A gentle caress of the cheek
A shaky fingertip on the chin
The memories come and go in waves,
but hit with the force of a tsunami flood,
crashing down the barriers I so carelessly built up after you left.

A touch of my neck
sends shivers down my spine,
as I remember your lips brushing gentle skin
exhaling my name into the dark.

Twisted in sheets, tangled in blankets
Racing hands and quick breath
those nights come to me quick,
flashing images through my mind.

Glow of your eyes - you loved me.
Smiles on your face - you meant it.
Pleasure in your body - you showed me.
Grasp of your hand - you watched me laugh.*

I would say I want this nostalgia to stop,
but to be quite honest-
I'm addicted to reminiscing on these thoughts.

The fear of forgetting you
presses ******* all sides
suffocating my mind with images of us.

I. The Encounter

I awaken to the lull of your voice: seductive whispers that send waves of electricity through my being. And then I see you. The demi-god that you are. And I worship you. Give me strength to endure your charms. And you do charm me, just as I know you will. Lapis eyes dance back at me. But then I'm dreamy; not awake, not asleep. Still in that state between dreams and realities. And to me, you are a god. But reality ~cruel mistress~ charges at me, and I see you for yourself. A mere mortal as I. But still I worship you. You've already begun your seduction. And I am a willing victim.

My first encounter with you is brief, only moments spent in your company. I would've scorned any human brave enough to insist that I would some day love you. I don't want to be aware that you have any power over me. No man has power over me. I have pushed all thoughts of men from the dusty corners of my mind. My life evolving around school and work and her, my lover. You know we are lovers. And I know you are married. Neither of us have scruples.

You offer me a bowl. Soaring above the world helps you cope. I am grounded and decline. But I watch you carefully. Pipe in hand, breathing deeply the smoke of the gods. And I find you amusing. Eyes turning glassy, mirroring my soul. Your face lit by uncontrollable laughter. And I am spiraling from the slightest contact of you.


II. The Seduction

Just a look. It takes only a look from those lapis eyes. And I'm hooked. Captivated by their icy-blue fire. And I'm burning there, burning in those lakes of infinity, those magnetic pools. Electric shocks wave through me, toss my senses, turn me into pure desire. And I desire you. You and the musky scent of your body lit by lust. Driven. Pushed to the insatiable limit. Inflamed.

Spoken and unspoken, your words ****** me. Enticing me, those words encircle me, swirl about me, intoxicate my mind. Notwords. Those words you say with your eyes, your smile, the rhythm of your body. And your whispers. Hot breath against my cheek, my ear, my neck; a trail of kindled passion waiting to explode. And I cannot resist the temptation. Tempted beyond reason, caught in the moment, trapped in the never-ceasing yearning of my body for yours.

Smoldering. You smolder me with kisses. Blaze my body with your tongue, your touch. Smooth skin against mine. A hand filled with impulses, pulsating, beating the rhythm of our hearts, like beats of the tunes you make love to. Wild, savage drums. Wild, savage love. And I long all the more for you. Your touch, your scent, the feel of you in me.

You recreate me. Change me. Make me want you again and again. Seduced.

III. Missing You

Missing you as I do, I cannot remember my life before you. Before your smile touched the depths of my heart. Before I gazed into those familiar eyes and saw my soul staring back at me. Before I felt your lips on mine, sweet, intoxicating, the slightest hint of tequila and lime. Your hands upon my flesh, electric waves. And the movement of your body with mine in cadence to the primal dance. Before you took me into your arms, I existed as only a shell of a woman. A tiny speck among specks in the vast universe. But you reshaped me. Molded me into a goddess. Allowed the woman inside of me to resurface and reclaim her sexuality.

And now you are gone. Out of my life for weeks. Out of my sight, but not my mind. I see you gazing back at me from the mirror each time I look into my own eyes. And then my mind takes flight and I escape with it. At that moment, I can once again feel your arms around me. Your soft, tender touch. The lulling of your husky voice. The musky scent of your skin. I watch from my grounded plane as you lead me to bed, turn down covers, and then motion for me to lie down. You remove my clothing, stripping away all resistance, all inhibitions. Prince sings seductively in the background. And I lose myself in your loving. You descend upon me like a child with an ice cream cone. Lapping at the cream you stir from within me. Your tongue tracing circles upon my skin. A flick of an ***** ******. Kisses trailing my body from lips to thighs and then there. And you linger there. Minutes seem like hours and hours like days. But I cannot imagine time without you. Only after I have traveled into the netherworld you lead me to, do I finally feel you. Hard and long, buried into my flesh. Deep inside me. Inflaming my body with each stroke. You take me, over and over again, to that netherworld of pleasure. And I want to stay. Remain there with you, eternally.

