Was it my fault that I asked the larks
your secret whisper-name?
A small mistake, I won't regret,
yet I am ashamed.
They said it was Mountain Laurel
who opened the morning for song-
I was happy,
half convinced
They were not wrong
The rain could come
or bubblegum.
I'd smiled as the flower
of our nakedness bloomed,
Then withered in the bower.
Mountain Laurel Girl,
what wilts your cheek of rose?
Why switch those crimson lips I kissed
with blue umbrellas?
Later, confronted by nightingales,
they blamed the larks of lies-
"Moonflower is she
of the slender wrists, she,
of ocean eyes"
And when I asked those dapper chaps
how sweetly she did love me
They cawed a song of sunset
beset with storm, and ugly
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
Stopper of hearts,
but what have you done
to all the lads of Ashland?
Your struggling cheek
a soft delight
chaffed against a world of sadness-
The candy shop, no sweeter,
despite it's lollipops and chocolates
than the *********** alive and prideful
at the fluttering of her naked lashes.
Civil when you meet her,
she knows where the aorta's at-
Squeezing like a vice grip
at the ruddy heart attack
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
Let me in
to how crazy you are
Take me out
a bit too far
**** me up-
a bowl of spaghetti
Party explodes in confetti
Learn how to push when I pull:
Stomach sick, too full
Learn how to pull when I push:
Close your eyes-
You are the wish
Show me how empty I'll be
burned out
in your ecstasy
Having need of nothing now-
fever at the tip
and on the brow
Peach is the mouth,
the edge of the lip.
Apricot honey,
the place you sit.
The master hushes
his unruly pet
You **** like angels dripping wet
Deeper down,
then down so low-
Digging the switch from fast to slow
The belly cup
The knuckle spoon-
I've had enough of this hot room.
I'll smell your taste
I'll come undone
later,
when I'm almost home
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
How innocently and wholly she fell for me-
It's a shame we won't have that again.
What good are the taverns and church bells
When love is the doula of rain?
I'd rather be drowned in red water
Than have these bad dreams chisel stone in my mind
I felt the deep call of my meat to the slaughter-
The marvelous, numbing, sweet nothing, sublime.
My finest carbuncle I offered, she smiled,
Uncomprehending intangible worth;
It's red like the robin's fine coat in the morning
On the unfortunate day of my birth.
How innocently and wholly she fell for me-
It's a shame she won't have that again.
What use for the taverns and church yards
When love is the doula of rain?
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
lie to me,
it's time.
I'm barley even in the room
or in attendance at the banquet
of my cloudy fingertips
lie to me it's time to shake
that old blue saxophone
down in a rattle-puff
fat lip moan
lie to me that I'm as real
as anything that jumps
into the cotchels of the sky
toward a well tied noose
lie to me my
magic limbs
will hold
and I'll be strong
despite my hot
and watery
eyes of lapsang souchong,
my soul
a liquid swirl
of smoke
against my teacup bones
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
I count myself
in coffee-moons
and pretty ladies kissed
I've never kept a tally
but I know the ones I've missed
Lying awake
for withering
and living
a life
without
my cat
among the porcelain
as careful as I should have been
at the teetering knickknacks of your love
I know that I'll be changing soon-
I feel my memory
disappearing
I'll mail a slender letter
of hope to find you reveling
in dragoncloud
sunflower weather
with a man who needs your doting
while I count the coffee-moons and miss
the lips I once loved kissing
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
In the mountains,
obviously,
there were
other
philosophies...
I knew when to shut up
and sip my coffee.
I know the old
rainwater story, of course
I'll speak up again
when it's time to discuss
the cracked backbones
sunken ships
broken
skeletons of wood
dancing
at the cold black
gates of solitude
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
The things
that break you open
in the morning
They won't take you
away
but for a moment
when you're going-
Look back
once
only
then leave me to my misery-
I'll be the one that used to kiss
your wet footprints
to the bedroom
from the bath
The one who's dreams wandered
around our house like cats
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
when
the apple skin
is fit enough for breaking
there will be
just as you said-
pomp and merrymaking
I'll weave a cozy nest for us
beside a faery dell
and sing the song of stardust
on a lute of kitten's paw shell
but when the apple tree is dead,
though the taste of fruit may linger,
it will be just as I said-
Unenviable December
the song will chill among bows,
seldom will be heard the music-
we'll know the place like wedding vows
broken for our own amusement
in the autumn, all is woven-
nests and throaty strings
in the winter forest
no birds sing
-Brian Bigley
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
I took my love to Talby Faire
And there, the world seemed right
To cut the chill that knit the air
She clothed herself in white
Her gown, appearing linen
A silken symphony to touch
Although the night was bleeding out
In us there was no rush
My jacket was a tattered swatch
Some dead man's wife's donation
Acquired many years ago
When I was not so cold and thin
Her perfume made a different muse
At the neck and at the wrist-
I'm sorry but I'd rather there be rope
On both, with scent betwixt
And as the night, that pale blue mage
Worked magic over Talby Strait
I wandered toward the bannered stage
The bone white moon had made
And on the wood, three skeletons
All gentlemen, prepared,
Took to the task of violins
And music made they there
And in that din I lost her-
She's a stranger now to me
I'm left to bow my violin
And wail to Talby's eaves
I took my love to Talby Faire
We hardly knew each other then-
Strange music that the moon allowed
Has made us strangers once again
- Brian Bigley
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC