electric flutes of thought

damn i need a poem,

to fill a space

some come

but do not linger

like the fart after a good meal

i subscribe to images

that like popcorn

during sex

adhere to skin,

a tattoo unable to shift

slice and slide onto page,

i think of bruised moons

and swelling sun

complicated paintings

of a scrambled mind,

as if my ear

was to my own heart

the beat was not right,

so pen scrawled over paper

chased by some nervous undoing

your reading it now

so i guess it is done,

let it linger

let it breathe,

i hope it gives something to

you

 

secret and vague in austerity

moon in nightspace became silversmith

light hammered over island

catching the nudity

i kept vigil over,

a saddened animal

hunched in an undergrowth habitat

i fed on something that dreams give

as i watched

her polished by tides overwhelm,

i could of been a nation on it’s knees

waiting for that one that comes

and brings a substance,

yet too afraid to show yourself

for fear of spoiling a grand occasion,

damp skin

natures jeweler working diamonds on,

a martyred bird called out

shriek of the night

she turned and i was certain of being seen

my eyes would be vivid in the darkness,

retreating with a tread  so soft,

knowing as you saw swept long hair

i would not possess

despite the urgency of my loins

without satisfaction i would have to wait

as this was not the night

threat of nature

waxwing

on your long leafed bough

through your mask

why do you fucking stare at me

through the window

i stare back

do you see me for what i am

a cuckoo

in another’s nest

mating with another’s wife

i cant help it

you beautiful bastard

if i had a gun

i would shoot you

yet watching head bow

beak rub bark

fragile in bone and feathers

you are nervous

afraid of predators

above and below

so fuck you

i am of the high order species

and do not forget

it

 

 

angels at the pagan threshold

landscape seen by standing eye

on wind stripped rooftops edge,

answers pilgrims of nausea

fall as if from the depths of the sky,

horizon alone with forest

sun faced green silk and gold,

tracks of those who journey in faith

into the still of wooded glade,

within voices imagined

brambles pulled by enraged fingers

mess and tangle hide

that place used as a remote hope,

he should be there

pale faced

emotions a fountains stream

pleasure would not be found

with slackened vines,

this horizon embraced him

pulled into its complex afternoon

where time lie down

petal seconds fall,

chaos is not for choosing

sleep will not be heeded

as these files of thought

are put away,

staunched by class,

those in power jailers to tomorrow,

gas would fill indecent blue

and many more would fall,

for the sake

of secrets of kings

wordle

Cauterized

water from the raw eye as it weeps

and deflects the spectrum,

no space in the retina

for other emotion,

bland skin

freckles intensified,

being close to the coast

and it’s relentless tides

abstract dunes,

naked and innate expression

stress brought on

she moved,

each impression on the surface

was not left for long

filled in she had no path,

emotion bent over anvil

forged by loss,

wind became rampant

stirring grasses

that whipped about delicate legs

isolating her innocence

this way,

beneath the flat clouded hat of sky,

rubbing those eyes

now tasted

with tincture of seaborne salt

this moment

came to bring on the rejuvenate

 

Subtraction From

in the obstinate realm

of flightless thought,

a man may lay down

finding all muscles non compliant,

he had a chance

that possibility to extract

a thought chick from the nest,

without down stark uninteresting

pallid pink nothing

with voracious appetite,

cast away

all limits remain,

lust , love and desire

three traps set for him

all ensnaring,

have caught him

escape an alternative

only accomplished with thought,

yet he could not think,

each entice

her whisper,

a touch upon bare flesh,

the merest smile,

beguiled, her medusa words

turn flesh to stone,

marble for her own touch

contoured to her own wanting

it was her savor,

not his

a phallic model of molecular degeneration,

reduced to base instincts and constructs,

he was for her

and her alone