Cold when covers for
Others and anger come a
Door closed; vitriol.

Cold when covers for
Others and anger come a
Door closed; vitriol.

You were draped across a girlfriend's bedroom wall
where a cross would be,
your arms held out loosely like an ambiguous invitation,
shielding your countenance from extraneous intrusions
under which she would sleep soundly
in the shroud of your incantation.

Your fallen angel wings beating back bad dreams
slain mercilessly
and falling at your feet.

Your lips slightly pouting, eyes dark,
obfuscating the madness and ***-crazed hallucinations
they harbor.

Hair purposefully unkempt,
disheveled sensuously atop your head,
tufts of hair brushed across your broad chest--

Bare muscles taut and taunting,
placed topographically on the poised temple--
those ready to worship bow their heads
in reverence to the sonic alchemist.

The modern adonis,
sculpted out of the Mississippi Delta Blues
and Dionysian wet dreams--
brought to life with the electric current pulsating through the microphone and its stand upon which you straddle with skin-tight leather pants--

Your left hand around its waist,
your right cupped over the phallus--
your lips part and your cataclysmal eyes
envelop the darkness before you--

Your image,
tormented and tantalizing
in an open invitation
to prostrate ourselves before you
and succumb to your hypnotic stare.

The door opens.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for sweet peas.
And whose skin could be misplaced for dogwood.
Tongue as innocent as the boy that cried wolf,
And eyes as golden as yore.

You knew of that girl, count every school day,
Where she walked through the door, head bowed and heart prayed.
'neath those bangs, whose color is as dark as our breaths, and as shiny as false tree,
Whose eyes--exotic--bluer--bluer than a thumbtack and bluebells set out by sea.

Whose eyes are mismatched by plentiful lips--small as the silver spec on my shoe,
And shimmered 'neath sterile light, as if she kissed the face of Mt. Rushmore, too.
With those high lips and V-line chin, which connected with her pencil neck to her petite body,
No ******* or bottom, with legs as thin as stilts and as blinding as our phones,
She holds the body of a cradle, and sings like a tongue-less canary.

Always kempt and proper--her hair tied back with a lovely noose.
And shoes worry not of dirt--for she never played outside.
Resting 'neath maple-wood trees like a bunny--face and knees tucked by arms, and that's where they reside.
Many boys had asked for her hand in play, but that bunny went deeper--deeper into the flesh hole she burrowed.
"Painfully shy, she was." They said.
And that pain was her devil.

For you knew not the cause of those florid, pink, cheeks.
Whose purpose means nothing but dead machines.
Whose eyes rung bright--struck the world alight,
Yet, they themselves could not see.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for vintage bust,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bile.
Whose eyes mistaken for lust,
And face mistaken for tile.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for heat,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bleach.
For again and again and again, the belt beats.
And hello to endless ******.

For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Blue waters and purple veins clash--wash again and again 'gainst land--and befit the word: queer.
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Innocence knows no bounds and eyes no longer see flavor,
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Exotic eyes bled--rained--pink--and pink--and pink with grand fervor...!
For sometimes it may frighten you to know,
Not all persons are truly healthy,
even those who you hold truly dear.

I regret to inform you that your lawfully, wedded boyfriend, Robert Cohn, no longer want to be lawful, wedded, or your boyfriend. He'd much rather be ******* Brett and writing books about what she tells him behind closed doors
            Sincerely,
              Jake Barnes

Take a trip with me to lands unheard of
Through hidden passages,  secret doors, and unknown chambers deep within my mind
All you need is your imagination so leave everything behind
See creatures and sights so strange that they'll burn imprints on the pages of your brain.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

Doors, windows, all nailed shut
An overgrown lawn that hasn't been cut
In over a year, or maybe two
That's how long its been
Since I last saw you.
I walk on your porch
Cautious that the floorboards don't creak
Remembering you makes my heart weak
Because the time away from you
Has added years to my heart
And I really don't think that we can be apart
So I gather my strength, my hands start to shake
My fists squeezed so hard that my fingernails break
I clench down my teeth, my confidence is high
The more I wait, the more this plan goes awry
One more glance at my feet, and to myself I agree
I know once I knock my past is behind me
I raise my arm and knock on the frame
And realize that there was nothing to gain
For when opening the door, it seems it was never blocked
The door, this whole time, has been unlocked.

Doors are so fascinating to me. If you don't want to see something, you just close the door. If you don't want  to hear something, you just close the door. And if you don't want any interruptions, you just close the door and lock it.