So missing you like I do, I have no appetite for anything but you. Depression falls upon me like a black cloak shielding me from the outside world. And I realize that missing you is missing a piece of me too. Missing my eternal friend. My soul's mate. My heart's constant pounding. Missing you is missing me with you.


IV. Betrayal

You said you'd made your choice: she and I, that's all you'd need. And I wanted to believe you; almost did, in fact, believe that two could be enough. I could've lived with that. She, bound by contract and children; I, bound by lust and desire. I know the game; have played it hundreds of times. And I put my trust in you to keep your word. But you don't belong to me. I have no control over you, no real ability to keep you under control. And so I baited you. Ensnared you in your own trap. Shoved temptation under your nose to test your honor. You have none. You accepted my trap; opened the door to her: a third, an easy, vulnerable prey.

And now you've lost. You will keep the first; she is bound by a higher law. But I am your loss.

Cheap words. You say whatever it takes. Words fall from your tongue as carelessly and easily as a dismissed annoyance. Your heart as cold as the snow surrounding us. You work emotions like a stagnate river: stuck in the routine of building up and tearing down the very dams of trust and passion you blueprint. But I am not like the others in your past. I am a true player. One of the faithful few. But you've destroyed that faith. I know where I stand with you. You've placed me in some category with your other casual notaffairs. But there is nothing casual about me. And if you had taken the time, been true to your word, you would've learned this. I give my all. All of my being, my heart, my soul. Not obsession, just loyalty. I await the rules, and when I have them, I play by the book. But you constantly change the rules, make them up as you go along. And since I cannot claim any part of you, I stumble over your turn of events. And although I try to keep up, I no longer want to match you set for set.


V. Exposed

You breeze through lives like a windstorm: tossing and turning, stumbling along into one life after another. *** appeal, your weapon: a loaded gun, a sword, a double-edged axe. You are crystal in your attempt. Pristine in your approach. Primitive, you take women back to the primal, the cave of the Neanderthal. Back to pure animalistic intoxication. And I almost allowed this. I wanted you. I did want you. You and the beauty that existed on the outside. Muscular facade that shields the turmoil within. And you could've had me.

Those eyes, so like mine, pulling, dragging me further into their blue lake. I would've drowned there for you. Allowed myself to get caught in the whirlpool of your loving. I wanted to more than you could ever know. Whirling there, swirling there. Sinking further and further into the fiery lake of your seduction. And I would not have defended myself. Passive. A kitten de-clawed. I would've sank into your abyss willingly, awaiting your strong arms to enfold me, save me, wrap me into your soul. Die from the shear ecstasy of you.

I confessed. Opened my soul to you. Permitted your entrance. And you took the challenge. Stepped in and put my inner world in order. Sorted through the chaos within me. Within. You were deeper than you knew. In that enigmatic space, you found the seed of my essence buried in a dry desert. And you rained on me, reigned over me, until I blossomed for the first time in years. I unveiled fully for you. A lotus petaled and filled with sweet, sticky nectar awaiting your touch. I removed all masks, all defenses, stripped away all layers. Showed you the sincerest parts of my being. Exposed. Naked. Displayed this being to you without shame or regret; I bore all. You knew me. The new me. The hidden me. The me that rarely allows passage. But I couldn't resist you. You entranced me. ****** me into you. Stole my breath. Exhaled. And scattered me into the wind.


VI. The Fool's Folly

Making restitution. This is what you say you want. And I struggle within, look to the stars, the cards, and my own inner voice. Should I trust you? My horoscope says a fifty percent chance of let-down today. And the cards say, sure trust him, you fool. But inside I scream I want to trust you!

Then I take a reality pill. Swallowing it hard and dry. And I realize this is what I do with you. I swallow you, refusing other nourishment. I swallow you in gulps, like a fine wine. Allow you to descend inside of me, make me raw from the wanting of you. And when the effects of you occur, I immediately become induced, intoxicated, high from the effect. I lose all sense of existence, except for you.

You become the center of that little world you say I've created for myself. You lay there on a bed of black satin, your body shimmering from the candle-lit radiance. And I see you there, there with me and in me, beside me, circling my body with your passion dance. Prince bellows another scream in cadence with my own.

Perfect timing. Too perfect. You give away your method of operation. But only I know of its existence. I have one of my own. And so we come full circle. Knowing you as I do. Knowing your secrets, your methods, your devices of seduction, can I allow your restitution? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Can I risk playing the fool?


