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The barn is burning
The race-track is over
Farmers run out w/
buckets of water
The horse flesh is burning
They’re kicking the stalls
(panic in a horse’s eye
That can spread & fill
an entire sky.)

The clouds flow by
& tell a story

about the lightning bolt & the mast
on the steeple

Some people have a hard time
describing sailors to the
undernourished.

The decks are starving
Time to throw the cargo over

Now down & the high-sailing
fluttering of smiles on the air
w/its cool night time disturbance

Tropic corridor
Tropic Treasure

What got us this far to this
mild equator

Now we need something
& someone new
when all else fails
we can whip the horse’s eyes
& make them cry
& sleep
~~~

France is 1st, Nogales round-up
Cross over the border-
land of eternal adolescence
quality of despair unmatched
anywhere on the perimeter
Message from the outskirts
calling us home
This is the private space of a
new order. We need saviors
To help us survive the journey.
Now who will come
Now hear this
We have started the crossing
Who knows? it may end badly

The actors are assembled;
immediately they become
enchanted
I, for one, am in ecstasy
enthralled.
Can I convince you to smile?

No wise men now.
Each on his own
grab your daughter & run
~~~

“Oh God, she cried
I never knew what
it meant to be real
I thought all this was a joke,
I never let the horror, or
the sweetness & the dignity
penetrate my brain”

“Let me up to see
the window. Dark Riders
pass in the sunset
coming home from
raiding parties.
The taverns will be
full of laughter, wine,
& later dancing, later
dangerous knife throws.

Antonio will be there
& that *****, Blue Lady
playing cards w/silver
decks & smiling at the night,
& full glasses held aloft
& spilled to the moon.
I’m sad, so full of sadness”
~~~

She’s selling news in the market
Time in the hall
The girls of the factory
Rolling cigars
They haven’t invented musak yet
So I read to them
From The BOOK OF DAYS
a horror story from the Gothic age
a gruesome romance
From the LA
Plague.

I have a vision of America
Seen from the air
28,000 ft. & going fast

A one-armed man in a Texas
parking labyrinth
A burnt tree like a giant primeval bird
in an empty lot in Fresno
Miles & miles of hotel corridors
& elevators, filled w/ citizens

Motel Money ****** Madness
Change the mood from glad to sadness

play the ghost song baby
~~~

a young woman, bound silently, on
a hostpital table, obviously pregnant,
is gutted & rifled of her empire

objects of oblivion
~~~

Drugs *** drunkenness battle
return to the water-world
Sea-belly
Mother of man
Monstrous sleep-waking gentle swarming
atomic world
Anomic in social life

how can we hate or love or judge
in the sea-swarm world of atoms
All one, one All
How can we play or not play
How can we put one foot before us
or revolutionize or write
~~~

