time it is
she beckoned
time and I ate of it
the dread
the matter of her
no kiss of her
from her
honestly
no doubt, I knew...

it was dinner time

"eat me"
she labored
as dog in heat
spread her legs
as on stirrups
I be, the muzzle be her divorce from me
yank my collar, chain wrapped
about her hand
beckon me
"eat"
chain be her love I desire
collar be my patience given
but appetite?

mine be love
her beest pleasure
I have no appetite for
merely
pleasure
neither hers nor mine
sans love?

no appetite at all have I

eyes so weary of wanting
that I melt
as Salvador Dali prophesied
mine eyes droop
her thighs
wet my fantasies
as ice cream, on the hottest Sunday,
I am weak
weary of denying myself her
she, a mere rainforest of beauty
abundant in plural, though singular
her flower
droop me 'tween mine legs
raise me, as the dawn rises zenithly,
she pies me,
my piper, my charmed being
I'm pied
she has me
dancing, midriffly, with ****** fervor
mine eyes cast down
as shadow in sunset
lone tree in the wilderness
redfern shadow
a mile long
mine eyes cast down between her legs
seeing all my heart's desires

"eat"

and all my hopes dieth there

"eat"

despair, I mourn
I pine
"love me"
I opine, my lover love me
be not pleasure the measure of our stay, in bed, this Sunday
love me, as the Father hath given us this day
be not Eve of the forbidden love
be Dawn of the day we won eternal life from the devil's death
that my fruit be of your nectar drunk, that I be your pleasure,
and you be mine
that I succor thine fruit
hour by hour that you writhe
not as snake but as mountain shook
as mountain moved
faithfully, you love me,
let that fantasy be mine drink
and thine offering due my thirst
that love sate me,
nay?!

"eat!"

and all the world looketh empty of light

"eat! **** you"

and all the world be afright with wonder that I be man, yet, eat not my ******, that
she be heathen of love, still, my ****** she be,

simply,
that mine eyes drink her in
beauty beyond compare
but that mine ears deceive me not
for deceive me, her flesh does
but her forked tongue
as lightning streak
she shat the bed
that streak be her ****** blessing
dashed across her whorish ways
be that time
I linger in wait
wanting, but that I eat
she trappeth me
that all I be good for
is her pleasure
but be not fit
for her love

"eat! what are you good for?!"

nay, irony be that
time told
clock struck truth

"eat!"

nay

"what my flesh be, here, then?"

a trap,
and I say nay
for I be a lover
of such supple,
gorgeous,
womanly flesh, not, merely,
a ******...

"eat"

I be not hungry,
for a *****,
my flesh be purchased
but nay that my heart he purchased
neither my soul,
by merely, lust
I, too dearly, pine for you
dream of you
romance you deeper than form
and fit
time
and merciless pleasure
to be,
of you,
lustfully...
so, I say,

nay...

but,
that ye should, learn love me
perhaps,
that day

perhaps
then, yay

aureate muscle of the
masculine dream, the
collective mind of many

it glows in the light
like a perfect bloom -
a grand yellow around
every young boy

i stand and watch it glow
with the dream laced
within me, but with
a shamed rose gold;

the stigma of men
is difference

In the time it took me to start over
I died by your side with closure
on my self-imposed solitude
from every soul in a fighting mood
with inherited axes to grind
in line
to use the men’s bathroom
during the last game,
immune to the toxic byproducts
of extended cab pick-up trucks
circling the drain of
made up
settling sentiment trickling
through the air connecting
you lungs with mine,
an irredeemable line
in the low tide sand
and
inescapable memory holes
fret the yet again brethren
sending their regards
while they take up arms
against mended fences
wrestling
with a cost,
the interest,
and late fees eternal
grown from the infernal
jest we let foment
into rent checks and
a stale hex
revealed next
to nothing
in a book I did not write
that you read all the same

Masculinity,

of all men, is just nothing --


of value in love.

Athena turned ’round her head
like a night owl on the sly
and looked up behind her
as gold Apollo crossed the sky,

riding with his four coursers’
flying gilded manes and hooves.
Their silver flanks and quarters
thunder across the earth’s blue roof.

The rhythm of their beat
stamps a lyric all their own,
blood coursing with the heat
of the sun-disk they all towed.

The she-god of the wise
observes this cloud-streaked scene,
the man-god shining out,
casting shadows ’round Athene.

Apollo’s path is sinking low
as the winter months advance.
The frost now blurs his glow
and bare forests fall into trance.

It’s in this creeping night
that Athena finds her time.
She draws her wisdom in twilight,
no need for blinding light up high.

For she shines not with a sun.
Instead she lights her own pathway.
By her craft and wits she’ll run
her own trail she blazed today.

useless knowledge
reflective ceiling
guys who park their bikes here  
never feel anything
i wish that were me
and i wish that were on me
the bike shed stares back
he’s not looking at me