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Ephraim Feb 2021
Stubble face peeks through wishbone click clack
nostrils pinched in book-binder paperback
mini blond boy sky-eyed squirms rotational
shut down with slap without raising of head.

******-Jugend buzz cuts in veal-skin loafers
son of Samsung apps jingle jangle along tracks
voice of G-- speaks scratchy warning, parts the sea
boys too old for hugs depart with fisticuffs instead.

On denim knees bent gentle council breathes
bodies viva voce plush exchange at eyes level
Fabulinus grants boons unhurried flowing rivers
man to boy to man wanderers share a walking stick.
Ephraim Feb 2021
Dear Eve,

the bathroom stinks
the dishes need washing
not a clean sock in the flat
dinner sits cold on the stove
you glare pits into my stomach.

******* do something about it.

My mind, a clogged drain
chokes on the insults
you hurl with an icy tongue.

I cannot look into your eyes
blue-grey full moons
drowned me at high tide
and my ***** drowned in you
a log swept into a storm drain.
The tide is out
not coming back
I stick out of the sand
just rotting driftwood now.

I know how to push things down
hide the stains
flecks of grimy sticky nuisance
nothing that won’t scrub away.

Clear the **** smell from the sink.
Do the dishes.
Recite the laundry sermon forwards then backwards.
Warm dinner...then hand wash my sackcloth,
polish my cilice to the luster of a halo,
knot my cattail,
do whatever it takes
to live through this inquisition.

Staring at your feet
follow them wherever they go.
Can’t talk to you.
Your voice is too loud.
So I take a shard
to my skin
inscribe the thousands of unsaid things
and become a book of blood
that you will never read.
Ephraim Feb 2021
High tide drowns
A moon draped in, a
Negligee of sequins
Aquarius has dropped his urn

Held you in
A snake’s embrace
Nightly entwined
Arms trembling

Her cooking
Atrocious
Needle of
Annoyance

How is it
After all this, I
No longer see you
At my door

Help, I
Am out of breath
Now that you have
Abandoned me
Ephraim Feb 2021
I am the word
the glyph, the rune
that speaks and sings
through time, in tune.

I am the hive
the bee, the bonnet
the couplet, haiku,
verse and sonnet.

I am the book
all pages turned
accused, tabooed,
torn and burned.

I am everything
and nothing at all;
the scroll on which
a kōan is scrawled.
Ephraim Feb 2021
Picture galleries of motion
beamed against orbital screens
jump from side to side.

Tethered to groping slobs
fast-food fed flesh spills like slush
under the *** crack
of a sleeping ramshackle booth
a flickering grey bulb
advertising escalator rides
at the rear
of a carnival for stiffs.

Gimme the Fun house.

Along this pass,
there shuffle I
treadmill somnambulant
stuck between why and why not
my donated skin, patched
worn past expiration
toss a softball
swing a hammer
shoot a clown in the mouth
skipping around fuchsia puddles of
puked up cotton candy and beer
riding the highchair
a baby belly full of popcorn.

Eddy drops a neon mannequin
strums his black flamingo strung with steamed tripe,
shoplifted
Dim Sum Sundays
sweats custard ****
opens his mouth to sing
exhales moths and hummingbirds...
fighting to the death over what's left
of caramelized nuts
spilled from my guts

A link left undone.
Wandering though the amusement park on shrooms
Ephraim Feb 2021
It's a quarter to God
and all is hell
half-past the Devil
towards a nice warm cell.

Seen it
clean it
nail it
mean it,
here is a hammer
there goes the bell.
Ephraim Feb 2021
Elohim decay
feathers fossilize
spinal columns scream
porcupine trees and pulverized spleen
a runaway stallion ***** ******
burning all trace of his steps
tetralogy of sun and steel
satyrs and samurai plunge swords and members
into quivering bowels and nymphs
chrysanthemum petals turn to snow in May
dusting the mask you wore to confession
where the abbott sank a gluttony fist in your robe;
you coughed,
leaving a mist of golden ***** all over the door
of Kyoko's crumbling house.

Izanami-no-Mikoto passes over
leaving the lovers to rot
where they hang.

The sound of waves blur our view
modern aesthetic is not enough
falling sand
a psoriatic kiss
beauty and youth
withered blossoms
on trees bearing only cherry stones
Shōgatsu begins
with mochi deaths
Kimitake's ghost wanders the palace
loinclothed
head in one hand
sword in the other.
Written with thoughts of Mishima.
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