Nation part 1

He was hound dawged  
Sweated  
Mud in his eye  
But red, similar the color of cherries  
  
His  load  
Delusions of grandeur -carried in a burlap sack  
eclipsed the threshold a Moon before his person  
  
Lumbering  
  
And foul  
  
Grunt and whiskeyed breath  
Enough to make a small one dizzy ...
  
Enough to clear the front of house with only a hint of his mood  
  
The Sioux boiled beneath his grip  
Mud like lava caked his expression  
  
The man had seen War  
But not enough  
  
Not enough  
  
Only a little..
A promise incomplete  
  
His War had been a nursery rhyme
Full of..  
  
Barnyard animals  
****** with anthropomorphism  
Machete held  by pigs paw  
Rebel yells that quacked  
  
And so he entered the threshold  
(Sanctuary actually)  
Hulk and mass inescapable  
And indescribable in regards to appetite  
(Though I will try)  
  
As said ..
The Sioux boiled beneath his grip  
Exposing the ancestry beneath his skin Monks hood  
  
I think ..
Something lovely  
And deadly  
  
And I certainly feel..  
worthwhile

A tree

I was once God smacked by a Sunset
Who’s fingertips dripped orange and pinks into the inky tips of evergreens
A master work of feeling
And blue ball empathy

The longing displayed in nature

A supernatural as I gazed onward
And understood

Phenomenon
Phenomenally

I waltz and dance and tip toe underneath a shine gone spastic
Stars that would scatter all for me
And would shed their light upon a face
Curving lips over a strong chin that held ...

The ever promise of a kiss
The furlong promise of a No

I doubled down on this.

Hot and miss as I danced into the spray ..
on my face and **** and tummy

More I cried for his sunset
Into the ink of my evergreen
Pinks and oranges puddled onto

The tap root of my Forrest

Slow

Dance to graves ..
to Rogers and Waters
And Dens of Uniquity

To moments a capsule
Instantaneous
The spread

Poison or living
It does not matter...
but into the marrow
It’s seeping

Into the marrow
Through concubine flesh

Through
Flesh and bones ..
To marrow

A harrowing beat..
by Rogers and Waters
The lamp light still comes pleading

To garnish the cheeks of thin women wearing musk
Men in hats and dark ..

Dance to graves..
rivers among men

Dance to graves at once.

Self run (Riot)

I walk
6 feet tall
All of me

(I have been told I lead with my ******, it is unintentionally ****** forward if I do. My head is usually in the clouds. I’m assuming my ***** is too. Once I think about it . .. I’m away to something else. Figuratively and literally. I guess If my ****** leads, I soon follow.)

All of me
5 foot 9
And 6 feet tall

My perfume
Hubris
But at most I’m self aware
At least
I’m oblivious

It wafts around
At 6 feet

High

(I have been told I look like Debbie Harry, I prefer Chrissy Hynde, but Debbie Harry will do. Especially on those one shoe Sunday morning afters. Even then I douse myself  O! DAY! Perfumed. Pride and all of its bilingual manifestations)

At
6 feet tall
I’ll take you to Church
O! Faced

(A man once once winked at me and said; Jennifer I’m going to take you to church. He meant a good ****. Or intended a phenomenal one.. regardless, I took him. I usually do. Jennifer the pew.)

Straight up
No inclination
6 feet tall

Baller

Behind Bandana and Cloak

Where it holds value
Like ampoules of placebo
But sugar and water and hope
Driven in
An intoxicating swoosh
****** in, currents
That run down the American dream

A big brawny man with spike and hammer
Pounds determination into steel
With breathe heaving spit
Electrolytes draining from brow
Below the furrow a face the shape
Of white molten mud
Labor belts harmony with his spike

Ping
Ping
The placebo takes the rhythm of faith
Ping
Until the morning grace ....

An affluent nature would give him no title
Only stock in trade
The worth of his back
And it is broad

But where it holds value ..
might and vigorously hoping
And these you know,
Are the important things
What we reach for
Beyond capability

Behind the red fade
Of cotton hand me down things
Before time drops forgotten
From the hems of pockets riddled with holes

Ping and
Ping
The mend

In his bounty
Amen
Amen

The Stone

I hold it
Hot hot
In my hand
My eyes shoot
In Axis Mundi
Ever opposite
It’s grounding source
However similar
It’s everlong
Time imprinted
Held snug
My eyes
To the stars
Like this diamond
Chrysalis
Of Chrystaline
Hot hot
In my hand
My eyes shoot
Im Axis Mundi
Beyond the heat
Axis of Petdition
.............,,,,,.

****** Hornets

I have been feeling,
Of late ...
that the ****** Hornets have missed us by miles  
And they are sure shot  
Tangle with the most like daggers  
  
Leaving an Unkindness of Ravens  
Furrowed brow  
(If they’d had any)  
Over eyes  
Narrowed in on outlines in chalk  
  
But figments and scatter  
Shadow people  
Who stand and walk away  
Under the cover of bold sun  
  
It might just be okay.. ..  
  
The newspaper green at its memory  
When pages had fluttered from  
Martyr  
To  
Martyr  
  
Worst to worst  
  
Might the best reman?  
  
I feel of late it might have been  
A narrow miss  
An allegorical  
Cause and escape  
  
Whether the cage door pried?  
Weather  
It matters  
  
The Sunshine be bold on backs  
That once crawled and drew a curious flock  
Un shadowing arms
  
That once  held the hands of clocks

To see this highway,
And a vision beyond it
Beside it  .. running along like threads that hold the keep  
Dirt roads that come to the middle and end  
A front door open ,
And shut a thousand times and holding its secrets still..    
  
In my rear view ,  
And front.  
A haze of dust collected there  
  
My eyes are wide against rest.  
A yellow line will spin out hours ahead of me before they find comfort and closure against a pillow  
  
.And the moon and stars make work of my imagination.  
Residuals and lasting impressions dust my dreams.
  