VII. Vanished

You've vanished again. Escaped to god-knows-where without me. Again. Without me in your life. Recluse, you've turned me into you. A recluse without explanation. Locked me into the world that exists around you. Trapped me there, helpless, without you to guide me through. And only you have the map, the way to the gate: the escape route you use to flee when life attacks you in the dark. And I want to explore the passage with you. To tell you all that I feel. Feel you with me, in me, beside me. But I'm covered by this web of confusion. A thick heavy blanket of your tormented soul. And mine is there with yours. Our lives intertwined as they are. Twined into enigma. If you would only step from the shadows, motion me forward, I know we could make it out again. The blinded-by-lust leading the blinded-by-lust. And together we could cut our way through this thicketed labyrinth.

(The sun is somewhat dimmed, as though I'm looking through a film.)

Losing myself in the crinkles of your eyes
As you smile carelessly into the camera
I remember
The way you scrunch your nose a little
The way your lips remind me of cherry blossoms

(It's a little cold here. The temperature is falling.)

Even as I lay in bed shivering and battling my fever
I remember the nights you wished you were here
The nights you work as a bartender, carelessly picking up girls over the counter
Do you serve them all poisoned holy grails?

(A hollow whirring. That's the sound I hear when my ears are blocked.)

Your favorite song plays in the background
I remember
When you said my voice was soothing
When you said I meant something
Ed Sheeran probably didn't mean it
But now I cringe with every note of his

(The brightness before me is blurring. Are those my tears or is it just the water?)

It was beautiful, really
But pink sakura petals do not bloom in this region
Even the colour pink is distressing to me
Since we matched in winter through spring

(You nicked my heartstrings. How do I mend it?)*

I find you in all the little things
Cigarettes, temples, business trips, huskies,
Harry Potter, Radler, Netherlands, salmon,
Macaroons, banana man, an 18 grand television

Round and round, the second hand runs on the face
The sun goes down and down, signing off the days
Round and round, you're running in my head
I go down and down till I reach the seabed

there's a knot in the middle of my spine -
a knot made with flaming fuchsia rope -
that i have never been able to untangle.

my fingers aren't able to reach it quite right;
no matter how much i rub or how far i arch my back against the mattress,
the knot remains as taut as a lifeline.

and i can't cut it loose also,
i don't leave no scars on my back for i have promised myself the blade's lips can kiss my wrist and my wrist only.

there have been people who have encountered me in this life to whom i have mentioned the knot.

a couple of people only nodded and avoided my troubled eyes.

some people have had the pleasure of fastening it even tighter.
experienced sailors with impressive tying skills,
that can secure an entire ship of agony and relentless torture to a worn and raw anchor as heavy as my body,
with the vessel of malicious fingernails and empty words.

most people have only soothed my aching back with gentle fingers;
caressed and patted the knot with a tight lip drawn upon the face
and pitied my sorrow with forbearing eyes.

no one has ever cared to untie the unforgiving knot.

no one has reached out to pull the burning end of the rope and set it loose.

no one has carelessly ripped out of me the sigh i have been guarding in the hollow of my throat for so long.

no one has set me free.

Sinking like a carelessly cosmic ****** on the 4th of J-U-L-Y, while a distressed young mountain lion lies on your feet.

Watch out for the cautious rubber shark inside the lines. It'd be something like Frank Zappa stuck on a deserted island with a dealer of his liking or disdain. 

I believe in outlandish crazy industrialists in the distance between here and nowhere. 

Lucifer has been infused with witchcraft and crack *******. Mindless *******. Thank your God. 

Excellent nutrition is being presented as gluttony. Which in turn has caused your little sister to make daily offerings to a porcelain god. 

Pleasure didn't invent rebellion but rebellion did however invent pleasure. Don't confuse the two. 

A believer is magnetically drawn to immorality, much like man is to faith. 

Inspiration simply radiates free energy and a smile should never be compared to a frown. 

Dreaming can be mistaken for productivity. Dream big people, dream big.

Wake up ,
Go to school ,
Study ,
Repeat.

Heather has a party this weekend ,
"Did you get invited?"
-"What?"
"Oh nevermind"
Repeat.

Late nights
Thinking
Where did I go wrong?
Repeat.

Endless tears and
I don't cares,
But it hurts
Repeat.

The 'go to'
But never the
Broken
Repeat.

Carelessly ,
The last choice ,
That "friend"
Repeat.

Like a boy ?
He's to good for you,
Atleast
Repeat.

Good at a sport ?
I don't think so ,
Try again
Repeat.

Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
REPEAT.

