April Avalon Poems

The pleasure to speak is my lost privilege,
And now insanity dwells on a page,
However, it's changing the color in days,
Revealing the truth my white pencil portrays.
...

I'm looking around - a year has passed,
The moment I seized is forever to last,
The secrets of cherished November
Still live in the imprints of soft fingertips
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I'm looking around and searching you there,
The bright prospect lights only frown as I stare,
My heart's getting lost in the shatters.
I know you'll pick them all up when you come,
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Blank papers of bitter today
Do treasure the words white on white;
If they are forbidden to say,
Then my privilege is to write.
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I press the button and renew
The page with someone's masterpiece.
I see a so-called review
Of letters less than letters missed.
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She's sitting, sitting alone
With brandy and Winston in hands,
Devouring with her mischievous wild glance
Her already coupled-off friends.
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The imprints of your fingers
Have marked a half-full glass.
The sentiment still lingers,
The moment's due to pass.
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I'd sell my heart in paperback,
In verses for perverts to read.
The crimson lines look good on black,
Just like the world behind my lids.
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I raise my swollen eyes to reach your sight,
I try to guess the song that's in your head,
I'm only thinking
Of how I will dream of you tonight,
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I am drenched in silver smoke
With my weekend brandy mates,
Laughing at the same old jokes,
Taking part in drunk debates.
...