Does the house burn? So be it.
The World, a film which men devise.
Smoke drifts thru these chambers
Murders occur in a bedroom.
Mummers chant, birds hush & coo.
Will this do?
Take Two.
~~~

each day is a drive thru history
The Black Beast Mar 2020
Candle 1

Part 1

A lonely standing candle
Burning slow and dancing free.
It flickers light across the room
On a naked, you and me.

Our eyes are locked together,
Shadows dancing everywhere.
I lightly graze your cheekbone
As I brush aside your hair.

Your lips quiver in waiting,
Sending shivers to your toes.
Your breath begins to quicken
As our distance starts to close.

Oxytocin fills your body
And you feel yourself set free
As you feel my lips make contact,
And surrender yours to me.

Part 2

Soft and warm as candlelight.
Moist as summer rain.
Our lips divide for one last breath
Before they join again.

A rush now overcomes us
As they merge together fast.
Our teeth, like little soldiers
As our tongues race to get past.

Your arms grab my head tightly
As they don't want me to leave.
My beard tickles you slightly
As our heads just bob and weave.

As the candle wick burns lower,
My lips lower down your skin.
First the neck and then the chest.
Let the escapade begin.

Part 3

With my lips above your cleavage
My hands graze along your side,
'Til they softly cup your *******,
Which are beautiful and wide.

You feel a soft massage start as
Your underboob is tight.
My lips stil slowly falling
'Til your ******* are in sight.

Your fingers knotted in my hair,
Your legs around my waist.
As my tongue begins to circle
Before getting its first taste.

A quiet moan as my lips kiss
And **** upon your nips.
A few more moments, then it's time
To move down to your hips.

Part 4

This candle, nearly finished,
So, the lower I must get.
Your leg lock loosens on me
As you start to pant and sweat.

It starts with long sweet kisses,
Then a jiggle of the ****.
As my arms lock round your thighs and
Pull my face right into it.

My fingers spread you open
As I take on one last breath.
And dive in to taste the sweet treat,
'Til ****** or death.

A loud moan and long shiver
As my tongue now finds its mark.
And so, the candle burns away,
With us breathless in the dark.



Candle 2

Part 1

You light a second candle
And announce that it's my turn.
That I should lay upon my back
And let this candle this burn.

This view of you beside the light,
I simply, cannot speak.
My eyes and jaw snap open as
My muscles all fall weak.

Half lit by waltzing ambers, while,
The shadows claim the rest.
Not to jump up now and take you
Is a difficult request.

My time to wait is over as
You join me on the floor.
Making sure that as you fall our
Yearning lips collide once more.

Part 2

The wave of kissing deepens.
Your hand scrapes me as it falls.
First, my chest, and then my abs,
And then it ends up on my *****.

Our mouths pay no attention to
What's happening below.
As your hand now grips my shaft and
Starts the rhythm off real slow.

My wood becomes pure iron as
I feel your tempo surge.
And my breath becomes more stuttered
As you hold me on the verge.

You kindly ease down on your pace
And pull from one last kiss.
And as your head gets lower down
I know I'll enjoy this.

Part 3

You lick along the shaft and then
You loosen up your grip,
As your eyes engage my member
And you spit upon the tip.

Your mouth now claims it's dinner
As you gobble up my taint
And the sudden ******* motion
Makes me start to feel all faint

The slurping noises louden as
Your neck goes to and fro
With each mouthful getting deeper
As you find a steady flow.

My fingers link around your hair.
Your throat feels my quick ******.
Then while you gag and catch your breath
You turn and then adjust

Part 4

Your lip service keeps coming
As you keep your stable pace.
The only difference now is that
You're sitting on my face.

My mouth now back to action as
My tongue begins to weave.
My hands spread your cheeks open so
My nose has space to breathe.

Your flattened ******* lay dormant as
Your **** now starts to twerk.
And you grind your **** pumpum
Over one ecstatic smirk.

Our need for foreplay, over,
As we finish on our snack,
As the candle wax runs empty and
The room returns to black



Candle 3

Part 1

I vanish in the darkness and
You roll onto your spine.
You hear the sound of a match strike,
And see the candle shine.

You see me jump towards you as
You spread your legs apart.
You giggle as you clearly see
I cannot wait to start.

Your lips begin to open as
My tip begins to breach.
My arms hold on your waist as you
Soon lose the skill of speech.

The steadfast pump continues with
No need to yet go fast.
Let us endure every moment
As we feel each second last.

Part 2

Your eagerness is striking as
You push me to the ground.
As you start the task of riding
And regain the gift of sound.

Your moaning echoes round us as
You struggle to pronounce,
Now your pace sets out to quicken
And your ******* commence to bounce.

As your stamina decreases you
Decide to turn about.
And you pull a full 180
Without letting me slip out.

You then continue bouncing with
More power in each ******.
As our minds are lost to time and
Our control is lost to lust.

Part 3

I sternly lean you forward then
I kneel behind your rear.
Quickly getting back to business
But I take it up a gear.