Rock and Roll and Rolling Rockers
Her eyes shine like wet graffiti paint
slow motion emotion
showing dubious devotions
You own nothing right now
cause you can't handle anything
Teenage mouths babble
Teenage minds travel
in fast cars driven carelessly
words fly by
Doge
Doge
Don't collide
With a mouth a spitting out words
they add up
pile up
till they become their own little world
you don't won't to hear that
or even see
yet all the time you are wondering
where is a little world for me

Let this be my legacy -
The only things worth remembering
Are worn out shoes and blistered feet
As we stand among the stars;
The silhouette of history
Made by your shoulder
Pressed against me
And the way we loved so carelessly
As we held hands in the dark -
Don't look down,
Pick your feet up off the ground,
Forget about the little things
And fade into the galaxy
Don't look back-
The memories we had
Of sleepless nights and playground swings
Will fade into our waking dreams,
We'll never return;
We're coming home.

If this is the last poem I will ever write,
Maybe this last time, I will get it right.
If this be the last poem you will ever read,
Maybe after such, will you do your deed,
And tell’st to all the folks who live without sound,
Living carelessly inside their own unknowing bounds.

For this is indeed the last poem for one to regret,
Oh, undoubtedly will never this I forget.
For a poem is but merely a coalition of this and that; all but mere words,
Only to forsake in the burden of misinterpretations of the general herd.
Oh, what is but speech too, when one is two,
Should I mouth one word and mean another to you.

What is a man who speaks one and means another to you?
Tell me then, what is, what is a man who fails to speak true?
So, then in the midst of his heart may his true word lies,
Only to spill to you the frills of his mere ungrateful lies.
So, please take a’mind that he regrets to speak,
The words of hurt and coldness that he had leak.

Oh, may the greatest of trees nest the horrid fungus and sin,
Then find’st that great man who will honor his kin.
Then find’st that great man who will eat so heavenly true,
And live the greatest life before his passing time is due.
Then find’st that great man who will give that faithful trust,
Before his gallant knight self will turn a’rust.

And if before you he stands, might it be not me,
But let merely this heart wish that happiness be.
But if is indeed this idiotic author you chose,
He is unforgivingly torn to have your heart be bruise.
And hope that never will he again speak one,
And mean a different another in a stupid pun.
And tell you that he treasures you so dearly,
And forever to hold you in heart sincerely.

If this is indeed the last poem I will ever write,
Maybe this time, I will read it to you right.

Around me architectural mastery:
sycamores, embankments, enduring ionic pillars.
I round a walkway bordered by trees,
enamel thawing, gliding off their low leaves.
Beneath the late-May’s pounding sun,
through the glittered trees’ reaches,
a gazebo crackles into sight.
Children in their prime, sunbathers, a wistful portraitist
encircle it carelessly:
a leisured chimney; the billows of life.
The foliage escapes into the river,
purplish, palpitating, cyclic creases
receive the dewy notes.
Kayaks licking acacia-gum-edged
ripples sputter and slip
through reverberations
of leveled white-water terraces.
Blackcurrants in clotted cream
slide on the plush lips of a young passerby.
The 8 above a doorway
dances motionless, silent in my periphery;
“Nicolas Cage just sold the spot”
pops from unknown lungs
inside the Circus crowd.

Unacknowledged, half-proud
hands built the Roman baths
alone, closed-in by such grace,
forgotten, then as now.
I wander these ancestral lanes
more or less alone, the same.

she smells (nameless and shameless)


a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless

morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-a-little-closer-tasting for the summer solstice,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded

the first of the season red spot-stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are mostly gender identifiable

my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within, a ****** hallelujah,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt Nile of the basement waters

the burnt crumbs of illegal in-bed brioche toast
amazingly invisible on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed, was yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things (popcorn pieces)
is just a scratchiest fragrance too far,
needing a sheet wiped clean slate

even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
one of us makes a (vice) presidential declaration:

she smells, I man-ually stink, each,
each glower shower nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass aroma fresh cut,
to exhume and then send away
this odor now christened,

nameless and shameless


11:47 28/4/19

It is not enough to see
a soul will manifest
what has been sown
immortal purple flame
gnarled roots in stone
the truth of nature
an external blooming
expression of the world

a flourishing vision
voraciously spreads
animating the meadow
with honey-scented breeze
steep slopes sweetened
magnificent blossoms
open lavender wings
to conquer the sky

here the air is thin
windblown seeds
so carelessly thrown
to harsh alpine soil
become willful weeds
persistently untamed
internally unchained
forever wild flowers

