Posts Tagged ‘passion’

oscillation of my heart

a thrum of false applause

nova wheel turns

in loose hands palms sweaty

streetlights searing flares

in greasy windshield stain

accelerating with measure

not panic

plastic neon afterglow

rearview shadows and transcience

nicotine once craved

alcohol once craved

cardboard cup balanced

lid slipped with brown liquid

it’s smell filling nostrils

along with dog

and after days perfume

arguments

those voices thrown and snatched

can be taken back

into a street

cop car drawled on by

tree lined urban paradise

front porch orange glow

parked

engine silently waiting

would she disturb the curtains to see

nothing

was he wrong

then he remembered

she was gone

they where gone

counselling for grief

counselling for depression

arguments outlive those who shout

that once beautiful house

invaded

shotgun splattered

with crimson design

rocking slowly to and fro

applause had silenced

into the false abyss

he would be in the shadows

a footnote on a headstone

living without a porch

accelerating

foot on gas

rubber black stained

breathing in circles

window open

a destination yet unwritten

Advertisements

then tomorrow

Posted: October 17, 2017 in My Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

cracked on cheap wine

liver brushed

tongue licked by camels

lying in semi stasis

not being illiterate

book slithered to floor

words melting into wood

she was by the full length mirror

naked with no breath left

she was my descent

her depths a surge of rapid currents

I could not read anýmore

tenderloin buttocks moved

her vagina a well visited republic

it’s musty sweetness

gave me a fugue of absurdity

return to me

return to me

her snowy gut roll belly

over my lips

kissing tongued glassy traces

jackrabbit twitching

lowered herself to me

I was forgiven

I had absolution

sweet poetry and flesh

shuddering silver dollars

into the meter

my time running out

would return to book

and motel walls

she a neon scrawl on my eyes

then there would be tomorrow

they told me about the garden of love

which I knew never existed

just like the dew settles

a feeling came over me

reaching touching feathery leaves

someone lurked in the darkness

a glimpse a furtive shadow

i needed to draw out of the gloom

no fee to be paid

as wallet forgotten

my fingers picked a rose

holding it aloft to the sun

shadow emerged reaching also

for the rose

sunlit face exquisite beauty

naked radiance for me to see

entranced entwined enthralled

in a boiling swell of passion

i was consumed

infused with the flowers and trees

the garden in this garden

i would remain

many stories can be untold

but this one cannot

i belong to that once furtive figure

no more in the density of foliage

but with me

together as one

img_0370

Together always

22 years of marriage to be celebrated

The Girl Reveals a Thigh

The girl reveals a thigh,
the girl reveals an ass cheek,
only she doesn’t show me that thing
— conch shell, beryl, emerald —
which blossoms, with four petals,
and contains the most sumptuous
pleasure, that hyperboreal zone,
a mixture of honey and asphalt,
a door sealed at the hinges
with a giddiness held captive,
a sacrificial altar without
the blood of the rite, the girl
doesn’t show me that thing.
And she is torturing me, this virgin
with her modesty making me dizzy
from the sudden blow struck
by a vision of her luminous breasts,
her pink and black beauty
that winds itself into a ball,
wrinkled, intact, inaccessible,
that opens, then closes, then takes flight
and this female animal, by laughing,
dismisses what I might have asked her about,
about what should be given and even beyond
given, what should be eaten.
Oh, how the girl kills me,
turns my life into one in which
all hope is consumed
by shadow and sparkle.
Rubbing up against her leg. The fingers
discover the slow, curving,
animal-like secrets, yet
they are the greatest mystery,
always crude, nocturnal,
the three-pronged key to the urn,
this concealed craziness, it doesn’t
give me anything to go on at all.
Before it never would have provoked me.
Living didn’t have a purpose,
the feelings walked around lost,
time wasn’t set loose
nor did death come to subject me
to the light of the morningstar,
which at this hour is already the first star,
violent, rising up like nausea
in the wild beasts at the zoo.
How I might know her skin,
where it is concave and convex,
her pores, the golden skin
of her belly! But her sex
has been kept a secret of the state.
How I might know the cold, dewy
meadow of her flesh,
where a snake rouses from sleep
and traces its path
back and forth, among all the tremors!
But what perfume would there be
in an unseen cave? what enchantment
what tightness, what sweetness,
what pure, pristine line
calls me and leads me away?
It might offer me all its beauty
and I would kiss or bite
and draw blood: I would.
But her pubis refuses me.
In the burning night, in the day
her thighs come together.
Like a deserted inn
closed on the inside by a latch,
her thighs seal themselves,
seclude themselves, save themselves,
and who said that
I could make her my slave?
I could debate this possibility
without a glimmer of hope for victory,
already her body erases itself,
already its glory tarnishes,
already I am made different by that thing
which wounds me on the inside,
and now I don’t know for certain
if my thirst was more ferocious because of
that thing of hers that I might have possessed.
There are other fountains, other hungers,
other thighs of other animals: the world is
vast and the forgetting profound.
Maybe today the girl in the daylight . . .
Maybe. For certain it never will be.
And if it hides itself away
with such fugues and arabesques
and such stubborn secrecy,
on what day will it open?
What would need to change for it to offer
itself to me on an already cold night,
its pink and black blossom in the snow,
never visited by me,
that boat carrying incense that I can’t board?
Or is there no boat carrying incense at all . . .

* * *

other wounded words

met opposing lips

before taking steps

to the tree

with tissue paper bark

denied strong stature

boughs reaching into canopy,

by those roots

we would lie

till they pierce our flesh

not out of brutality

not nature

sap and blood entwine

devouring each other

upon a dense earth

we lie we live

together embedded

drawn down to the

moisture beneath

and worms soft mouth

alone on a dreams forgotten shore
that stray thundering sea
reached towards the sky

wind creased and folded grass,
elemental human hearts
away from pale insignificance
chime together

the fire has not vanished
silent dune blue air,
these memories will scar

and no holy intervention
can claim a dedicated tear

sigh and embrace
an eloquent arrival of intimacy
ripe silent love

ingest the once plain indifference
short breath saliva glisten

someone else can trace you
by indentation in the sand
and what sea birds say
in discordant voice

sunday whirl