Scorched coffee  (pause)
Sugared bites,  
And the road I travelled ,  
  
Well economies.    
  
Not glimpses into the usual, or typical  
Exactly,...  
but glances towards an American Gothic.  
    
Perhaps even the Abraham of the streets
  
(Long thoughtful pause and deep pull of a Redbull)

Would I stoop to consider these,
Remove myself from self titled Shaman of the Netherlands  ...
and dive deeeep into the Delta.

Musky scent of both decay and renewal,
Let it be heady.
Let it fly fast into downed windows through fingertips extended and waving through the wind.

Learn  by feeling and leaving  ...
experience.
But no intent on living there.

It has served some purpose
My human being
My strength in episodic reach
The collaborative effect
Come pheromones to nostrils
That rounds pupils
Breaking out in embrace
Skin to skin for a moment
Though it might chance souls touching

My human being alive
Being proud of her show
Being far beyond anything she once hoped to have appeared
In the other minds eye
Let alone ..
daily plans
Breakfast
The normalcy of toast and butter, jelly
And knowing exactly how we like each other's eggs prepared

Discrepancies the thickness of yolk
Minor and shades of yellow like discourage
It was un brave of us to fear the trembling

....
But so very human being of us to begin the act
....
So very

And on and on
This comfortable horizon

....
So very human being

Iced In

I am almost certain this house is shrinking  
I have begun to watch heavy mouth breathers as if they were mine canaries  
And have duct taped down the stove tops  
so that no Cabbage or Salmon or other viscous pungency invades what’s left of my senses  
  
Last night I slept on the couch for a change of scenery in which to dream  
My dreams have become complacent  
I wish they contained urges like mine  
I feel they hold to investment in my desires  
  
My longings are being held hostage by a man in a boring brown suit who would never dare try and pull off a black fedora  
He can only move me  
By a rope and pulley system  
  
It feels unnatural  
Without the odd pleasures of the surreal  
  
This environment suffocates my ability to self stimulate  
My imagination bounces off of four grey walls who’s ugliness is approaching like a step sister  
She creeps towards me and scuffs her shoes  
She breathes heavily and I eyeball her impending fall  

Surely this storm will be the bounce house death of me
By body splayed out in an un natural position to chalk around on rainbow colored parachute fabric
I hope I allow the look on my face to say it  all

A deep affection for more

The woman sings:
“Don’t leave your little girl in the wild, the sky is turning black”
Of loves torture and trauma in an elliptical South
Of pale skin exposed to a hellish son
Once her heart was signed in blood ink across a dotted line
It hurt
And it stunned a permanent mark upon her face
And so she hoarded comforting words
Of lingering beauty and deep pools for eyes
Rations to nurture poorly a malnourished
and abused vanity
Her fingers found themselves
Grasping at tiny things
And disheveling all around her what she thought was neat
To tidy it back up again might tip up her chin
A story heard:
A cobbler fixed a question mark heel to an aristocratic boot so that the Man in question, could walk above other Men’s waste

She prays night and day for the perfect pair of Devil’s red stilettos

Hillbilly Girl

She took the cake
Fat bottomed
Momma slip dressed no shoes
Whiskey’d breathe
(enough to make a cow dizzy)
To her the simple life
Had been a religious pilgrimage
One heavy hillbilly who loved a good bargain
Her Guru Man
(between her thighs he’d lie)
Placing bets with tobacco juices
The piney scent of chainsaw remnant
His perfume
A heady mixture to inhale
For this tiny girl
Her rear had plumped practically overnight
For his poison
Her bottom lip had found
A permanent place to shove itself
(and still her spirit had not taken a hit)
To the hilt she took to the woods
Birthing babies in the holller
(consecutively named after him)
1
2
3
They dropped and rolled into their own
Her bottom got fatter
Her ******* remained high
(one never snubbing the other)
And though her book
Threatened to become a dusty one
It was leather bound
A valuable artifact in her eyes
(no other God would thumb through its pages)
But to the end her Guru Man
Would see it as very well
And so the stones she gathered from living.
Would build her a palace in this backwoods place
Fat bottomed lil Momma
She took the cake

Hand

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup
To be held

(thoughts leave ligature stains)

To be violently kept
And dig deep
Down the red seams
Called fortune
That rise like trees
But uproot themselves
At the wrist

One so pale and daggered
One limp yet meaningful
One’s soul might forget it extends

One sparrow
One stone
One star to find me

(a comets score would burn a smaller space)

The World had turned within a tinier spot
How long could we keep the world turning
Under my thumb

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

(the chalice had filled with spray)
Grey matter and lust
The clear pink of a dark red
the moment just before

Brutal
(elementary momentum)
Brutal
The moment just before


..........

He had paused and looked and let out a clear headed scream and his eyes were gashes the color of nickel and stone his heart was stone cold his voice was deep his voice was high pitched uncontrollably so his eyes were thrown wide his head was foggy he only wailed and moaned he wailed he wailed he wailed on a head no longer clear....

So deep and dark was his soul

..
..
..

It is paced in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

And it’s weight in iron
Would sink the worl

Jack White and other Spiritual matters

Prior to yesterday I fasted from Jack White for 8 days. Cause: One screwy morning while making my bed, neatly spreading the head of my ****** Mary blanket newly bought on sale at Walmart, I looked up at the print of Jack White my mother bought me and winked at him and said:  
“Love you Jack, we got this.”
I was Godsmacked. Thrown back violently into a moment where I had stared into a Golden boys centerfold in the pages of Teen Beat, pledged my undying love, straight into his turquoise eyes, and was crushed when he did not swear it back.  
  
I got down on my knees and prayed: “Dear lord, help. I will give up Jack if I need to... but I really, really don’t want to...soooo.”  
His answer: “Chill out Jennifer, just take a break.”
  
I did, and yesterday morning I picked Jack back up in full force. After praying, I played Icky Thump so loud in my headphones I thought my ears would bleed.  
Afterwards I paused.. prayed again, and here is what that prayer revealed:
  
.....  
  
