her indentation a pressure point
to suppress dreams
that did not belong
in the vocabulary of her sleep,
sheets hid insecurities and ideals
naked form foetal curled,
an easy stereotype of an agitated mind,
face creased as much
as cotton pillow cover,
reclusive cave to that
twenty eight year identity
and hide it,
vodka bottle an empty on it’s side,
unable to rise
some piss had escaped
lemon floral bloom
washing microscopic secretions away
drowning them
a noah flood,
some clung
to droplet coated vaginal fur
where other bugs feasted
on what he had left behind
jellied semen being consumed
by eager ticks and bugs
not those that live on deer
roaming a frost bitten forest,
rolling cigarette
finger stubs stuffing tobacco
strands into place,
sat up thinking of the tensions
of the night,
looking at balled up blue panties
god she needed new ones
fabric had small holes
from fingers and eager pulling
to expose that vulnerability
not hers theirs,
sentimental erect rigs of flesh
to drill,
find rich seams of expendable fossil fuels
gasification of the soul
for we are carbon
and can be exhausted as quick,
the restoration of vision from thought
so relentless was her life
in reality could not cope with the debris
it remained as she continued,
bic lighter sputtered for a second
cigarette taste washed with cold dregs
of coffee as mug became ashtray,
inhaling
toilet flushed in other room
the drench of his fecal smell
filled the room before he left
a sour note
yet one she accepted,
she was a historical condition
and redemption would not come
with glowing analysis
finding place in biological and physical realms
and stepping away
from a climate of
frustration
Tag Archives: dikt
periodizing memory
tribal myths
of urban erosion,
human decay and devalue
enlightenment forbidden
left to the poet of society
paint flakes
as fingernail connects
a worried sore of what
is left behind
concrete and brick convey stories
only as far as we allow them,
corridor routes to many rooms
as with memories
how can this be a composition
construct of words and thoughts
when it rambles
on moth wings
escape can be a broken window
table and chairs
foam guts spewed
he had broken vows faith trust
here eager in his own involvement
thought theory and contradicts
bruised face spittle dampened
punished and beaten
because of an instinct survival brings
hungering lust
to nest burrow forget
she was resolute
evaded and survived
he had been
twisted by triggers of pain
another room
dabbing spittle off his chin
lifting spoon to weak lips
as with muscular distress
he watched her consume passion
with one who cared
his brutality had brought him
to this
left to collapsing rooms
becoming fabric of the dust
a horror myth
of haunting and fear
for others not her
moth had found a window
grease streaked broken
jagged edges did not connect
with fragile wings
bruises heal
fading as time can
fictive beat
W/O/M/A/N
gone into abstraction
gitane smoke before the rain,
cello case velvet interior
soft and firm
W/O/M/A/N
breasts and silk once seen on canvas
could not concede to his kisses
or arch of bow
he had to wander
W/O/M/A/N
no more companion
than those strings he manipulated
with fingers callused,
she will not tremor
W/O/M/A/N
as absent as the background
waiting for a taxi,
rain effective conduit
to her misery,
he sheltered the cello
with umbrella
heading to a jazz club
W/O/M/A/N
is the beat
is the tender thrum,
a cello’s true heart
and poets calling,
absinthe and kisses
parted stocking thighs
he had found another
W/O/M/A/N
fierce candles
winters thorns bury deep
flesh pierced by that uneased dark
until candles dripping pale
tore aside the emptiness
illuminating dust
and a heart enclosed deep beneath a breast
her warmth reflected in those eyes,
he would embrace,
beyond all walls a snowy temper raged
sweeping alongside doors
muffling all that was brutal,
in hold and secure
dawn was a long way off
a thousand years would pass
before a few magic smitten would know
stars would die
and planets turn
winding in secrets so human,
lips tremble withholding so many words
that he would say
and she would reply
as a chosen wonder,
that urge carnal became a vapor
glimmer of hope,
and futures peace at stake,
memory fickle put upon pages
of a shameless scrawl
edited by many kings
dissolved into legend and myth
springs reaction would reveal much,
embrace over
fragile reflections and shadows
for the movement so vividly intact