A thousand tumbles takes a bottle in the sea-
a thousand dashes and whirls and swoops.
A million grains of sand takes that bottle in the sea,
to break apart, to come to me
in fragments like a snowflake fractal.
How many mermaid miles till she hands that glass to me?
For I've taken out my very-ness, for you.
- And my crossness.
My judgement and wrath.
I've taken out slight hot breathe
               (for you to melt the ice on your whiskers.)
I've taken out my toes when they are reaching for yours in the cavernous blanket world  through the forest of our lazy limbs.
I've taken out my righteousness
and my second guessing.
I've taken out for you (a surprise, I was going to surprise you!)
all the times you were going to be wrong to me-
          and to wrong me...
taken them out to sea, you see?
In that bottle, pretty bottle. Broken now like too many vows.
I've taken out my knowing best and finding better.
I've taken out the half moon of your thumbnail as well
...I will miss that in my night sky-
(perhaps I'll keep that after all.)
I'll take out the complacency of holding your hand getting out of a chair.
and the mindless strokes
as you explain
my commonplace crazy
to
simpler minds-
I'll take out the very-ness of me, and the we-ness of us.
and fill a bottle with a the brine of a thousand tears from hundred slights not slighted quite yet.
I fill the bottle and gift the sea
with the softness of you and the brashness of me.
A thousand turnabouts it takes to reach you on the beach,
a sea glass diamond ring, engage me you engaging man-
and the tides tickles my feet in anticipation, marry me. marry me.
just a sea glass promise
for a mermaid bride
waiting for the sailor man to sing her sweetly with salt on his lips
Just a sea glass lullaby from the man who loves me so.
Marry me, marry me
And we drink sparkling water from a sea glass flute
and we drink all the us and we drink all the we
for sea glass could never hold a second in,
sea glass is far too vain not to shine in the sun fanning
your invite out in a spectrum of color that
a small child's hand creates when he holds it up to the rays.
Spills out all of my intentions
Spoiled child, loved child,
Spills out all of my intentions carelessly on the sandy floor for the tides to swallow whole.
My sea glass prism chucked unceremoniously back to sea
and me the mermaid bride left at her own alter...
But a seashell to your ear and her my wailing sorrow calls,
'marry me, sailor. marry me.'


sahn 8/5/14

Manila is beautiful at night,
Seen from overhead, high above rainclouds in the night sky
with a tantalizing view of car exhaust and the debris of broken dreams
Manila is beautiful at night.

It comes and goes like a shadow in flickering light.
At first, it hides behind wispy rain clouds, playful as a child hiding in his mother's skirt.
If you look closely, it's lights glisten-- golden and teasing
It's incessant winking, an almost promise of what's to come

From your aerial vantage point, you wonder:
"This is what it must be like to be an Angel when they fly"
Below the city, with all it's secrets, sprawls like a handful:
A rich lady's heirloom diamonds, thrown carelessly on a ***** floor.

It will somehow remind you of a creature: perhaps human, or Leviathan in it's wake
Cities, after all, are their own specie of living things

At first it is looks like a Brain, with neurons and synapses electric and active
Certain spots of the city: mall compelexes and large parking lots, like the nuclei of a brain cell
the roads that lead to and fro, the cars zipping up and down in red and yellow lines
remind you of dendrites and axons, stretching far
They communicate with each other in their own language; a code
Your imagination runs wild with untamed fantasy

On next glance, it looks like a heart.
The whole city pulses magnificently in unison it seems.
Thud, thud. Thud, thud. You feel it?
Your heart follows it's tantalizing rhythmic pattern, it's muscle beats
Though and through the city pumps it's lifeblood into each nook and cranny
Oh how it entices your passion so.

At last you seem to hear it breathing.
Listen closely and hear Manila inhale and exhale in steady tunes
Inhale, and exhale-- a silence comes over you,
And it's strangely reminiscent of amazement, excitement and bitter fear
Your ears dull and you listen to the rush of air in your lungs,
the deep drum bass of the pounding of your heart
the dizzying feeling that exists in your brain

Manila really is beautiful at night.
In the shroud of darkness, it rises from slumber;
Vivacious and lovely, it's seductive and free
Manila is lovely. Manila is a woman, as it should be.

Yesterday folds our vital documents
into its briefcase and steps onto a busy street.
Busses lunge on asphalt, rolling
knotted muscles and emptied pockets deeper
into roads where dogs and paper
blur the lines between news and ****.
Lovers, condos, taxis, and sidewalks
pray to scrape up rent. Tomorrow crouches, ready to spring
and ****** us back into the boxing ring.

I sit at the Earth's end,
an old, fractured, water-worn dock
cradles me and fixes the scene.
Yellow sails swimming the jetstream
hang on to the red dinghy whose wake
sets my eye upon the far shore.

     Coney isle ‘cross the murk-warped sea
     holds ancient homes like a tapestry
     holds ancient threads that you can see
     in some museum for a fee.

For the residents at Rosses Point
this is no end –
                          wit starts their children’s dreams
and holds them to life,
roots them in communal grasses
that grow and will always grow.
                                                       I didn’t know
that where the ****-stalk masses
life’s abundances overflow.

But where are their riches?