I sat, hands on knees. Alive with both the Holy Spirit, and the sticky feel of White’s signature guitar riffing. I allowed the buzz to settle and awareness lift. I became aware that my experience with the song was every bit as good or perhaps even better than the first time.  
  
This was certainly not true concerning my lifelong wrestling match with drugs and alcohol. No drink or use after, would ever match the Nirvana I reached in my first. Though I would chase that feeling like thunder scared livestock up until a bout a year and a half ago when the 12 steps of AA brought me to a higher power.  
  
This morning, that same higher power was revealing something to me during meditation concerning Rock n Roll, music and art in general.  
  
Somewhere around 4000 years ago a change happened in mankind. The Neolithic revolution. (This coincides with the time biblical scholars date the Genesis story of Adam and Eve)  
During this time, we see man beginning not only to plant and harvest literal fruits, but spiritual fruits as well. A natural or innate need for God manifests, into practice and worship. A knowledge thereof ... In this same transforming  period of growth we find the birth of Art and musical instruments.  
  
One can peruse the Artwork of man created thousands of years ago, and see he had a need and talent to create that was God given not unlike Da Vinci. One could play a flute  made back then with the same tonality of Amazing Grace. ... or Icky Thump.  
  
I came to the conclusion, that my music, is a spiritual matter, even in secular form. That Art is a spiritual matter to me, in whatever form.    
  
....,
  
My spirituality matters to me. More than that, it’s condition determines whether I can call myself sober today. With, or without a drink.  
  
With or without  Jack White?  
Gods answer: with. As long as I know to get down on my knees and ask him to help me reel it in the next time I look at a photo of a “rock God” tell him I love him, and say we got this.

It was monstrous  
Yet I slayed his generous advances
  
How could I have predicted  
Sure footed  
But...  
Both creeping pounding each  
Both snarling sides of face  
  
One sweetly  
  
One harsh and dripping breath whiskey  
Snoot and scowl  
A bronze fist the left  
  
I caught it like straw  
  
The right as if snow had fallen on my lashes  
  
Not that I had wept  
  
And neither did I laugh  
The laughter caught and kept  
  
I saw his eyes each  
I saw belladonna  
And fire  
I saw hate and love  
And the slow death of the Sun  
Into a chill night  
Casting tender mercies
  
Until another morning  
Where pounding crept  
Where my aching came
  
And peace had slept

Silhouette

You breathe through the air. Its jacket fits snugly. Its jacket is pale grey blue, and gripping.

It feels, a Forrest surrounds you. The blackening etch of your nature against cold tile like elephant ivory.

The ink seeps into the spread of age. It is blue dark. The picture blurs.

The only sound has been captured within the trumpet. The brass bulges, and begins to fracture.

What escapes; weeping. A low moan and the gurgle of a man drowning. Slowly.
His toes pointed downwards.

To the bottom like a dart. The silhouette of a body freeing itself of the hangman’s noosed.

Until it fins itself violently to the left, an eruptive detour created with the force of a whales tale. If only its lungs to breathe.

And free yourself of this jacket. Of its sterile color and similar embrace.

She is in the dark.

But in his eyes.....

Blood around her head like a halo.
Eyes, cold marble
Blue and blurry
Streaked
They roll

Turned away from him
His chivalry,
A long thin hand
Outstretched
And shaking

He has had no drink for hours
The days unwind collectively
In his stoop
In his demeanor
In his recollection

She.

Once long haired
And laughter like wings
Then he ..

And moth turned to flame
Charcoaling the tips
Curling future and promise
Red lipped youth
Paling to ashen
Grey

When seeing Red

Had I possessed
An astrologer’s poetic vagueness
Along with a mind bent
Like the ******* of Saints
A slow cautionary peace
Dubious to react
When prodded and poked
By eyes direct
And boasting a manly strength

Had I possessed this
And had not preferred the sound
Of crack a bone whip and snap
The cold breaking sound
Of meaty
And violent reckoning
With those who concerned me
With a complacent idiocy
And question piled upon question
Some fragile corroded brick
So brittle I might blow them down

Had I possessed
Arms gathering awareness
Like gentle summer storms
Pulling up grey and billowing clouds
Only to empty
And replenish
A kind and fruitful way to turn
Would be destruction

My heart then..
she would not hurt so
When my mind wanders through my castle built
Of selfish walls held tight by a mortar worth its weight in only gold
Gold holds no value in the heavens

....
  
These strongholds
like legs
It is like I could not walk without them
As if with all my might
I could not breathe without them

They split my middle
Of love and hate
And on one side I could not win
And with the other
I am unfamiliar

My face in histrionics  
Then bourboned to  
Applesauce  
A soft veiling  
Of *******  
And an insufficient reach
To grip the railing  
A catastrophic climb  
To my depths  
And I pour.....  
  
Another night  
Laced by stars
And swat team tactics  
He had gaslighted my dimensions  
I was scattered  
And covered the ground
Little shiny pebbles  
Poking bare feet ...  
  
That night I tossed and turned  
Under the covers of my smile  
My eyes sunk  
Closed and creases
Nostalgia played the drive in  
And a small girl sat on the bench
At the park across the way
Watching the others swing...  
  
It has been four years since then,  
And I ...  
  
Feel very strongly about that day  
That had fed itself into the night  
In such a primitive  
Primal manner ...  
that I had sworn I might lose my fist in its bite
  
I should still avert my gaze  
From morbid reflection  
And not dwell
(Stand)  
The pebbles so sharp beneath my toes

In a Bucket

What have I brought ..?
Havoc
Love...
carried in a bucket
Cancered by holes
And spilled along my path
Squeaky handle
Rusted parts
My shoulders shirking my burden
And the responsibility

With stars in my eyes I had asked:
Where should we go to dinner?
Do you like my dress?
What color are my eyes...
right this very second?
Would you get a load of me and this ******* twinkle!