I hold on tightly with both hands.
You feel me deep inside.
As your ******* hang low and jiggle on
With each and every stride.

Your head now rests on your crossed arms.
No strength to hold your pose.
As the ramming still continues
In the dimly lit shadows.

Our breaths are long and staggered with
Our bodies drenched in sweat.
So I choose to change position as
It isn't over yet.

Part 4

I lift you to the wall and hold
My fingers to your throat,
As I resume the insertion
And your brain begins to float.

A gasp of air revives you as
My hand loosens its grip.
But an intense rush consumes you
As you start to twitch and drip.

I let you sit upon the floor
And offer out my *****.
You swiftly take it in your mouth
And suckle on this load.

A ****** overcomes me and
I blow inside your jaw.
As the light begins to flicker
And the candle burns no more.



Candle 4

Part 1

The final wick ignited as
Together, we lay still.
The time of action, over as
We both have had our fill.

Our ribcages expanding as
Our lungs almost break out.
Overworked and undernourished as
We rest from our workout.

Your head is resting on my arm,
Your eyes stare at my chest.
They mark out a new spot for you
To use as an armrest.

A light cascade of fingertips
Caress across my side
As your hand takes its position
At the place that you had eyed.

Part 2

I see your cheeky smile as
I feel your tickle too
As i let out a quick giggle
And then try to tickle you.

A quick under and over as
Your hand comes up to block
Within moments it is over
As our fingers clasp and lock.

A sudden change of vibe now as
Our pupils lock as one.
As we both, within this moment,
Have been hit with shock and stun.

Our heads both drawn together as
We again lose control.
As our lips are reunited
And our tongues start their patrol.

Part 3

With our bodies spent and aching
The smooch doesn't last too long
As you lift your head and smile at
The thought of nothing wrong

I can see the candle dancing as
Your eyes reflect its glow
As our hands continue clutching as
We both will not let go.

My brain records this moment that
I never will forget.
How beautiful you look right now
Still covered in your sweat.

You rest your head below my neck,
An ear upon my frame.
As you listen to my heartbeat
And you hear it call your name.

Part 4

Your eyelids start to weaken and
Your breaths start to extend
Soon you feel your body slipping
And your consciousness, transcend.

A light snore soon escapes you and
I cannot help but grin,
As I don't want to disturb you
As you sleep upon my skin.

My arm is dead and stinging so
I try to change my stance.
I slide it out as I try not
To wake you up by chance.

I cuddle up beside you as
The room goes void of light.
I kiss your hair and then I wish
Sweet dreams for you tonight.
Latiaaa  May 2014
Papa.
Latiaaa May 2014
Papa,
my beautiful papa.
He doesn't look at me anymore.
His smile has disappeared from his face.
Papa's bones are as thin as the weeds out back.
Remember papa?
You made me that handmade bike because you couldn't afford me a real one.
Your hands were the only things that helped me and momma.
The medicine you take, the bed you live in,
Your only depends.
I'm the one you should depend on papa.
I hold your fragile hand as you shake in fear.
Papa, your fever is too high.
On some nights, I sit with you in the oddest hours, keeping a cool damp towel placed  on your forehead.
The medicine can only hold you here for so long.
Papa, I can't sleep knowing that you're coughing your life away.
I stay up thinking of the days we use to spend in the blistering sun.
You drinking your ginger beer, giving me a sip.
It was sweet, yet burned on my tongue as it went in the back of my throat.
Warm feeling.
Papa, you were there for me when my days were dark and momma wouldn't be around.
She works a lot more now.
Why does life have to take the only thing I need to live?
Papa, you're getting weaker.
The hammer and nails you use to use, now mock your lack of strength.
Momma can only do so much.
Remember when the holidays would come around and you'd be out so long?
Scorching yourself to find the one gift for me?
Weary and tired you would always be,
you did it for me.
Papa, it's my turn now.
I loved the way you would smell during the mid-summer days.
The burnt cigarettes and fabric sweat was your name brand smell.
Every night,
you would come home beat with sweat beads on your forehead from the hat you wore.
It resembled the long weary hours you worked for that money.
Stale bread bottoms and scarce water was all we had.
Holy socks and beaten shoes was all I needed.
It was all you could afford papa.
Now life is in my hands.
Your sickness is the only tight bond left that's keeping us close.
Papa, you're daydreaming again.
Collarbones and hip bones are not suppose to be visible on you papa.
It's hurting me more than it's hurting you.
Your eyes are glossy.
The hair on your head that was once thick and brown,
has now gone grey and thin.
You're undernourished.
Papa, I can see the fear in your eyes.
You're worried about me and momma.
Don't worry.
Sad how the doctors turn their heads in shame.
They can't do anything.
If you leave me as I'm speaking,
remember that your life has given me great fortune.
Whether it was working till your knuckles bled or staying up all night with me,
just know that you're a wonderful papa.
