Jack B

Jack B Nov 2016

Of Bokomaru (as conceptualized by Vonnegut)

bearing our souls
barefooted, our soles.
bearing the weight
of only our bare
naked souls.

Jack B Nov 2016

Continued thoughts on a passage from 'Still Life With Woodpecker'

the days bleed
as I do with the moon
cut into shapes
unrecognizable
I hold them in my hand with a furrowed brow.

the leaves are falling in slow motion.
the leaves are f a l l i n g i n s l o w m o t i o n

T. Robbins tells of autumn, it breeds the birth of death
so the smell of the birth of death lingers
on the ground, under our bare feet.

when winter passes
the leaves will float back up to the trees
and then death is dying.

the leaves become alive with green
the sun warms winter bones

so the smell of life spreads from the trees to the ground
where I stand dying
in slow motion.
we are all d y i n g i n s l o w m o t i o n

Jack B Nov 2016

under feet that bleed

bones encased in muscled sinewy epiderm
muscles and bones with the fat carved out
that move through the earth
move the earth
carve the fat out of the earth
and left what is of the earth,
that of white bones, dried and dust in the sun

feet with the bones sticking out
walk over the soft mounds of earthly flesh,
the jagged steeples, the cool padded flats.
but no footprints shall they leave,
in their place small drops
spattered red, deep and dark
bearing likeness to that from which they came

upon the rippling mirror,
delicately they slip under
under to where sound and light cease
and existence is defined by feel
white flesh, white bones
white light
goodnight

Jack B Sep 2016

body heat

flesh on flesh
fire in the belly
red tongues
white fright

mouth on mouth
strain to smother
fire within
burns still

bodies to ashes
scattered o'er fileds
fertile soil
bodies grow

Jack B Sep 2016

In the Forest

I will line my ribcage with leaves
fill it with earth
and plant your spirit

Jack B Jul 2016

Not Another One Night Stand

poetry* like ***
you and me
hell let's make it three
let us find the perfect word
and ride it to the end.

in a spirited fervor
a tornado of limb and lip
tearin up the town, unabashed poetry.

exposed, we dive soul-first into the inkwell
in the distance, a tsunami approaching
tension builds underneath the surface
submerged in our wave, the rhythm takes hold

clouds collide
a warning signal
a thunderous revolt
white hot poetry
strikes again.

#love #poetry #art #*** #human

Jack B Jul 2016

the blue-green balloon

for this exercise
imagine the earth is a balloon.
neglect to hold on, like a particle of dust it floats on.
hold too tight, it will surely meet a supernova plight.
a thunder of cosmic dust particles float on.

so comes into question the integrity of tension and slack.
balance, rhythm, harmony.

I carve out of the earth, an empty space.
year after year I sweat my salty soul into the earth-space.
earth from which I came, earth in which I live, in which I will return.
the earth fills, an icy mirror of tears.
my reflection surfaces-
be vigilant not to sever the roots that pump lifeblood into my veins.
not to poison the leaves that breathe initiative into my lungs.
welcome with parted lips the sweet sap to sustain and inspire.

thinking lots about how much time I pour into holding on to earthly ties, then equal amounts of time spent trying to let go. from earth I came, to earth I will go.

#love #truth #desire #loss #nature #earth #human #loneliness #connection #emptiness