It was so bright he could not stand the view.

Along the path:
A scenic overlook
Down below it ...
way down nestled prettily amongst tall Oak
And pale Sycamore
A brown river I had once daintily dipped my toes in,
in front of him..
And had cannonballed in naked
While hollering like a banshee
Behind him

It is unfortunate he did not witness the show...
so grand
it had uprooted the rookery

So grand ..
Even today the bird stands
Talk smoke and grey
On watch
And hoping to catch it again

Such were the stars in my eyes...
such were the stars in my eyes.

Blue and wetted vision occurred
Morning after morning
As I woke to his posture looming
Over my sleepy face
And his remark:
You look so beautiful,
So peaceful

But the look on his face.....

Another hole in the bucket.
My load lighter,
My boots muddied

It has been, such a long time since him.

Christina’s World

My life...
my legs they have kept far away from me
From the loft
From the rafters
In the night come rumbling
The pans had fallen from the shelves

In the growing distance
My home
In the growing distance

It has spread before me
And no longer reaches the gingham
The hem and floral petals
Shiver in the wind

Something grows in the space
From here to there..
an emptiness
And yet it grows

My smile haunts my forehead
It creases and is spittled with heat
My smile had fallen from the shelves
Along with the pans
And my Mothers booming laugh

My Mothers laughter echoes the distance
It is like lightning crack
When I awaken from it
And can no longer find my step

I reach ..
I pull away with timid hand
I am the field mouse
I am the scarecrow off her post
I am beauty on an island
Of memory and remorse
And the Sea
She folds in browns
The screams of the cicada

There is a light on..
if it is a lamp
I decrease by lessening shades of ever night
If it is a being,
I retreat
From vapor sting
Of foul breaths to eyes

My camouflage none
But naked self and instinct

And into the deep holes
And crevasse
Of a land rich
With nothing sovereign
It’s only King
Cruelty and self

My pallor is shot
This atmosphere has left thick residue
(Ash and grey)
I have morphed into a refugee
I wear the cloak of ruggedness
I own the heart of fear

I consider my last moments here ..
what memories might come to mind?
Thoughts of home ..
a distance so heartbreaking to travel
My family ...
faces like ghosts
It moves my insanity so
that I cannot remember their touch

Chambers:
I am moving blood
And dust
Pumping one ..
to put off the other

I find no need for sacrifice
The little goat would do me no good
It’s bleating a cry out to nothing
It’s slaughter would do me no good
But to lend fat to my skin and bones
And forward my march
Into another day

One I might be too weary to exist in
If it were not the fear
Of the pain that will carry me into death

He had in his hand ..
A violin
A violin
In his long hand
In his long hand
Trembling

The dress she wore
Nonexistent
It fell away like dust
And exposed a body
Of only skin
Of only skin
And her hips the lines
of a cello
of a cello
played
In the rain
Wet and deep
And cavernous

He held in his hand
A violin
And she

And she
And she... ... ... ..

In the rain

Deep and cavernous
And wet

And he
And he .., ..

Trembling

I could spit across the moon’s long axis
I could holler into the stars that they are stale ..  
that the bowels of hell are my window to their view  
I could do all of this,  
Without you
  
But keep in myself  
A promise  
Like the lamb screaming  
There is a lion  
And he approaches to shred me  
And eat me  
And deliver me onto the field  
Some meadow of gold and rebirth  
Where harvest holds my future  
And the stale stars will shine again  
  
I can’t complain  
I choose  
I breathe because I am ready to
I ache so  
Because I am often well  
I search for the divine  
Because I have known hell  
  
My song I sing like scorched Earth  
It knows the truth of things  
And all the while  
The electric lick of moan  
And wail
And a pleasure so sweet  
Just on the other side
  
A pleasure so sweet....  
  
I can almost taste it ...

Torrent-bed

I seek him in a torrent-bed
I seek him in the divine waters of unconstitutional purpose
I have no doubt
My mind will ease there
And that my thoughts will trickle through
And down into
Between nothing and faith

Somewhere in between I am sure of it

My hand grips blasphemy like a crow
How cunning
This cry out from my reaches
From out of the very depths of me
It shudders up and begs
It wants to burst from me
And caw
And scream
And turn my brows to arches
My face angular with passion
My body braces from the intensity

I feel sick
My stomach has swallowed my heart
And she still beats
Each thump swirls my head
Each thump drives me to let her loose
And heave

My fingers have found a new curve
As if they have turned themselves around something sharp
And jagged
And liable to cut that curve away

My Rocking Chair

It is empty in this chair  
As I sit and lean back into a space
I am destined to fall into  
Arms wide  
A look of shock dropping my chin  
Into a chest you once crossed with your fingertips  
In such a way  
My ******* formed perfect candied peaks  
  
The thought of your mouth there,  
Sets me to rocking  
Oblivion awaits to swoop me up...  
  
Cold hard facts
And points like diamonds
  
The sky once scattered in them  
And they shone in my eyes so
They scorched  
And blinded  
  
“Why do you wear that skirt, those boots, that look .. and inspire such filthy reciprocity”  
He gaslights the diamonds  
My eyes they bleed  
My arms flail through the air
  
Oh it is not easy  
In this rocking chair  
It is not easy
But I rock into a sightless sway  
I think on the day...  
  
And these words from a man who gripped a harness in his hand  
To the extent  
And brutal force
That I can no longer stand the sound of twisting leather
  
He said to me ..  
(and with this look on his face)
He said to me;
“Woman those hips! You woman, those hips.,  . You were born to spread those thighs. I’ll be born again, right there in your thighs!”  
  
