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Michael Archer Jan 2019
Eyes burn, once wet.
Hands tremble, vision set.
Throat burns, now wet.
Falling fast, catching net.
When I end, I will reset.
Until I end, I’ll place a bet:
Before the end, he will, well met,
Learn the secret, **** the threat.
Michael Archer Jan 2019
When I end, I will reset,
I will annul the error of my life.
And try again for the love I crave,
And try again myself to save
From the specters of my dreams--
Those phantoms that whisper
Wraith-like in my pulsing ears.
Michael Archer Jan 2019
THE CALL

I fold myself into his words.
They are warm blankets,
Under which I curl and bend and writhe.
Extending limbs to the four corners,
Stretching muscle, straining bone,
Reaching, yearning for a touch deeper than
The deepest touch of heart and mind.

Ne’er content with closeness,
Craving a thing closer than closeness.
Feeling the infinite space between
The skin of two hands enclosed,
One in the other,
Legs bound by legs,
Lips locked by lips.

What will close that space?
I ask.

THE RESPONSE

The power of Honesty,
The thrill of Trust,
And the mystery of Love.
Michael Archer Mar 2017
The brilliant,
Blazing,
Blinding sun
Upon a desert bloom speaks silently,
In all languages and none,
Telling the man squinting his eyes,
Glimpsing the unfiltered beauty,
"Be grateful."
Michael Archer Mar 2017
THE NIGHT

A man takes a paper bag from the corner of the room,
Empties its contents,
Vomits in it,
And returns it to the corner.
The ***** dries in the cavity of the now-used and filthy sac.
Another man does the same,
And another,
And another,
Until the bag is full to bursting,
But only just unto.

I am that bag.
And I am meant to contain that which is put in me.  
If I cannot, I am deemed weak and useless.  
I am disposed-of.  
I then become nothing.

Of course, when I *****, it is in the dark,
In a toilet,
On the street,
In my bed.
And my ***** is not words
Or feelings
Or secrets
Or hidden desires bloomed into violence and mortification.

It is tears and rank, vile wetness.  

THE DAY

There is a clear day.
So clear that the sound of a bell travels faster than the speed of light,
For the light slows a little to bask in its own warmth,
Bathing in the emptiness and tranquility of that moment.

And in that moment,
I hear his voice before I see his figure.
He tells me that I may trust him,
That he is not afraid of my anguish,
That he will fight with me,
And will ask others to fight for me,
When he, or I, cannot.
Michael Archer Mar 2017
The smell is metallic,


Like the muddle of sweat and a bitter perfume


Suspended in suffocating heat.

It is unbearable.
So much like iron that I swear blood is pooling in my nostrils. 


Will it drip onto my white shirt? 


I look down—


My shirt is streaked with red. 




I hurry through the closing door. 


Something causes the fluid in my veins to run quickly.



As I walk to her apartment I consume
One cigarette
After
Another. 


My throat burns,


My mouth turns dry and thick,


But my mind clears as if with each exhale I expel a little piece of a wish.




I change my shirt and clean my face.


I am now a new, dressed-up, decaying thing.




Tonight we shall ride a wave of liquid-fueled bliss. 


Tonight we shall fold ourselves into the brightness of our vices. 

We will not see the cracks in the walls. 


We will not hear the ticking of the clock.


Waxing louder,


Waning softer,


Sounding at intervals that match the coursing of our minds—


ANGER, Ambivalence, indifference, EXUBERANCE, Belligerence, regret. 

TICK, Tick, tock, TICK, Tick, tock.




More people. 


We move from apartment to street,


From street to avenue,


From avenue to a ******* box brimming with music,


And giddiness,


And little tabs on tongues that make the air visible and electric. 



We are one with the tragic ubiquities that march down concrete paths
to tiny oblivions.
Members of an organism that feeds on the wild night. 



We do not feel the cold,


The heat,


The pain,


The worry,


The wetness of blood and spit. 



We feel only feel that which has replaced our insides: 


Chemicals,


Feigned happiness,


Perceptions of worth and importance dressed in purchased smiles,

Perceived in strobing lights. 




I think that I will make myself sick,


Or fade into a nothingness that I create. 



I think that I shall glimpse into nonexistence


Just to see what I may find.



I am afraid though. 


These conflicting moments are too much for me to bear. 


And the coming-down is like falling thirteen stories onto a bed of red  cement and broken glass

,
Where I share tales of decadence, conquest and pleasure with rats and refuse.




Later,
I see and smell everything as I sit drinking fire by a window.


I feel the earth move a little.


There is a crack. 


I hear a sound that is not a horn or a siren or a reveler’s shout.


In the crack I see a man at his desk,


Staring at a glass,


His head in one hand. 



With his other hand the desk-bound man taps a pen.
With that pen he then scribbles the following:

          A boy can hardly kiss a girl's neck and breathe at the same time, eager to break himself upon her very heart. The girl smiles because she knows that with the pulsing flood of flesh and blood the boy will leave a part of his soul inside her. A second girl weeps bitterly, for in that moment all the little parts of that boy that she had stolen with every peck and every touch are ripped wholly from her.  She weeps because her love has become a man without her. And her warm, salty tears wash over the empty bed until she feels as if she is drowning.




The man at the desk pauses,
Ponders,
Then adds:

          We love for a moment, and in that moment we promise the pain of our leaving.




The whiskey the desk-bound man drinks is nearly finished.


Its love has made him warm and content,
.
Yet after those few insidious hours,


Alone,


The pain of its leaving will be a small torture. 


His bed will be barren,


His mind will be full,


And he will make himself sick, staring into emptiness until his next plunge.
Michael Archer Mar 2017
The walls cry-out as they burn.
A tumult of roars wreathed in the crackle of blazing matter.
Which is louder?  
Perspective will tell.
The one who assaults,
Or the one assaulted?
The roar, or the crackle?
The giver, or the receiver?
Pleasure in two forms, two-faced gratification.
One hand for dispensation,
One mouth for sublimation.

And do we not all sublimate?
Base impulses, rank ideas,
On the surface, vindicate?
The residue of consequence
Brusquely scrub and expiate?
Perspective will tell.

We espy hedonism, unbridled delight,
And may envy those who bathe in these muddied pools,
Focusing our most ephemeral sense on dazzling cacophony,
Ignoring the estranged husband of hedonism,
Shunning the divorcée of delight.
Which is truly louder?  
Perspective will tell.

In Oscar Wilde’s Salome the moon is thus described:
“She is like a woman who is dead.  She moves very slowly.”
Pandemonium in the hall, the howling of wild beasts,
But she remains “a woman who is dead,”
And “she moves very slowly.”

The divorcée of delight,
A pitiful coming-down.
The remnant of misuse,
The scarring of abuse.
One reads on a stone:
The hardly-lovéd daughter of overuse.
And the one who gazes overlong is warned:  
“You look at her too much.  
It is dangerous to look at people in such fashion.
Something terrible may happen.”

The walls cry-out as they burn,
And they cry in desperation.
What we see is conflagration.
The light:  A brilliant exultation.
The crackle:  A herald of termination.
But when ash is blown in silence,
It is dangerous to look at what remains:
Scar tissue.
Slow death.
Residue.
The head of John.
The bones of Salome.
Broken glass.
Wilted flowers.
Cracked foundation on hollow cheeks.
Red lips the stain of blood on ivory cloth.
Festering flies.
The beating of vultures’ wings.
The snoring of satiated beasts.
The stumbling home.
Apologies.
Sublimation.
Conflation.
Expiation.

One’s well-mannered pause until the other’s end,
So that the one may pause…
And begin again.
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