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You can tell if someone is rotting by looking in their eyes. I
get the look of smoke on cotton,
my mother's childhood house burning when
the doors became more difficult to shut than my legs:
her father died
her mother drowned
so she could pass the bottle to mine. The only ring I have
been given are the purple
bags and bruises and tapeworms
everyone says were alright in childhood,
the rings around my eyes tapering like the sound of
morse code. Read me
listen to me please because my body fluids are like ashes
that will go up in flames again if
ignored: I will burn you. Your black eyes will
get blacker, darkness is the only thing that can commit to me.
Salt on the back of my hand I know so well
shot of tequila to remember you scent
**** the lime down to bring the balance
How are you tonight
better than me,
surely.
My chestnut girl
my top teeth too long
upper lip too short
best friend
making me feel saintly for taking your nerves and melting them in my palm
pleading to Gods I never met
for this last bet
to end up winning
I'm losing my sanity with every breath expelled
but who want's to be sane
when in the land of the blind
the seven eyed man is king?
Sane insane saints and sins cast across the wall like suicide grey matter
the children wouldn't understand
It's probably for the best
but when tequila clouds the back of my throat
my sinuses remind me of the sound of you
playing guitar
and singing the songs
which held you close in childhood
Created June 1st, 2011

I am not gay.
I am not straight.
I am not curved,
or warped or woofed
I am bent, cylindrical,
a burnt human.

but not weak, nah!

tempered stronger than
furnaced scarred,
hard-stained steel,
a fire shaped child of El.

The sum of,
the product of,
the multiple divisions of:

my hard-on
experiential, existential
hand to hand
combat learning,
life's red copper burnishing,
and my very own
genetic, tantric
commanded tablets,
my natural earnings,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


obedient factotum to the
twists and turns of the
curve ***** and spitters
life pitches at my head,
that end up as
body blows.

multiple contusions outside
worn with pride inside,
I award myself a
medal of honor,
and elect myself,
Most Valuable Person,
an All Star of David,
for having survived
one more battle scarred
game day,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


when I awake,
in the raceway courses
of my veins,
the speedways to my
heart and brain,
runs the bitter herbs taste
of fear of how
I shall yet again,
earn this day,
my body's keep and shelter,
earn some table scraps of
peace of mind,
that I may lay
myself down to sleep
if ever so briefly,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


When I prowl the mid of night,
the fever of combat fear,
my skin sears,
and there is no narcotic
that anesthetizes
even surficial  
the anxiety,
the ailment of
melancholia
that hallmarks my soul,
the overflow of which
spills over the ****
of my vocabulary

So every new day
is a new year,
and I start the diet
of my soul
yet again

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


Once I was a soldier
who wore the
black and white stripes
of the uniform that stretches
to the four corners
of the world.

I used to sway to the R&B;
of someone else's tunes,
prostrate fell to my knees
speaking someone
else's words,
touched my forehead
to the ground.

but the melancholia that
sterling hallmarks my soul
never disappeared and
renewal was a gift
denied and refuted,
by the lack of clarity
to which I was not
part and parcel

and l guess I am just like
{you, man}


Took a new oath,
swore allegiance
to the alliance of
I don't give a ****
and acceptance of
the infection of
flawed humanity
inside of me
lies buried in the
permafrost of my mind,

So every new day
is a new year,
and I start the diet
of my soul,
yet again

The first new words
daily uttered,
chanted with vehemence
of an out loud prayer
to no one but we two,
me and you, man,
unashamedly clear and enunciated
not mumbled,
not muttered,
seven parts blessing,
three parts curse,
are these words.

l guess,
I am just like
{you, man}


Found and founded a brotherhood of me and
{you, man},
one mantra,
you and I are just alike,
now we have a new
holy romantic empire,
we are human
{you, man}
slaves to
nothing,
no one
but each other.
How I used to write...when I was....
 Oct 2013 Rachael Stainthorpe
JM
Here and now,
deep in nights cool arms,
I close my eyes
and see you.
I see a grey day blooming languid,
the only sound, your steady, sleeping breath.
This space between us, nothing.
This bond of ours, timeless.
My lips burn through the dying night, seeking the pale dawn of your neck.

Breathe deep and feel me now.
 Oct 2013 Rachael Stainthorpe
JM
Waking to you in the crook of my arm;
the smell of us lingers in the crime scene
of our room.

This must be the place

Wigs and corsets,
empty bottles and riding crops.
Sugar and sweat,
cologne and *******.

Good morning sugar

Eyes flutter and lips part
as juices flow and bloods boil.
This wet and wordless union
knows no boundaries.

*We are one, now
 Oct 2013 Rachael Stainthorpe
JM
Waking, pale sun burning away the smoky remnants of my dreams of you.
These memories of delightful daydreams.
I create a universe where your spine is steel and our love is a featherbed in a castle.
Our heat fills the cold stones
as greyhounds and bulldogs share the halls with young boys laughter and the smells of tea and toast.
I know you devour me while I sleep
the same way I consume you while you bathe,
soaking up every fold and freckle,
memorizing every precious contour.
Waking, your pale skin burning away
shadows of the past,
my strong hands rest on
your waiting hips.
The boys and dogs come tumbling into our morning oasis with bony little elbows and bad breath and laughter like heavens manna.
This is my now.
You are my forever.
We are eternal.
 Oct 2013 Rachael Stainthorpe
JM
In the small hours,
alone with my thoughts of you,
I feel you touching me.

I feel your warm skin softly nestle
next to mine
as Nox wraps us in
her dark embrace.

Breathing as one,
we silently explore
the landscape of us.

There are no words for this learning.
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