And in the night he had done it..  
in no stealthy way  
Or like a panther  
But with force and monster like stare  
My eyes..  
they still burn from his ***** glare

Is my hair on fire?
It is the darkness
It is the cloud that hovers it
The dismal fog and fade
From destination
(II was once propelled by its heat)

Now a smoldering
Now a dissension in the ranks
This un-twist of plaited red
And amber
And just a glint
But fading gold

And just a glint

Enough to keep me wandering
Wondering

Bits and pieces
Shoes tossed across the room
My clothes piled in a corner
The smell of coffee scorching on the burner

Tomorrow I might rise and clean the mess
Tomorrow I might rise
Today I just go to bed

I have felt more dead than I’ve ever been
Half alive and roses
Five rows and a casket
Cracked open slightly
By a jagged thing
Sloughing velvet
The color of my rouge

Underneath
I have watched miles of countless scenery
And the grey and scrubbed tracks of Men
Making their way
Down the highways that never got them there

Disapproval
Disappointment shoveled onto their laps
Like the burden of children
It’s all in a life.. ..

It is all in a life

When Golden Years
Are shed like tears
And tattooed blue ink to cheeks
Once pink with promise

Salty trails of permanence

Adhere and there..
Here and there,
But what’s in a life but death?
What’s in a death but a life un-lived .. ?

I ask
And raise the lid to look
Peek for the answers that might break my heart
A scattered skeleton ... to the floor
The bones that cradle my flesh inside
So that I might hide
From the discomfort of it

I might hide from the comfort of it..

My tongue caresses the inside of my jaw
To beg a gape and awe..
to urge a childlike response to the world
Not to encourage
A brutal and courageous faith..
but one that is innate and infallible

The seed that caused the first instrument to blow
And charcoaled the walks of the Neanderthal
(Or more appropriate name for that human)
But being all the same..
and became Man kind as his spiritual need met the need to survive
And it shown on his face like grace

Bone

It is not a pretty thing..
or any kind of delicate cling
.... the scent of rose hips to pink skin
.... the new morning dew drop
To blade of grass, bent from it....

But more like the red shade
One might see..
Across two yellowed tooth’s
Jagged and arching from a mauvened grin
... teeth like a menacing and red smeared
Ancient ivory and bone menagerie
...
And pouring stink
Pouring stink

It is red and clings and dries to bone
..... and
The bone was used to unleash it

A torrent spill
From whack and grotesque thud
Until....

Whack and whack and grotesque thud
And death dump thump

And the life
And the life
And the...... life
She, ...

A lesser spill..
she does not breathe...
I .... over ****

I over ****..
To hollow her out
Her skull .. brainless skull

To hollow me out

The spill
She slows to stop and I...
find belladonna’d glaze of eyes
Find stillness in the red cementing of fate..
See art in its red and drying state......

Red smears on tooth’s
Like a cold ***** menagerie
Like a Grand Monet
In my own private gallery

...

Is there a death
Or a corpse among us
With the unwilting power
To flower
In face

To transform
Remorse’s course
And not stand in place

With footprints sure
On the edge of obscure

But not a tip toe in to six
And deep
To unshovel the ashes
From out of the heap

A noose who’d unravel
After judges gavel
A careless hood that might show
Sweet hangman’s face

O’ face please lie
Tell me I might not die
Tell me I edge ever still
Towards my infancy

Will my mirror to crack
I will gather her back
Puzzle pieced
And closer to thee

His eyes black as night hooks
His eyes black as solemn nickels
And to be spent
Perversely

On treats
Poked and prodded
Prayed from the gripping hands
Pried by means
Rough like shoddy tendrils
Of the beggar
Or the mercenary
Of the wino turned soldier
Of dubious fog and haze

He seeks non-combatant
Non-committal
Well turned flesh

White mooned orbs
And a gaze like death
Corseted to her cheeks
A rosened hue
Of chalk and fear

And brings a suddenness
Intended to escape memory

It seems the foreboding nature
Of this sidewalk itself
Causes her stoop
That mimics a sway
That shakes her hips
Like battleships

And in his mind
It has become a war
It is his call
His strike
And beyond his command

Caught

There is a deer here
.....veers from the head lamps
And shoots his sweltering skin
He slows
And feels alive
His chest heaves
The onslaught of branches
A rocking chair

he is swaddled by the darkness

.....has shed the light

Vacation

Interacting with the locals
Carrying baskets  
Bulging fresh fruit  
And palm tree smacked grin
  
The sun kissed
And grabbed me by the skin  
She danced the light
And smattered it  
Across my wrinkled  
Up nose  
  
Playful  
Kool aid carefreed  
Steel drummed  
Rolling round plinking and  
Plopped down to beach it
While curling toes felt up the sand  
  
I just lay
And soaked up the Rastafarian  
Three man band  
And the **** of spliff  
And the **** of spliff
Tobacco scent  
Wrought ****** havoc  
To rims eeeeking red  
My blink ate dust
  
Soon
Like monsoon season  
And it’s worst  
Fuzzy shores  
A sky too electric blue  
To be right  
The edges of a postcard  
Eroded by salty water  
Takes the better part of a memory  
  
Come November
I stood scanning channels  
On a ****** radio  
To try and catch a glimpse  
Maybe Marley  
Or at the very least  
Calypso?  
At this point  
I’d Belefonte  
The **** outta this joint
  
It turned out
You can go back home again

A horse called West

There was an infinite horse called West
He cantered Stallion chest
Heaving, thrusting forward
Beads of salted sweat
To the throttled floor
And hardened salt bed flats
With gifts of pound and precision
The grand machinery of nature
Without untimely death
To reign the beast in

Mortality can appear a noose
Even when the hangman has just cause
And the look of a saint
Beneath his dark hood

West had no knowledge
Of discourage

opposable thumbs were not in his
Chocolate brown make up
His eye dipped
Creamy and soft
If you stared into them
He might appear
To gaze back
Like a lover

Ready and willing
For care and soft
Gentle caress
He might appear to be
But would not stop
A break neck pace
Towards....

For kind things and touch

But for Omega
He had no vision
No need or desire
To hinder him

He was
As well
Without desperation
He was.....