Cast in ditches by roadsides
where three hundred years of smiles,
vein-pulsing beliefs, busy thinkers,
sweet upswept streets,
all put wealth –
                           the heaping of coin
upon coin till nothing can breathe –
aside and laugh. They live,
surviving as they happen.

Inside the crumbled watchtower
I fling passion onto thought
onto nerve onto pen onto page
and then am limp,
like the carelessly treaded sage:
a child’s footprint.

     What anguish did the watchers know
     looking through the barred stone walls,
     their travelers still gone?

In the swirling, swallowing night,
that drops like the judge’s gavel,
I write images of the sundry
numb-fingered seaside –
                                          the birds call through the salt-stained air.

Fly, fly till you reach my words
that are split among a thousand minds and cities.
Fly till the grass overcomes the tread,
till the sun succumbs to lead
poisoning and dawn’s jaw drops dead.

The lighthouse, the sprinkling showers
from the clouds that shroud and mask
the would-be sky, guide
the heart that falls inside my throat –
                                                                two hundred tons of blood
beat through its bulge –
                                         I’m alive
and live on, like this unhampered ground.
The sound of ripples and the rustle
of reeds bring me back
to the time-broken dock.

I sit and remember my friends –
                                                       calmness soaks in and through my bones –
I am and will always be;
and when memory fails and fades
I will float the channel of everything,
beach upon this shore
and will be the grass and nothing more,
till history becomes the future
and the first layer becomes the core.

when the sun surrendered
to the moon's seductive words of sleep
into my mind did
I delve deep--
I visited my memories
Piled carelessly on shelves
An endless library of my emotions,actions and reactions
which with every new day evolved
"Tell me,"I ask,"what is happiness again?for I've forgotten
what it's like to be free
Of gloom,to be unburdened."
"You still know joy,"my memories whispered,"we know you remember.
"We see what you see,hear what you hear,and make it somewhat sadder or sweeter."
"It's almost left my life,"I retort.
"I am idle with indifference,
I can't feel pain nor joy;why chance
pain by living your life at all
when you cannot feel other emotions?Why not just die?
Why bother?"
"Because there is always a way out,"
my memories reply."There's a door,
a ladder,a vent,a reaching hand.You
may be imprisoned,but there's more
to a prison than hopelessness and locks.all locks have keys,now you
must find yours;before you lose your way;there's no going back if you do."

with that in mind,I went home and dreamed of leaving;leaving the confines of the system,leaving my
sorrows behind me.

Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door,
yet again.

"Be careful son, but be free"
You were warned, and yet
higher and higher you flew
closer and closer to Apollo
and your wax wings were melted
with his embrace.

But tell me, Icarus,
was it worth it in the end?
How did it feel
to graze the heavens?
Tell me, dear one,
how did it feel to live violently?
to live carelessly?

"Be careful, son, be free."
You chose to live,
if only in that moment.
Higher and higher you sailed
until your very being insulted Apollo
and with one kiss,
your wings were destroyed.

She dresses in gossamer veils of scarlet and lures men to her noose
As they carelessly pour Fortune's gold into her nimble, covetous hands
And they hang themselves among the other piteous lepers before them.

As cruel as the Inferno, she drags them under as an enchantress would her dupes;
As beauteous as the beloved Aphrodite with eyes of white marble
She adds these dim men to her vast collection of trifles.

Then she disappears and I know she won't return.
For she is the Gypsy's Best.

She sat by the window, with the rain pelting the foggy glass, breathing hot air into the cold. She took her finger and slowly ran it across the pane, pushing away the gathered dew and then running her fingers up, down, up, down. G O N E sprawled in messy cursive. Her thoughts were as dreary as everything surrounding her. It was as if the rain was complementing her. After all, if it was sunny, depressing thoughts would be banished to the back of her head.

They had all left her, her past lovers. Their words echoed across the wooden floor, false promises stealing pieces of her heart until the outer shell was the only thing that remained. It was beautiful really. Her shell was so delicate, like a bottle tossed into the ocean, broken and grinded against the sand and rocks, until it finally rested on a beach somewhere, all edges smoothed. She was seaglass, a reminder of the past, but beautiful.

the first told her that she was an angel, just one without wings. “But that’s ok” , he said, “sometimes there is no need to fly”. He found a  single mom on concord avenue two weeks later. She got child support. He bought her a ring soon after.

The third she met in the winter, where for months, white was the only variation of color. He liked to push her on her sled, but he laughed with more joy when he pushed her down the stairs. Red was the second color discovered that winter.

The fourth was the last. His love aged like a plum, darker and sweeter each week she was with him. He stroked her knee with his fingers when they sat upright at the doctor’s office, and he stroked her neck with his lips as she cried, laying horizontally on his bed. “Where did you get the scars on your back?”  he would murmur into her skin.