Emanuel Martinez Jan 2011
Don't criticize, don't criticize that man
For enjoying something you deem a waste of time

Let him have something for himself

In our petty little lives
There is nothing keeping us going

Taking care of a wife and children
That is the only duty he is obliged to

Mother and wife must give up her life
Once that child is born
There is no greater purpose than for her to see that child through

The only thing giving them hope
Is the love hanging by a thread
And when there is no faith hope tends to snap

Don't criticize, don't criticize them
For seeming different than you

Let them have something for themselves
If it means keeping them alive

Working double shifts,
Overworked and underpaid
Her hands are always in pain

And you dare snare at her
Because she doesn't dress as well as you

Never home and undernourished
He is only trying to provide for his home
By being at work day and night
Feeding himself is only secondary to the hunger of his child

Don't criticize, don't criticize me
For being wrong, I will fall down to my knees

Let me have something for myself
If it means keeping me alive
January 2011
It was a small little thing
Between us a silent game
I wished it ‘good morning’,
As it brushed my window frame.
It swayed happily at me
Softly holding onto its root
The chance-grown guava tree
I thought would never bear fruit.
‘Good morn, Guavo, how are you?
My window frame, did it hurt?’
‘Nay, I’m fine, had my cup of dew,
I really made a good start.’
I loved this cute little thing
To ask it ‘how do you do?’
Loved the undernourished sapling
Why I really had no clue.
After sometime it started to fade
Keeping relations is not so easy
‘Guavo’ disappeared from my head
I forgot the lean sickly tree.
Then one day my wife came along
A big round guava she brought me
‘Taste how it is, the plant is fine and strong,
It’s from your friendly tree.’
It came back to me inside and deep
Our time-buried sweet story
Guavo hasn’t forgotten our friendship
I must run to it and say sorry.
There it stood proud and high
A full-grown guava tree
Swaying in the wind, saying ‘hi,
I haven’t forgotten thee’.
Sabrina Kent Dec 2012
I hold fury in every space between my ribs
and in every hollow of every bone

Never before had I felt the strain and stress, the heart palpitations that result from the loathing abhorrence and simple seething self hatred that come from loving more than I am loved

Proper Nutrition holds that
the body must take in enough to replenish what it expends and still be left with a small surplus.
My body is undernourished.
My ribs are bare.
They feel the cold, though they've no nerves.
I feel the cold.

I am by no means insatiable.
But I must take in more than just the crumbs that would feed
a bird.

Feed me. Feed me. Replenish me.
Cover my bare bleeding ribs with your warm hands
Collect each drop of blood as it runs off
Bleed yourself and put the marrow back into the hollow of my bones.

I lay belly up now. But I am a hell hath no fury Hades Hound
And I will not hesitate to bare teeth and rip flesh from bone.

(The starving will feed)
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Is it dawn or dusk
I can't tell
But I feel competent
I know what lies ahead

Cocktail parties
And bar-stool nights
It's no longer Main Street
It's the Nile

When the amulet of ringlets
From my eyeball glass
Makes me tumble evermore
Into the damp, dark streets

Another binge
Another ******
Another lavish fee
For yet another shoddy ghost

But it eases my loneliness
Boosts my confidence
Entices my fantasy bone
Relaxes my harried soul

Got to purge this moral anemia
Splurge on all academia
Just to feel the surge
That makes the brain waves flow

But this merry go round and round
Don't stop when the music does
My rock bottom is an ocean
Swirling to the siren's call

I've tried everything
Under the sun
But neuroses can't be cured
When you're under someone's thumb

I put it all on the shelf
Hid the corkscrew and the belt
Just to gnash it open with my fangs
Releasing all those hunger pangs

Cause I can't live for laundry lint
Or wait for the big accident
I know better than to read a tragedy
When my palette's clean

Spirits in this glass
Help me rid those in my life
I've got reasons of the flesh
But mostly of the mind

Took so many blows from the outside
I'm poor at heart
I'm dominated by
The lack of vine inside

I need to stimulate my senses
To simulate my defenses
Swimming with the sharks
Against these high tides

Don't want to be nobody's public charge
My reprieve came early
My sentence fastened like a bag of bricks
My caretaker's not waiting by the pearly gates

So just let me be insulated
Let me keep warm
Ignore those violet stains on my shirt
Ignore this violent strain in my voice

Undernourished an inhuman
They all want revelation with good endings
But when it's 4AM, every hour of every day
You start to hold tight to these newborn dreams

So easily familiar, so wretchedly out of reach
Praying for bonanza or ultimate decay
You can't settle for anything else
So you rather hold your breath and wait

The mouse and the bat
Protruding through that hole in the wall
It's always little animals
No dinosaurs

I keep snapping my fingers
Making signs of a deluded cross
Cause I ain't got no gravy train
And I ain't got no St. Helen

