war in polystyrene

cockroach in the jazz room
sat on singers shoe
fed on golden olives
from bough hooked low,
ladybirds in 40D brassieres
cut back on the needles
stuck in their eye,
seven spots
notational dots as a code
to the twelve gauge hunter
who stalked them so,
cockroach had breathed
a stallions breath
and knew of a great stratagem,
lead hunter as prey
clarinet bullets penetrate his loins
with a chakka chakka chakka,
40D brassieres strung over light
wings spread
translucent shimmer of paradise,
cockroach touches
with hissing leg,
hunters body spread as sacrifice,
thrum of the drums
there are other monsters/ dragons/pain
drapery gone
meat on the anvil
clogged with anxiety and lust
chakka chakka chakkka,
cockroach fragments
a bed of panties and brassieres
become his resting place

ballad of a stripper and a bookkeeper

he shot a hobo

alas a hobo

my lover shot a hobo

it was love , so love

i was the most insane stripper

lost on a winters eve

he was a bookkeeper with a gun

we wanted to run together

passion and breast in flames

he tried so much to please

with bunched up bloody nose

another fight over me

he started to kill

for pleasure that winters eve

police would call

and i would deny

through a packards windshield

his face a policeman saw

once run down

no going back

mexico and jazz

we where on the run

but my passion waned

with his bloodstained hands

and made a call

to a deputy

our villa surrounded

he felt betrayed

as to the chair

he fried

my lover alas my lover

who shot a hobo

and broke my heart

dVersePoets

washed over

awakened by sailors milky tears

from depths beyond the sun

she rose red ribbon bound

born of shell and bone,

sand shifted

muted fish schools scattered

his embrace she sought,

scarecrow masted vessel

dashed upon sharp geology,

to safety they leaped,

cruel sky streaked by storm

and acoustic rumble,

body battered in dinghy lay

hand outstretched

fingertips testing jagged surface,

light shone and radiated

in her eyes as close rose

long limbed form kelp caressed

finding him now face down

closer towards him,

lifting his frame from sea to shore

air sharp on lungs

heart pounding,

ship exploded a desolate fireball

as she bowed over him

lips to his,

spluttering coughing

found himself exhausted

and willing in her eyes

bonded by kiss

in eternities grasp

la danse et l’intervention passionnée

there was no deity in her toes

or mystical magic,

brazen eccentricity,

alcohol infused depravity

clung like smoke

that became exhausted on breath,

the morbid look of reality

as being human is to dance

bare splayed white thigh flesh

promise of midnight feast

fulgent in face

he wished to grasp her now

be away upon a tram

tearing worsted tights

patched with careful hand

lamplit ombres chinoises

concavity of upturned behind

receiving wild attention,

she has him as a pale

pierrot languishing on soft words

and gentle caress

having seen the kaleidoscope

and been within pink basket

away with shallow shadows

to find his way home,

naked on sheets tugged and messed

alone

internal orchestra played on

stood upon her rug

once vibrant

and danced again

for herself this time,

watched only by flickering

wax candles

toulouse lautrec

gardens in a candlelit room

i take a hammer

and a nail

to my brother and sister eye,

one gazing south

to shared sand of desert and sea,

other north

through motorcycle lens

to fields of open pleasure,

my visceral concern

is not getting lost between both,

naked to contradiction

my form is seen

bare paleness of a wanting moon

sand still tasted between teeth,

without movement and sound

to the board of memory

each eye nailed

swiftly

so there is no gelatinous collapse

blinking obscura of pain,

i now want

flesh cold

still pale

not written upon by her lips,

hammer has fallen

indenting ground

taking root

Andrew Wyeth Man and the Moon

so fast to nostalgia

sleep had frozen her eyes,

pulling away a draft between them

limbs stretched unwound

gleaming wounds had healed,

away from window awake,

bathroom without light

under sink cupboard with bleach and mouthwash

a bottle of bourbon in reserve,

pushed door to a crack

sat on a closed toilet seat

without that gaping void beneath his backside

sipping from the bottle,

put a hand in his shorts

rolled his penis between thumb and forefinger

damp from her

and sniffed,

faint lights illuminated heart,

head twisted sideways located tissue

shame to dab away,

as if removing her fluid,

her scent it would all end,

four years together,

she had guided him through a dry silence

concentration and love filled

earth and sky

as a solitary he would be unable to dance

and lament in lengthy boredom,

instead he stopped

stood lifting seat

dropped tissue in

pissed a long stream on continuity,

bourbon safely away,

new swarms changed names of thoughts,

into the bedroom

sprawled uneven she lay

at the window clutched the moon

and drew it back in

to be with them

a smile softer than his lips normally allow,

then settled alongside her

dVersePoets

without the wind

salt water in winter,

two fingers deep

secret to staying afloat,

vulva tides awash with secrecy

worn beneath cotton bedsheets

and that short black coat,

temptation and lust

a wanting beyond the

open expanse of ocean,

swell and topography,

knowing placement and feeling,

blind cartographer

left fingerprints and tongue

impressions,

beneath  a wayward sun,

tremors that crawl

emotion burned nerves,

and within no hollow thrum,

with tug she guided

fold and rise

waves break over rocks

map has it’s relief

with tidal surge,

shudder and compression,

the moment when the sea becomes

translucent,

and memory of this voyage

imprinted overwriting

others lesser and shorted

http://www.michelinerobinson.co.uk/

Micheline an amazing artist go and visit her website and find her on twitter @artymicheline

Lean against the letting go

like pressed garlic
creamy crushed
husk blown away,
i held her
forgetting the argument,
forgiveness and
playing with that
blonde hair
thinking of tomorrow

http://rustytruck.wordpress.com/2012/03/24/lean-against-the-letting-go-by-christopher-lawrence/