believe
that you can surely shuffle your miserable untested
vocabulary into never been heard before combo’s,
believe
your insights have never transversed in my blood stream,
a poem unheard, yours, a transfusion of not-my-blood type
believe
you are special in life, in love, in pain, in sad madness,
only you can feel primarily and primitive, all of us, tertiary
does the optimist mock you?
most certainly not.
achieve
poems are allusions, born each time, first time, summary illustrations
of eyes, mouth, all your sensations together, make a messy birth canal
achieve
your first is our first as well, make the risk-taken a celebration,
newness is a gift unique, bond us to your children issue nouvelle
achieve
with insolence of the blind beggar, a teasing teaspoon of outrageous
good fortune, a fist hammering breakthroughs of pain and glory
N.B.
my words have been tasted by thousands of thousands,
a fleeting glory that is instantly lost to the crumbling
dissatisfaction that all that your needs, your findings, solutions,
the breaking of the chains of your boundaries, drawn by imposition,
the fragility of the lines that contour your image, make you nothing, are nothing more than just another poet which is the most,
most glorious honor one can proudly bestow upon oneself
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
** justa another poet ***
toiling daily in the doily
factory, my job, to collect the
discarded spaces that fall
to the floor when the patterns cut
what do I know that you do not?
feel, what enlivens me that you
won’t recognize? fantasize?
what causes me to weep
that you won’t jointly shed?
exactly.
just(a) another poet,
my reflection is yours,
but you too, just another poet,
but you already knew that...
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 3:20 PM UTC
the phrase instantaneously registers,
dutifully stored for a new baby composition,
for all my future lovers and you dear reader,
“move at the speed of trust”
too young to justa rush into,
too old to justa rush from,
y’all inquire “what’s the right speed,
when the hunger pains of now-need,
instantaneously beg for get-no(w)-satisfaction?”
move at the speed of trust,
whoa, the resonating free ringtone
clangs like a fireball,
sounds sensible
but sensible and love
are words illegal to use in a poem, and,
about trust, as surely past burnt lovers
will happily remind you at every chance,
trust means bust fifty percent in romance
every instinct says go, fall, let it happen,
except for the bass squeaky one,
from the rear mezzanine cheap seats,
low and slow toned, hey remember me?
trust, my name is trust, here to remind you
that justa trusting yourself will never prove wrong,
that’s the lesson of now-need, fifty percent anyway
in matters romantic
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 7:17 PM UTC
so many pleasures, yet this,
the chiefest!
it is the cellular sensation, a momentary
swiping the real stroking of gentle grazing,
the finger-tracing painting of another’s
softest places
this is what I will ever miss
this is what I will eye mist
*when the eyes, arms and all the rest
age beyond, functioning justa at the “barely” test,
as long my forefinger, tho crooked and bent,
can draw lines upon the cheeks of my beloveds,
the lover sleeping beside, so relaxed, eyes closed,
the children, whose skins elasticity is living electricity,
even the warped, veined, roughened dying skin
of those yet glowing-gasping for the tactile worship,*
I will desire to live
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 9:12 AM UTC