mark john junor

mark john junor Sep 2013

her bare feet touch the cool surface
of the kitchen linoleum floor
soft sticky sound
a pattern set upon itself
with her one wrist wrapped gently round
the hard coarse thin metal
engaging its tension with a tender grasp
bending it
to the form she dreamed

carnival horse and wire wood fence
separate her from the thing she hears
she watches it with her minds eye
as she leans nervous into the encircling frame
leans with one bare foot in the dusty gravel
the broken weeds a thin line in the rocky soil
mirror her stance darkly
in miniature echoes of the intense soft lines
of her delicate face
her sorrow etched clearly in the unnatural sunlight

her voice echoes soft and trembling
a voice ethereal but rich with meanings
that she endures but
that she is alone in the false dawn
so to save herself she has bent the
convex of the lens
bent the pattern into her figure alone
and as she wraps herself in the thin metal
gauze of shallow breathing
she seeks to behold not be beheld
to mask her feelings
to leave the thoughts treading shallow waters
to leave the intense moment
in the open ocean of the linoleum
where her footprint leads to my gasping eyes
the swirls of sand with slight breeze
mask her passing
and leave little trace of her presence

but her presence remains
in this image
powerful and sublime
full of the imagery dark musics
filled with the scents of burning
this sharp clean image narrowed focus
like a shutters thick sound
in the silence of a lone fan's endless drone
which reveals a thick sadness
in the shadow slivers in her hair
in the soft line of her lips
in the casual line of her arm draped over the hoop
i sense her assuage her hot tears in the starlight
in the backwoods of a small town
from the edge of wooden bridge
her sounds echo in the kitchen
with soft edges to their thought

the archway door
its hard bricks lean into the wind strewn alley
into the the narrow gaps
between the perception of
what is and what she creates
with crafted line
with slow depth exploration
the wire wood fence hides all matter of beasts
their rabid shadows are narrowly seen underneath its edge
but their faces are only in my perception
are only in my vision of the images edge

mark john junor Sep 2013

imperfections in time

relentless
the kitchen clock ticks
and without grief it lays out the
meat of night
bloodless and small
delicate in its twisting features
its bone thin fingers on spine
soft touch like fire

she is doubled up by
the toilet in a puddle of tears
and the sadness you feel is so complete
and completely yours alone
for she has gone beyond caring about inconsequential
thing like appearance
her lips cold
roll over broken words
puncture the hard surface
of her blatant thoughts
coarse and black with grease
a grave of concept
a concept of graves
interchangeably pattern

hours spent here
days and then you realize
its a lifetime
in the space between broken window
leaking frigid air
and the burning heat of her bed
the darkness that never lets
that is never abated by thouse who pass
thouse who tread with such care
hoping never to be seen benith the archway
benith flickering light
of the ***** trail

she laments
to no avail
pauses in her song to stare at you openly
without a word
she resumes the dance
of tale and blade
of knife and tongue
till they are one and the same
till her voice is the thing cutting into you
until her voice is consuming you
and its dark juice is feeding on you
imperfections in her vision

(part two)

it is now him
the pornographic box of her mind
is full of her noise
her voice distorted into his
her thoughts melt into his
until she is him
and she no longer feels lost
she feels hot sticky and wet
she feels like fresh paint drying
slow wicked and tense
like a serpent coiled for a strike
at his heart
the exact center of his beating heart
she will see it cease
she will be a ******
she will be an ****** of imperfections

his lazy eye
wanders over her wet form
clawing at bits of cloth
gnawing at the fundamentals of her flesh
consume the parking lot of her brow
where her doubts show
in neatly lined rows
devour the candy samples of her lips
rose colored and tasting like rivers of cherry
where her words fall from
like molten razors

his ***** fingers
caress her clean thin wrist
bracelet golden
with painted jewels pink and cheerful
paint slopped outside the lines
he inspects its every inch
marveling that she could have imperfection
his lazy mind wanders all over her
and his greasy thoughts leaves trails of
butter smooth filth
and insects eating ravenously of the
stench and disease

this is no fantasy
its a disrobed natural kernel of truth
up from dark city street

mark john junor Sep 2013

westchester

capture the falling moment
catch the feeling of being free
as you plunge
the spike in

she crouches in the corner and laments
so forlorn of your passing
so bereft of your soul
she had played her soft hand
had promised all warm things
as you slip in and out of consciousness
as you slip in and out existence

