suction into vacuum

stairs cluttered with toys
piled to be removed,
except one
that discreetly coiled
it’s own way down,
suction brush
to that clattering canister,
a sound
disturbing to child and cat,
drowning calls
of the need to suckle
partake in natures feast,
goddess did not yield
flowing locks
size fourteen
barefoot
not pregnant anymore,
prepared her strength
as he in den,
stressed oblique
took their life up his nose
snorting and breathing,
saying he had control,
yet so far from shore
he was unable to wave,
her way
inhaling only air
with bare soul
loaded the car with kids
and left,
leaving vacuum writhing
a headless cobra
on the hall floor

Action Figures by Edith Vonnegut

Matt Spicer – It’s Not Me It’s You (2013)

19 Years

my thoughts assembled

the largest of them all

was one of knowing

billowing fulfilled,

she was more than a voice

heard on the soundscape

of my ears

this thought entitled me

to love to adore,

between sun and moon

a radiance of woman,

my sky lead a path

to a new future,

behind doors within

my skull

songs rung out

telling me of what i was aware

we wanted the journey to begin

more than love, more than lust

bonded and entwined,

time is better

with a companion

and mine travels well

Karen and Me

Today our anniversary and still in love more than ever

bones lost to violence

blunt nailed waitress peered

out of window,

watching a white Ford side step

move through a channel

of fading snow,

engine abrupt in the silence

crawling on wet tires

behind the wheel

eyes filled with cluster of stars

that waited for him,

knew he would use rifle and pistols

lain on the passenger seat,

an older man ducked in through

a door from the sidewalk

anticipation filled centuries bones,

oak casket shadows lengthened

over street,

as to traffic signals and crossroads

paused muffler rumbling,

a man stepped out a short distance

ahead and raised a rifle

sounding with a quick report,

windshield shattered

ducking across seats,

other men appeared

bullets clattered and punctured metal

crawled out the door

and as a shield returned fire,

blunt nailed waitress

placed hand on stomach

with a soft flutter,

from the roof of the bank

rifle leveled

became a victim tumbling to asphalt

with rifle expended

took up the guns his grandfather wore,

tightening belt

histories confidence made him stand,

before drawing

bullet clipped his shoulder

wincing not falling

fanned the gun,

two others fell,

a voice shrieked stop

blunt nailed waitress

stood between them,

gunsmoke scented cold air,

it had to be resolved

but not this way,

for the sake of a child

conversation was born

dVersePoets

counterfeit saints and barefoot dancers

as the snow melts

you open the doorway to onions,

crammed in a pan with cubed steak,

beige dress and apron strings

he saw the wineglass

an ashtray close to full,

he still wondered why she shaved

her pubic hair  into a stripe,

going to piss in the small toilet

a room barely used scented of

kerosene and urinals,

you ok she called

peppermint ice cream tones with

hidden expressions,

scratching beard muttered out a reply

zipped up mind still a conflagration of thought,

i wanted to do an english stew

was your day ok

housewife animated advertising jargon

felt like exploding,

the car would still be warm

engine would start quickly,

murmured almost automatic familiarity

those beech tones just as wooden

full of grain and knots,

fifteen years it was comfortable

not likable settled,

he did not question or ask

just lived as he now did with her,

camus  could of written a diary with  them

in with charlie parker soundtrack,

there was no children

they had not found time,

you could crawl back inside yourself

but that would lead to tears

best left to what was

a grisly fetish

slave and domination

abstract interludes,

snapshots of a smoking buddha

fuck hole sanity,

without that crawling cuckoo

jacket on chair

assembled the winning smile,

she came and kissed

long tongue surrounded his mouth

lips soft journals of praise,

now feeling ok

sat back and spoke as if released

watching her

not knowing her

defects of the elephant crush many

shadows standing empty

as we moved from the tree,

he worked with sweat for bread,

she wore only handmade dresses

fabric accumulated from a saving mother,

he had written to her heart

as it understood the depth

that his motive went to,

every day in lengthy plan

hours conceived into moments

stolen away from the factory

to the hill,

sanctuary of silence from the state

propaganda and revolution,

fresh baked filled the air with a resonance,

they as patriots fervent as they are lovers,

planned wedding and battle

as an intertwined plan,

analogy of expectation

that had no sourness,

ignore siting safe indoors

sound the bells of union,

warm tingle of happiness

before the steely clamor

of guns

 

In Conclusion

does trust come from the sky

or is born in the infancy of fire

bathe in it’s shadow

and let it linger in the eye,

no incident can let it go,

dry coughs

awkward glances,

a long thread no more subtle

than saliva from a bottleneck,

to plume of exhausted breath,

open words

sore like wounds deepen,

as if caught on the ocean’s

roughest coral,

intimacy rare no longer needed,

raw pauses

neglected opening of the mouth

silence fell,

a ball of anger now the abandoned

toy in the corner,

term of arrangement sorted

it could go to court

or be sorted now,

with looks , voices and reaching

fingertips,

solving this was hard,

dissolving would be harder

 

Sixty Miles

drive over rutted dirt
tracks of others,
at sloped angle
park up
pull coat closed
more snow coming
binoculars out the
trunk
in the distance others
gathering their breath,
a haze
can they see it or have
i missed it
sixty miles for what
a bird the wife knows
what it is
she has gone on
anticipating a rare
event
i feign wiping windshield
shes with them
one guy in fatigues
placed a gloved palm
on her back
so intimate
sixty miles to find out

Heart and Snow

white snow, bright snow

raw to eyes and heart,

last night she fell asleep,

by morning he was gone,

note now twisted on table

next to coffee pot,

with little explanation

a cowardly run,

stood on porch

looking to the furthest point,

snow blended landscape

so that it looked the same,

tears held back,

for something in the light

told her

it would get better now

 

 

http://jennymatlock.blogspot.co.uk/

Stand Up and Wanting

laughter detached from beauty

many faces appreciated,

her own humor made her belong

in this bar,

this night,

eighty five people with warm beer

saw her on the stage

not silent they talked,

she became part of their life,

jokes about mundanity,

the effectiveness of marriage,

up there she was not sorry,

a guitarist joined her sometimes,

whiskey added fire to the jokes

with political edge,

never a pawn

she had an opinion,

yet behind the facade of comic pride

she screamed,

her bust under black sequin bodice

grasped and strangled her heart,

unless she did something wrong

caught up their in the light

amp resounding her voice,

she would continue to the end

and after last light

clicked off,

would find her own sorrow and silence