would leave so many
damaged echoes
that conflict is inevitable
winters fold
sticky beaked crow
raucous over winter berries,
as i ran on frosted ground
grass unlikely to bend
silvered instead of green,
clouds would shake
their snow soon
blanketing and forming
a soft landscape for me
in snow,
i was protected
the chill and damp
reddened eyes and nose,
sticky beaked crow
a shadow on the ground
lengthening under a low sun,
my shadow would be longer
one day,
for now i was content
to lay upon my back
feeling spread of arms and legs
as i be came an angel
blood of the cucurbita
we are myth
we are legend,
behind fences we are found
bred and sacrificed on all hallows eve,
generations past
gutted and carved in celebration,
so misunderstood seen only as decoration
as human skulls on poles once where,
unlike my wild cousins in mexico
scattered over landscape and mountain,
they do not suffer the tampering
of our genetics
79 loci,
phenotypic slides for frankenstein,s scientist
altered , inbred,
not realizing our beauty
in shape and color
palmate leaves , long tendrils
unisexual flowers touched by gentle bee
curling about stamen
stroking with long legs
collecting pollen my yellow stain
peponapis body thrumming
resonant on my petals,
10,000 years of domestication
treated worse than dogs
compliant in nature as man knows best
our flesh substance forgotten
as gourd display incised and flensed
to amuse and terrify
projects of another’s nature
that is more disturbing and cruel
the zoo inside
loves dozen roses of nonsense
absorb the tears
bowing scarlet faces
like captives not yet freed,
unable to see the stony sky
witness to this fall
grey wet clouds furrow
sun struggles to shine,
she knelt thinking of his heart
as a homeless man
moving into oceans waves
shouting at the albatross
with salt tainted voice,
he was baptized
and she became afraid
of the creatures inside him
lurking with their brutal flesh
beyond fables tale,
waves over him
spray and foam he fell
swept out
her tears continued to fall
standing
walked into the garden
with a ghost of no return
his path named as a storm
that rent open her gates
she could not hold anymore
restless memories
and vertical shining eyes
it would be a fresh start
no more clapboard storehouse
seasons merchant brings the harvest
flesh ripened berries and firm apples
john deere’s wander fields
barns fill with crop,
barricades still out against winter
last flush of heat clinging on
birds on the cusp of migration
still hold a note in song,
and i face my execution
she had wanted me for years
now i was disposable,
unable to plow fields
and seed a decent crop
inverted hearts adorn the page,
and i find the porch
for sleeping some more,
i wish the merchant did not
expect so much,
being a simple man
i was now to be abandoned
she could make her heart autonomous
it had to turn inside
beneath her maiden outlines
no flesh expanded as she expected,
evicted to the car
its vinyl bench with no pillow
woke one morning and drove
leaving her and her field
to be sown by another
in spring
songs of the heart
suns pity shines
on the damaged boat,
listless resting on rocky beach
cracked paint and clouded windows,
once and a while ago
it moved on inlet
under sail and motor
bright painted with bright young things
sipping drinks,
swim shorts and bikinis
cast off bottles
peeled labels no messages
sink if not carried by current
settling with pale crabs
moving over bottom
withe sideward indifference
creations blood flowed,
and they aged,
a parked sedan
jacketed against the cold
a mans hand touched bow
feeling that old electricity,
seeing the vibrancy
that once had been
a life of splendor
illustration 9
ants loud enough
close to his head,
reprieve of summer cool
as he lay under his cart
pushed for close to a mile
finding geography
awkward to place
despite being his city once,
his mind a squoze larvae
thoughts brief as a snakes hiss,
irritable tongue of weeds,
lying still
close to impossible,
underpass old concrete walls
tagged by youth
more used to shooting than talking
overhead cars heat and horses,
smells nasal reverberations
he would feel quieter
if at the bottom of a lake
where on it’s silted bed
with fishes as companions
devouring algae from his closed eyes,
heat would be gone
and his mind would make sense,
the moon did not bring night rain,
eventually he stood
rocking on heels
than began to walk
this time he would find the start
of his journey