“I fell down the stairs once”,  she would whisper in the direction of his voice, her words floating in the darkness of the bedroom. The tip of his thumb would run down the pale pink scars, but she wouldn’t feel him there, that part of her had become numb long before. He left her two years later, his side of the room empty except for the spare key resting on the mahogany side table. His smell still lingered carelessly on her pillow.

Whenever it rained, she sat at the window, shadows gathering at her feet.

Little things
my dad does,
today he put
a new tooth
brush by my
sink after I
carelessly
mentioned
wanting new
things

Dandelion had always admired Oak Tree.
Like Oak Tree, Dandelion desired to be big, strong, and free.
Dandelion wanted to feel what Oak Tree felt, and wanted to move the way Oak Tree moved.
One day, Dandelion decided that it was time to stop dreaming,
It was time to become like Oak Tree.
So each day, Dandelion patiently watched and waited for Oak Tree to sway.
And surely, on a windy September night,
Dandelion saw Oak Tree swaying effortlessly with the wind;
Dancing under the stars and the moon,
And Dandelion wanted to dance too,
So Dandelion began to move.
For the first time, Dandelion felt sensational;
Dancing carelessly with the wind; feeling free.
For the first, and the last time, Dandelion was just like Oak Tree.
Then suddenly, Dandelion ceased to be.

Her eyes are the same as mine. Black and white, but her eyes have beauty in it
Her long hair. Dyed and shines, falls beautifully behind her back, hanging on her head carelessly
Her smile brings joy in life of mine. I want to be the reason of her happiness. Desprately
Her heart makes me blind. I seek nothing else but an imaginative object that I can't see.

Oh Lord let me kiss her lips and let the addiction kills me
Oh Lord let me see her eyes closely. The eyes that will brighten my life so I could see
Oh Lord hear my jealousy, the seed of my sins that grows in my heart slowly
Oh Lord bring her to me. The thief who stole my heart silently

Dear Lord my Saviour
Bless her and protect her
Dear Lord my Saviour
Hear my prayers for her

it's a beautiful day today

my favorite weather
is when the sun
tenderly kisses my cheeks
and freckled shoulders

i see kids carelessly riding their bikes
and wind breezing
through the branches of tall trees
and i think of you

i think of how it would be
to lay in the middle of a soft green field
with our arms touching
and your hand holding mine

i wonder what animal you'd say
the clouds look like
and if you'd pick a flower
to place behind my ear
and look into my eyes
to tell me i'm more breathtaking
than any daisy
that has ever been quenched by summer rain

i think about you a lot,
and i know today
would be even more beautiful
with you by my side

old makeup spilled on my floor
***** clothes strewn on my floor

You can hardly see the carpet for all the clothes carelessly being trodden on.

Blue holiday lights are strung around the mirror.

I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
on a new, thousand dollar laptop, slick-as-a-whistle, paid with a magnetic swipe.

For the past six months,
I have had less than four hundred $
combined in checking and savings,
and that number dwindles by the day.

I have no groceries,
but I've got fistfuls of orange prescription bottles,
and I was handing pills out like treats and candy.

(but they are needed, much and every day)

Where did all these bills come from?
Money is paper, but it means things.
Suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money, time, and the store's six blocks away.
We can subside on government cheese, beans, and the fiery licks of whiskey.

I pout on my throne of ***** cotton, thinking
"I get what I ask for, when I ask, and it always comes--at a price!" I sigh.

It's always over a hundred dollars more than I could spare
and brings bad luck, moreso than a couple broken mirrors would,
smashed over a the front of your mother's blackest cat.

"Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents, given as allowance!
I wouldn't feel like I wasn't nothing, nothing at all," I say, batting my eyelashes, "Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement to the greater things in life and consciously responsible adult-like decisions?"

I crack open my father's checking account with that swipe of a magnetic strip,
it makes me seem responsible when he sees I just use it for pills and foodstuff.

(I prove I love him, and he loves me in this way)

Now, together, we will buy strawberries with his money, until our lips are pink.
They must be four dollars, at the very least, then we eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

I kiss the cheeks of my reflection in the bathroom
"Como ca va, darling? Comme si comme sa. . ."
I lick my lips, put on red lipstick and then blot,
tousling my hair, tipsy, as I touch up my face by
licking the tips of eyeliner up like a cat's little tail,
the ends of eyes, coated with eyeliner as black as
my tightest velvet pants and dark, dark heart.

We go together. You and me.