Just as well

Another horse
Would halt him two foaled
And creation would bring the East
And a certainty

He had yet to see a sun rise
Nor see a sun set

Temperate sympathies
That do not cross
On mild  
well wishing winds
  
My mind ...
Thoughts drape
Like a sky  
Crossed by indifference  
Slow cumulonimbus drifting  
  
Obscure references  
That part
You and me
  
You see...
What matters to me now
Is not what mattered to me then  
  
Like the owl
Who shattered his beak
Trying
Then with slow turning of his head...
Spies his meal
And cannot eat
  
To seek
Broken and in need  
To find what might nourish you
Its appeal rolling small and helpless  
In the grass
Or underneath layers
Of dead wood and compost
  
Heaped over a trembling effort  
To hide and stay lost  
From piercing capture
  
To watch that vulnerable discomfort
Out of the gaze  
Of an eye ready with capable force
And wicked ability to take it...
And,
Transform loss through its digestion
Into
Energy
  
To just look  
Chest heaving with power  
Over it?  
  
To sit on wooden ledge  
With any comfort?
  
Surely I would turn my stare  
round towards some other  
ease for my yearnings  
A penchant for what stirs me
set softly to the side
  
So I am implying  
Your sympathies are false
To your nature
And my security
  
Here in this underbrush
And shaky home

The Lake

I stand before her
She is bold and blue
And cracks
With boning pressure and the shock of release

To bobbing sternum sheath
As if the chest
Of this now breathing frozen lake
Intubated by the will
And warm might of the sun

It’s rays like pumping hands
She moans
And underneath the sloshing of Iced veins
As they push through

Newborn

A magic shot
Shudders through
And shouts entrapment

Corrupting the silent calm
Sentinel of the wild

They stand watching
And fear her resurrection

She holds in pale blue
Electric palm
The capacity
And surreal intent
To tread through stability
And destroy the taproot
Of all that is known

“The ancient map”
And take down their King
With cool
Uncaring flinch

She breathes
And her chest
Rises
And falls
Great calamity
A cold terror

Blows through the sleeves of strong men
Spreads frostbite through the tips of fingers

Of able hands
Crippled by her might

And crestfallen
They disembark
On readied boats
On the opened currents
She has shown

Burning through
Archaic sentiment
.....But burning
And an appreciation
An appropriate passion
For what is not gold
But the tint of Calx
rusted root
Or the rust of a tin can
Planted in soil
For generations
And the dangerous space
That leads the Copperhead
Ahead of Chevron tiled slither
A scent of foreboding fortune mixed with feces and intent
But comes to some
The smell of cucumbers
To some plain foul
As flared and frightened nostrils
Take it in
And exhale no art
Poetry
Music
Stroke
Of mimic
The raw colors of the world
The value of salt
As it adds to the human condition
Or reflects
Truly the grimy
And honest
Often *******
Often Jesus Christ
Cornerstone, of humanity
The weary and brutal
Sidewalks
Filled with ******* seekers
Rattling keychains
That hang from pockets
Spilling Velcro unicorns
In colorful plastic

Burning through ..
and these things around me
Spill
A pilgrimage of sorts
To the Buk
And his awareness :
....Need to find art ...
To seek it in the ally’s
Or the eye of the convict
Where some might see
Only concrete and grey

Once submitted
Bathroom stall push
Through sign
Hung to progeny carefully
Reading:
Non violent
No entry
Special

Once over
Grimy bowl
And hands gripping rail
Face precariously close
To gaping glory hole

Sign reading:
Seeking
Truck stop peckers
And the trap house
Un mighty
Card board rejects
Trading dollars
For rolls of pennies

Once over
Shocked face
Replaced by
Clouded eyes
Enough to shove it deep

She breathes mightily
And stashes her sack
Between two white
Tear drop shaped
Pillows meant to nurture

Sign reading:
Do not suckle here
You would wet my rock
Not my crotch

If they would be bared
And react without permission
Suggesting tease
Toothy tug
Or for play

This sign would be a lie

You see
The points that drive her
To 76
Station stalls
1 cc
Ends
That drive into her skin
Down little blue highways

Crushing soul swept
Blown by the force of human
And rises within me
Fight  
  
****** temptation  
And fists to swing
And break  
You  
  
Me
  
My might not disclosed
Betrayed by my face
Shocked
Flatlined mouth
No words
  
Not any
  
Come a day  
Without it  
This that would cause
Me to bend down  
And deliver it  
  
My face ticking like a bomb
Twitching conservatory  
What remains
A frown  
Awaits chagrin
  
Awaiting comfort
Ease and freedom from this
And others that would trumpet  
Victory  
  
But low key  
Easy listening  
  
Others that carry  
A smile in pocket  
To take out  
Whenever
  
You know
Just whenever
  
And just like that man
I mean I’d be fine with
Just like that
  
Man
  
Casual  
Careless whenever
It’s cool man it’s cool  
And I’d mean it
  
Sincerely  
  
No clenched fist
But flat palm offered for  
Shake  
Or even
A low five
  
Ya dig?  
  
I know I would  
Will  
I see it clearly
Behind eyes
That squint  
Fierce lines
Of battle
  
The drums are too loud  
Boom my mind
But I feel  
Wrists are tired  
With  
Rat a tat tat
  
  
(Finger tapping)
I’ll twist this tissue
And wait

She was the reckoning
In God’s eye  
  
And she came before his moment  
Not unlike
The clamshell breathe  
That exhaled enough  
Of gritty debris  
And salty waste  
To stir warm waters to rise  
  
A momentum growing  
From one minuscule  
Molluskular  
Involuntary reaction  
To his “pain in her mask”  
Pure no count dumb fuckery  
  
A momentum that would rise  
And fall  
To onslaught  
Tidal wave effects  
  
And land  
(An understatement at the very least)  
Onto his his psyche  
(She sees dumb **** beach)  
And leave in tatters  
  
Browned and dimmed  
Once fresh pressed  
Buttoned downed to tanned flattened  
navel  
Supremely white cotton shirt  
And smirking logo stitched on it  
  
And she would grin  
Clamshell wide  
At how his smile once matched the smirk  
Of the perfectly put and odd little logo  
That sat  
(almost mocking her)  
Upon his white shirt  
  
But now due to  
The much needed exhale  
(Involuntary Molluskular removal of little more that bits of would be ****)  
  
Had left him only the expression  
Of purely God Smacked

It was White

  A white ...    A white ...    I’m dreaming of a curtain of snow
  
                                                         falling from her shoulders.
  
