just like old times

except now

let us forgive every sin

come together inside your veins

chase this rabid venom

from your blood

Let us seek this cerulean sky

you’ve promised

There aren’t enough headstones

left to swear on

Not enough time

for eternity

I remember the days before your

Russian Roulette chemistry

kicked in; confident days

before your bones ached

for a fix.

Darling, these are impossible depths

to rise from with leeches

on the spine

I still dream of the day when

you will look up and know

a gentle sun

For now, we dwell in your shadow

afraid to breathe, sweating

your absence, dodging

your funeral

Take these, my hands--

They have been

claws too

copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John Ancona


--now unknowable, contained, though

seen palpably, unable to speak

but heard in the echo of days

too hair raising for blankness

long, piercing memories

dancing briefly upon

the delicate fibers

of reverie

copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John Ancona


It was in the utopia of joined breath---

in the crucifixion of thoughts

that bled you…

It was in the chisel that shamelessly

etched possibility into a

calloused heart

It was in the lawless glow of untamed spirit

confessing the devilry behind eyes

and midnight smiles

It was in the starving words that cascaded

down from hurricane lips into

a wild foam of desire

It was in the timeless vestige of love’s shadow

where two silhouettes dared to grapple

and emerge feverish from cinders

It was belief in something stronger than words

when time froze and profound emptiness

ached to be filled

Or maybe it was the soul’s emancipation

from a cage of ribs into unknown

cavities the color of sunset

Maybe still, it was the timeless divide

of yielding flesh, splitting love open

like a new dimension

A strange universe sliding in pure as water

firmly rooted, reaching for the core--

traveling with gravity...

Copyright © 2011 by Vincent John Ancona



it doesn’t hurt too much

and one can sleep


Other times

we know

that our roots are collapsing

into abstract pieces

where if we stare

long enough

certain parts become

visible to us


it remembers

when our entrails

were unconscious of aging

Other times

our shadow

reminds us of form

it once knew

Sometimes it overtakes us

like radiation

Other times we bask

in the glow of its presence


we know it’s an albatross

Other times

the burning rope that was flung

from our desolate spires

genuinely lands

deep inside its



copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John Ancona


I saw a grouping of dreams,

bleed into shadows

pushed through uncertain horizons

ferociously seeking

higher ground to ascend

the view, diminished

people fading out

like footsteps on blank sand

I saw a murder of dreams

buried beneath my own

and wondered:

will soil alone

comfort the bones

of broken dreams?

are the bones of dreams

at peace?

are they released into the sky

three dimensional voids

desperately finding their way

back to earth, into eyes?

I found my dream

on the roof of a lonely tower

blown by chance winds

looking down on the dead bodies

of other dreams

that were reaching for it

the dark clouds opened

a strange wind blew

and more dreams fell

little spatters of blood

upon my skin.

copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John Ancona

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


Poetry is broken, gone far away--
bailed in the darkest hours.

without care. Poetry, won’t you
please stop being

You see, I know you’ve wondered
Should I desert

I’ve seen you hit and run
like a practiced

One manicured hand covering
half an eye, half a

but I stayed true. Poetry, I’ve wondered
who and what we’ve allowed this to

over the years. We’ve changed
so much I can barely

our faces. We’ve grown
together, grown into

But it doesn’t seem you understand how
his goodnights still shatter my

How badly I’ve needed you in this empty
month when you became white between

Poetry, I know you realize not everything
boils down to syntax and

You tried not to let them smash you
with ivory hammers into

pieces they still call Poetry-- but I just can’t
seem to find you anymore buried

this avalanche of emotional debris where
they say your heart is still

Copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John Ancona


I wanted to reach inside
your kamikaze storm
and tear out
a sun

Hold it up to the Heavens
with trembling hands
and let the masses
see Love

I wanted to jump from
your hellfire skies
and fall securely
into feathers

To close my eyes gently
and expand weightless
inside your nuclear

copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John Ancona