Guess I'll remain on the porch
Travel through the marshes of the storm
Asked for blood to transform my fears
But they gave me Mut's duped and heavy tears

They all want heaven on a stick
A cornucopia of tricks
I'm just trying to survive
The next twenty minutes

It's always
"Did she jump or was she pushed?"
But no one really cares
It's a cold case for the books

In the dark night of the soul
You're just a relic to behold
Stuck in the bell jar
Like an innocent monster

The world's on crack
And it's not all it's cracked up to be
So I'll wallow in my 96 proof blood
This straight Apple Jack's the only savior I see
(It's all a royal harem's conspiracy)
Shelby Young Aug 2010
Dry, undernourished soil
beds our roots
as they fight for survival.
Thunder and lightening
swirl in the humid air,
but the suns harsh rays
grow hotter,
breaking through
the sweet hallucinations.
8-2-10
maybella snow Dec 2013
real councillors
explaining
over used
explanations
to people who
understand more
than people
believe

dark corners
with mysterious
invisible eyes
visible to those
unlucky enough
to see them
with eyelids
shut

light traces
musings
and patterns
lacing bodies
with streaks
of red
and stains
of pain

toilet bowls
lent over
by overbearing
undernourished
starved and
underweighted
figures
of bones

shaking hands
firmly planted
against brick
walls
cracked bruises
harshly noticeable
and starkly
stiffening

dried tears
only means
they were
wet once
Sam Temple  Jun 2014
treble clef
Sam Temple Jun 2014
soft acoustic plucking
reverberating strings
buzzing tones flutter
freely creating visions
differing from space to space
occupied between my ears
twists whole majors into 7th quarters
altering the landscape from within
bleeding fingertips hide broken verses
note for note we lie to the sound
expressing pleasure in the mundane –
gently strumming with loving caresses
melodic to the point of melancholy
old tears sit on a stained floor
eclipsing the smiling children
that hide just beyond the glass pane
glossing the pain with symbolic imagery  
a crucifix dangles
swaying to and fro
barely audibly tapping the fat statue of an enlightened oriental
in the shadow of a dream catcher
made not by native americans
but instead by undernourished brown waifs—
bending tones for a better view
I shed the physical and go incorporeal
Wk kortas Jul 2017
There was, in a once upon another time a man
(His name and work
Being lost to the boot sales and dustbins of time)
Who made a reputation as a portrait painter,
One transcending his small town in Schleswig-Holstein,
Spreading among the surrounding principalities.
Gifted with curious abilities (although he would demur,
Protesting that he was simply a man with a brush and a palette)
Allowing him to secure the favor
Of the area’s more substantial citizens,
Providing him leisure to commit to canvas
The faces of the ordinary
And, if some cases, somewhat iniquitous.
His portfolio a crazy-quilt of his milieu,
Subjects back-to-back in no particular order:
Princes and flower girls, priests and ******.


The sterling reputation the painter enjoyed
Was not due simply to technical skill
(He was, to be sure, expert in matters of shading and line,
And his eye for color and detail no less than remarkable)
But also an eye for those things
Revealed in the curve of the lips or the set of the eyes
And, more importantly for fame and purse,
The virtuosity to enhance the understated gifts
Or veil those unpleasant secrets they suggested.
And so, the venality in the banker’s sneer
Was softened to intimate nothing more
Than levelheaded concern for the sanctity of the mark and guilder,
Or the gentle smile of the prince’s youngest daughter
Augmented to evoke the beatitudes of the angels themselves.

The craft and subtlety of his work
Combined to engender the most curious effects;
Oftentimes his subjects, surely without consciousness or intent,
Began to assume those qualities  
Bestowed upon them by the nuances of line and pigment,
Becoming less parsimonious or more humane,
As dictated by the brush strokes,
Carrying on from that time forward as the finest embodiments
Of that visage captured inside the gilding of the frame.

At some point in time,
Whether through the onset of some trickle of madness,
Or perhaps just sheer whimsy,
The painter made a peculiar change in his methodology,
Beginning to graft qualities onto his subjects
Which they never embodied nor hoped to possess,
Perhaps in the hope that, having pinned them to the corkboard,
His butterflies might take wing,
But his command of light and pigment
Combined power and understatement in such a manner
That no one who sat for him ever noticed
They were being mocked or enriched, as the case might be;
And still the canvases acted as tails wagging the dog about;
Priests were found dead in their rectories,
In the midst of tableaus of unspeakable debauchery,
While courtesans lit candles and kneeled in pews
Until their backs and thighs screamed
In the service of such highly unusual positions,
Or the banker flipped the urchin a coin
While gently petting the boy’s undernourished cur,
And perhaps it was all due to the machinations of the painter,
But he would, with just a hint of slyness
Playing about the corners of his eyes and mouth,
Deny any measure of culpability.
He was, after all, just a man with a brush.

— The End —