Snow crackling against the window. Snow shredded
  
                                           with gunfire. Red sky.
  
Ocean Vuong
Aubade with Burning City  
  
      There lay war.    Tyranny’s serial  
Killer... heat abroad  
  
The moon was white  
                        Degrees of yellow
  
    White lines laced with bliss ... much ado without implication
  
He ate the meat as if
  
A canine without teeth ... and she  
            
              tossed her smile carelessly  
  
She held a sparrow in the palm of her gentle  
  
               White... and trembling hand...  
  
   White and trembling
  
  
She ate a plum and let the juices run...
  
           Ran down her chin upturned ...  
run down it  
And dripped red juices to the floor....  
  
Let it drip                and he lapped like a dog  
  
As on airways nostalgia comforted  
         On all fours he licked red drops  
  
And once over  
Melancholic  
  
            He would forever be.  
  
Reduced to that taste....  
         orgasmically  
                     And in torture....  
his mind in torture
  
  
  
Wind whips the sparrow lost...  
she mourns her seat  
                                       Of an un gloved  
  
Pearl white hand
  
  
Un gloved and so delicate there....  
  
The morning makes it hard to build a nest

In your mind
And in your breath
Find me  
I beg of your impenetrable walls  
To crumble and come  
Down  
  
My God....
down and all around me..  
    
I'd love to hear you  
lying and next to me  
    
Make me a believer    
    
I might believe    
    
Pant my name right out loud  
In singular high  
And sweetness    
It might ease your tongue    
And stroke into it  
    
I know that I would....  
    
I wish that i could  
    
I would for you  
    
I would find that place in me  
Where my name    
On your tongue could reach  
Death's bed beaches  
And propel them to the shore  
Slamming waves  
Eroding rocks
and ungodly placement  
    
And over...  
Over, over  
    
Over.  
    
But a lifetime more than  
geology between us  
More than an ocean could stand  
without parting  
Much more than I had thought to  
place willingly    
    
Even still    
My longing turns readily    
And responds wildly    
To even the thought of it  
    
Asking more of the archer in me    
Than my pull can possibly bring  
I feel the need to draw the bow    
Intensely    
    
But Christ the intensity  
    
It is...  
Intense  
    
Too much    
Too far  
To pull that mark  
And unable to hit?    
    
Once more...  
    
I withdraw

Silent Bell

I cannot feel here at all
No touch in this space
No sight sound
Or ability to taste remorse
...
When the roaring stops
Done God deafening
And the sine qua non silence
The after the moment
Moment
Of a crushing vacuum of pause
Pre denouement
The infinity felt in the silence
There
...
before fate arrives sure footed
Black boot stomp
And fortunes imprint
...
So deep this track
How many have laid it
...
And here is mine
It shows my drag and limp
Curving artfully in the mud
To be shown and traced by hands of the living curious being
That would care to escape palmistry
Cut out the hustler
the convict
the grifter
...
As they stoop to find the lines and ways
That history arch’s and would bend their bright future
...
It would be a tragedy
They think
Finger curled to unsmiling face
To flatly increase a pensive face
...
And so the hum and swoop
Of approaching infamy
This heady swirl
And no sound to its definitely draining source
And no horn to sound an end
No violent or shocking alarm
To herald what will happen
And stick
...
To yellowed pages filled with flowery stroke
Script that burns my name into useful algorithm
Or other words
More apropos

The instrumental blows
Slow saxophone    
Accompanying my mood    
I tip the man with dip and shake    
    
Smoke and it's pillaring      
High and blue    
Like writhing tendrils    
Of the Medusa      
And her memories of when    
She was a beauty queen      
      
A thought occurs    
by tossed delivery    
However heavy my scrupulous resolve    
This kind of heaven is thick    
With indiscretion      
      
So one for my baby    
And one more for the road    
      
My bend of elbow      
Breeches slow slur    
My tongue takes on heaviness    
Ripe without pretense      
Formulation of rationale      
Dissolves    
      
My hands sticky      
With traces of me    
      
And my eye    
covers itself with hanging hood    
My view now comfortably obscured    
I am everything      
And I am nothing    
      
But hold on to this babygirl    
      
I am everything      
When not nothing    
      
The secrets of my skin    
Still feel beyond the numbing      
Goosefleshed and cold with fear    
Of the wide awake in darkness    
      
I am so afraid of the dark    
I have been made to exist    
under this neon light    
    
Somewhere inside it feels    
This heaven is not right    
My bliss is a traitor    
He might hang for these crimes    
    
And my soul    
She hurts    
My bridge is under fire    
The water boils    
    
And still I dip my toes    
    
Beyond the carnage and heat    
Still the sax man blows    
And lulls me    
But how I love this music    
I sink and I listen  
    
Until all around me shoosh  
Shoosh  
And ease into breathe  
Way to close for comfort  
So close to death
  
I raise my glass to my new companion
She stares with eyes
Of truth and beauty
their light I have never seen
nor hoped to
  
And still they shake me to my bones  
  
So much so and that ever after
The darkness has befriended me
And built me a home  
And kept my peace

It is dawn
  
I watch the dusty tilt and splinter
Of morning sun's soft emissions
I weave my fingers through them
And let them hold my need
  
My ache for the evenings before
when I bathed you  
And knew your body
And could smell your scent  
Strong and musky
where it was kept upon our bathroom shelf
  
My ache
she is strong
she remembers when
  
When comfort and care
And your arms were ever ready  
To pull around me
Wrapped carelessly  
  
Ghosts of you still wrap tight
  
You hold and squeeze  
And the twilight in that embrace
distorts the early sun
  
I feel torn
  
With the need to battle this obscurity
And with a shaking need  
to collect and keep it
  
My body urges me
It remembers when
  
So I often beg for it  
when it fades some
I had been crippled by my begging so
  
I believe it had crippled you as well
I must believe that to stay in this light
  
My posture dips
It remembers when  
  
I would get on my knees  
And would swallow you whole
My eyes on your desperate desire for release  
All the while
  
Now my eyes on this new day
Finding beauty on my fingertips
And pain in the memories that flutter it
  
My being wants to bend in that pain
It would feel natural
I think....
  
