obliged to function

[create a dream]
repetitive symbols and allegories
a habitual state of mind
within the complexity
of a certain strangeness,

it was a kiss/

significant to the external world
and not the four walled habitat

[interior body]
hearts and ideas created verses
spontaneous kiss
and delightful flesh
without absent things to deny,
music filled the simple sense
isolating the event
captured in his mind,
temptation a language of it’s own

an act of kiss/

[pure,impure]
moment cracked with resonance,
her eyes had claimed the
measurements of his passion,
without verbal matter to form
a leaf litter sheet

[fell upon her]

you discover in a kiss/

all named sciences describe
needs and imaginings ,
and in ache of after limbs,
aesthetic conditions
and those rules of attraction
will provide possibilities
for them

asymmetric sexuality

night brought little clarity
between motel and slaughterhouse
it was a new jersey mythology
of white paint and brazen neon,
from the chevelle in the lot
they had come to meet
passed notes on realtor’s lined paper
two packs parliaments
hushed phone conversations
catalysts to the reaction
that imminent realization
of naked falling
upon bed worried with crumbs,
sheet shifted over sanitary cover
quilt shed to worn green nylon carpet,
by her side lay against her
it rested tacked by it’s own stickiness
to her leg,
now it was done
last moment devoid of thought
when she rolled it like a cigarette
licking with an anxious care,
this all for what,
that wooden mask of his face
expressionless
caressing her breasts
moving stiff fingers back and forth,
they where now derelict
in exploded rubble of emotion
it took her time to control her lip,
eyes could of burned,
but now all truth had been eliminated
and they would not see each other again

http://dversepoets.com/

Ferenc Juhasz – Birth Of A Foal

As May was opening the rosebuds,

elder and lilac beginning to bloom,

it was time for the mare to foal.

She’d rest herself, or hobble lazily

after the boy who sang as he led her

to pasture, wading through the meadowflowers.

They wandered back at dusk, bone-tired,

the moon perched on a blue shoulder of sky.

Then the mare lay down,

sweating and trembling, on her straw in the stable.

The drowsy, heavy-bellied cows

surrounded her, waiting, watching, snuffing.

Later, when even the hay slept

and the shaft of the Plough pointed South,

the foal was born. Hours the mare

spent licking the foal with its glue-blind eyes.

And the foal slept at her side,

a heap of feathers ripped from a bed.

Straw never spread as soft as this.

Milk or snow never slept like a foal.

Dawn bounced up in a bright red hat,

waved at the world and skipped away.

Up staggered the foal,

its hooves were jelly – knots of foam.

Then day sniffed with its blue nose

through the open stable window, and found them –

the foal nuzzling its mother,

velvet fumbling for her milk.

Then all the trees were talking at once,

chickens scrabbled in the yard,

like golden flowers

envy withered the last stars.

URL: http://able2know.org/topic/16231-1

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

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

Charles Bukowski – Last Straw

Charles Bukowski one of his last readings in 1980

ink stained finger pedigree

kiss and whisper in her ear

hair dyed nocturnal sheen,

this clown without sanity

also had no morality,

for him love was the crazy light

of all dead angels,

his heart navigated slums of heaven,

babylon a drink to satisfy

and of those there where many,

at the door watched as she

burned on the brazier of sweetness,

leaving behind

he would go now and

make seven nymphs homeless,

in his mind words dwell,

a mirrors reflection

shows glance of vain apathy

downstairs and out

he went walking brisk

on soft sprung sidewalk,

there will come a last day

where pages no longer speak,

she was far behind

no turning back,

sorrow clung to his own breasts form

blood of his lust drained

pausing to turn into the bar

instead of heading home

will wait on tonight

Stones Thrown as the Crow Flies

midnight had crawled

out of his head leaving the

early hours to do their work,

fingers manipulate

keyboard screen aglow

in transcript of the mind,

his patience a short tether

to the excitement of creation,

as if dawn light brought revelation

a first fledged sun of

the day,

radiated warmth

mist lifting,

stimulants left aside

progressing in a way he knew best,

hunching slightly,

a splinter of memory

curdled color at the corner

of his eye,

tear appeared,

but only of tiredness,

not happiness

love remorse or regret

compacting much of the mind

this way and ball it up

upon a printed page

gave it a name,

then abandon it

let it become a piece thrown aside,

to be read again one

future day,

at completion a certain smile

pleasure heightened

few could ever see,

it was written

it was done,

exhale pull away

tremors in the arms

till the next moment.