she smiles wide
she knows death when she sees it
she senses it as lovers know each other
she caresses its cold cheek
she takes him inside her
a blackness that consumes and feeds her
a needle point of sharp pain
that spreads her lips in a deep gasp
of pleasures that she cannot contain

darkness forever
with him
entwined in cold sleep

she stares
while you slip benith the surface never to return
saying only that she always wanted to see
someone die
she always wanted to be that close to
her lover death
and she swears that she could feel him in the room
she could feel him plunging into her soft ****
as he pulled you into the next world
death is a doorway
from which there is no return

mark john junor Sep 2013

in the dark wood

the road was a dusty grey
in the early morning light
shadowed by a thick fog
quiet with late summer breeze
his footloose wandering had brought him
through all the long years
and all the long miles
to this strange place

the old wood fence
broken down in places was
all that separated from the woods
cool and rich with the scents of summer
and it looked like a wonderful place
to take his rest from midday sun

so sat neith a tall oak
has his supper and did fall fast asleep
lulled by the warm summer day
and he dreamed

a dream of all the worlds wonders
dream of loving warm things that give the heart ease

he woke well after the sun had fled
to a forest strangely silent
to a foreboding to chill to the soul
he cast about seeking the source of ill-ease
but nothing there was so it seemed

deep in distance he began to perceive
the small sound of a woman's voice singing soft an sweet
drawing near
and he could see distant light moving through
the trees
drawing near
and he did marvel at the ideal of sweet maiden
coming to ease him
so sweet was the sounds of her approach
he had only thought of beauty
only had thought of lusts
but narrow is the edge of reality we perceive
and swift is reality's vengeance for the unguarded heart

and then he saw her
and swore within his heart that he was in love
so fair was her face
so enticing was her form
so he was ensnared
so he was doomed
she is a siren of the dark wood
her fair face hides the sharp teeth of her viper heart
her fair figure hides her dark nature
she fell upon him
and murdered poor traveler without even a thought
left his bare bones to dry in the morning sun

the dark wood
contains many things to chill the soul
but none so gruesome
as the fair maiden

mark john junor Sep 2013

jezebels rainbows

her dreads bounce on her shoulder
as we walk in the pouring rain
and they sparkle
in the towns lights
like magic
like her
shine wherever they go

she carries her rainbows with her
like the warmth of her heart
like the smiles she has for any kind soul
jezebel's rainbows
sparkle thru this crystal ball she has
woven into her dreadlocks
so she can always have her rainbows with her

the beads and baubles
she has woven into her dreads
iv kissed each one tenderly
everything about this beautiful woman
is entrancing to me

and its raining again
but that's alright
with you standing here with me
take my hand
and it don't seem so bad
you look up at me
and manage a soft smile
and suddenly my heart is walking on
rainbows
and the day smells like spring
your smiles always bring out the best in me

its raining again
but that's alright
with you by my side
it feels like there is a bright road ahead of me
feels like there's rainbows to be found
and firefly's to be chased

i'm ready for anything
this world has to dish out
long as shes at my side

love you baby

a love letter to my girlfriend

mark john junor Sep 2013

the flu

got the flu..like flu-man-chu...its bad voodo...this flu...its like flu-boo-hoo...this bad flu....my head is flu-yahoo...

oh man its so im ryming...its ryming flu...im not gonna give it to you....this flu-man-choo...blue-moon-woman-choo...

LOL send help quick or

the flu-man-chu will overtake u

horrid-thing-i-do...this flu-man-choo...blame-it-all-on-you...flu-woman-choo...chase-you-round-the-apartment-choo...im-gonna-tickle-you...flu-woman-choo

mark john junor Sep 2013

unchained frame

fingers unchained by her frame of mind
do little dances on her skin
the soft hair
the thin scatter of line
slows me to ******
and it becomes honey to the mind
thick and sweet
slow and hot
and i cannot withhold
my heart thunders in my chest
my head is full of noises nasty and swift
full of things that overtake all my senses
and she smiles so wicked
she knows that without having to even lift a single delicate finger
she is the only picture in my gallery
she is the only sculpture in the hot garden
in the long night of
the beginning
she melts onto the bed
flowing out over me
golden dreadlocks
patchouli
and the musty perfume of her lust
i am hers
she is mine
unchained by her frame of mind
we sweat the sheets
bounce the kitchen table across the room
get the bathroom soaked
and laugh carefree
its a reason to
stay
stay
stay
just a moment longer
before you go back to your day
before somebody calls you away
nurse your man back
from the edge
strip off all that gear
come here
you are mine
i am yours