And i do again
  
But it would be a swallow
I could not choke
To watch your eye  
And it's ecstasy in release
  
A crushing blow  
It would keep me on my knees
  
so I rise
With this sun
And each day forward
To live and be gentle with it
To pray on these knees
I do not stay in this existence
In your evening  
And remembering
When
  
(I have known serenity in my stand. The next time I mean to keep it. That is my promise, to the next dawn and it's tilt again.)

When I am thrown back to
Shades of dying
Through walking breathe Universe
In search of resurrection
To lighten the tongue softly
With Star talk
Offering scores of Gods
The ability
To shine their ego
In a constant crown
Of constellation
With extravagant names
Of ancient Kings
Fierce hunters brandishing weapons pulled and ready to pierce
And women with the intuitive smoke
Of oracles

When I am in this space
Of mist and vague illusion
And the ambient effects
Of wine
Or others that might bend my sky enough
To see beyond it
And into others

I come before a Father
God with sheepish grin
And barely covered
His arm outstretched
And finger pointed before it
To pinpoints, brightnesses
Scattered carefully
And covering the great map of the infinite

And I would wander through
The rest of my days
Thinking on his smile
And wondering why it would look that way

See what he wears
A smirk like a *******
To be pulled back
And allow
Perversity
To flick forked
And attempt to tingle

As spittle flies from tongue
I would be unhappy to taste
His desire foams
And falls from his face
With a palsy of droop and moan
Unkempt hair falls in greasy fit
To shade a left
And wicked eye

And from the right
A stare that would like to pervert me
To down my *******
With a wink
And crooked tooth

From the thought of it
Grime settles on my nature
My shoulders bother me to stoop
As if I were to sleep
Inside the doorways of the bodegas
And my stature would slip into his pocket
A dime and a few pennies
Loose change

Into this I stare
Right into the red rimmed hole
I would be grateful
To pluck out
And put upon a pirates toothpick
to garnish his ginned state
Shaken and stirred
******* pulled and stroke
His stinking tongue
Until spit like *******
Hits his plucked eye
And I can show him where he’s ******* from

I look around this empty space    
And wonder at it  
how it all became  
And was put into piles collected    
To be tossed    
And was    
And piled again    
And Again  
    
Then in my mind....  
My gut  
My instinct  
My intuition and the following  
It plays out  
Right out of me
    
    
*  
    
There is a game      
Played      
Movements easy around the board      
The dice      
Tossed and rolled      
Tumbled to stop      
      
All flick of the wrist      
And chance      
And loss      
The mind behind it heavy      
Intense concern about its numbers      
      
We diminish ourselves      
By bets placed      
On unstable circumstance      
On games we are not meant to win      
But only pass time      
It's reckoning around the board      
      
The chance cards intended      
To bloom us      
Or bust us completely      
This game has great power      
But it is no Ouija of fate      
      
I cannot believe what is written      
Is placed there      
Though the roll      
Highly unpredictable      
I do choose to roll      
      
*    
      
my life has been messy      
I try cleaning it up      
I use rags of ***** promise      
I try willing the dust to stay      
And dance on the other side of the window      
      
But the day      
she blows      
Strong and forces what is fated through      
The dust settles in my room      
I must live there      
And should be comfortable      
      
So I keep myself      
And toss the ***** rags      
With the rest of the waste      
I know loss      
I am capable of suffering it willingly        
      
*    
      
Should I choose to roll again      
My head turned      
By the spectacle of black dots spiraling      
Preying on their fall      
      
Then all bets are off brother      
My poker face      
A shamble      
You know the chance I hold      
so do I      
My card would be mighty      
But only a card      
      
It is a game man      
only a game....      
      
**    
      
I wipe off my bedside table      
With the hem of my night gown      
A dark circle remains where i once sat your photograph      
It was beautiful      
You were smiling      
And so was I      
      
The memory still lovely      
And as fresh as the room in it      
It was once our room      
And it was your own      
keep it      
I am laying down      
To sleep in peace      
And dream in this one

Expert at:
Seduction, opening cheap wine.
With steak knife.
Watch it...
Too fast...
That ***** squirts everywhere.
******* Men & wine.

In the limelight of once covenant
Feel and touch
Drops cling to the curling of my rose
(She darkens there, in the light of you)
I recoil in the gloaming
The shine shimmies
And bursts

To the floor
Of scattered leaves
And dried red petals
The moisture will not plumpen them
Or shout any good fragrance onto the breeze

You gaslight my blue abrasions
Creating phantasm on my skin
A silhouette of features I know well
Mouth and hummmm
Low vibratory calling
A song that sings
Eons into my existence

But I await
In crouch and ready pose
(My curl has not devastated my posture she may unbend herself)
To spring forth
Out of these blue black strikes
You have laid on my courage

My keeper has become
A tree that bears fruit
I will pluck from it
And willingly be put out

My flowering held in hand
Full bodied in the wildest
Temptation met with choice
And it darkens only the red of my lip

What is left *****
Myself
For your perversions grow only
When pressed inside my shadowy illusion
(So keep it to stroke some lonely afternoon)

My eye will grow to no longer notice
Any contusion
I shed my skin and walk out of apparition

Grace and beauty shown only
In a strong light
To those who might keep their shadows for themselves