Lying on the floor, holding hands, in vinyl bliss
listening to the crooning of sweet Francoise Hardy,
and the addictions of the near-dead soul of Lou Reed

You should move to a big city
and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
from expensive French cigarettes
chattering of sugar-white beaches
as I cross the seas all on a plane,
burning money all along the way
all the while drunk on red wine,
twirling my fingers around, with
bags under eyes, a little anemic

(I think it adds to the glamour)

We will go out to a dimly lit place
We will go out dancing then after

I will put on dab perfume under my ears and on my wrists,
I will wear black tights for pants, but first, do a little *******
and you will fasten the clasp on my silver necklace tonight,
while I smoke, before helping me put on my favorite fur

And we will go see Andy, at the factory
I hear he's doing something
with that Basquiat fellow (!)

I will go follow false luxuries, come with me.
I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,

just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
and keep pretending,
until I die, or overdose, or something.

Life is like a banana....
With its firm, sweet fruit inside
But if you carelessly drop the skin...
You're likely to take a slide.

So this is the moral of the story.....
To enjoy Life's little treat...
Discard your peel in the nearest bin...
And you'll stay upright on your feet!

l'amours dont sui espris...

  me and the moon cower,
me and the moon peer into the night,
from behind the cloud
from behind a puzzling thought...
me and the moon cower:
before the altar of the night...

well... i would never **** a fly...
at least i'd try...
the kingdom of insects states:
by some "consensus"
that the females are bigger
than the males...
i've heard it's not so with
mosquitos...

i couldn't **** a fly...
but when Monday's garbage collection
happens and i'm left dragging
an empty bin
into the garden to clean it...
i find... maggots at the bottom
of the pit...
still wriggling in the leftover juices
of meat and others...

carelessly like jerking off:
i pour some bleach into the cauldron...
sodium hypochlorite...
then some water for the foam...
the maggots disappear...
i wish them well...
but not much good could ever come
from drinking a corrosive salt...
alkaline implies corrosive salt...
well... i drowned some maggots in
alkaline...
but i very much care to have
a clean bin...

i ******* crocodiles and tears and tadpoles
into a tissue while
on the throne of thrones and send
them to: nowhere...
just before i take the no. 1 & no. 2
(no. 3 to ease up)...
then baptise myself in the shower...

summer will soon be almost over...
autumn will come
the proper fruits will start to fall...
i'll be making my wine...
it will take me 3 weeks or circa...
maybe 4... the apples will fall...
the pears too...
winter... when insects sleep...
as much as i might appreciate the copper-neck
suntan... i'll be happier to find that
the insects are sleeping: along with
the bears...

i rarely **** a fly... a mosquito, though?
each and every time...
if i were a zombie and a fly *******
a maggot-load onto me... i'd beg to digger...
well...
    i did't feel like killing this large
specimen of mosquito... it wasn't going to
bite me...
never mind...
i didn't feel like merely killing it...
i caught it be one leg...

i have two spider twins either side
of the door to my garden...
one was sleeping...
the other was awake...
how did i know?
the sleeping one curled up its legs
into a bud...
it wasn't awake to play piano with
its cobweb...

        so i pinched this one mosquito
by the leg and watched it frenzied...
trying to escape... my hand led it to the altar...
how quick the spider! how quick
the spider made a mummy of the would:
juiced up mushy meat!
i didn't **** it...
i just fed a garden spider...
a catch it couldn't otherwise catch...

i felt indifferent... more indifferent about
vegans than vegans feel: "differentiated"
from debating the need for milk...
eggs... never mind the meat... cheese...
i don't understand veganism on these three pillars...
milk (cream)... eggs... cheese...
i couldn't be a vegan...

vegetarianism: i can understand...
but... no eggs?! no... milk / cream?!
no... cheese?!
        get out of 'ere!

       maggots swimming in sodium hypochlorite...
or rather... dying in it...
but the prettier sight than killing a bothersome mosquito
was feeding it to a spider...
it almost felt like...
   feeding a cat sushi turkey ******* on
the end of the knife...

this song has nothing to do with the experience:
chevalier, mult estes guariz...
none!
why do i abhor Darwinism...
it... doesn't tease my vanity...
it just kills off history!
from ape to "somehow": now...
that's it!
   **** similis: the ape was known to the ancients...
but the ancients did ancient "things"
and didn't allow themselves to be swallowed
up by a ******* comparison!
metaphor! they would have settled for
a metaphor... but not a comparison!
a synonymous-ness!

Darwinism is right: nature abhors vacuums...
nothing in nature is to be ever wasted...
everything has a purpose...
if... somehow... it doesn't have a purpose:
it will... it will evolve... it will adapt...
but... Darwinism as... the prime idea...
the one & only source of the genesis of
"idea"? only in the anglophone world...
no where else will you hear
Darwinism so celebrated...
Hermes asked... why did Galileo overshadow
the findings of Copernicus?!
why did even William Burroughs undermine
Copernicus by staging a "fact" that...
oh the ancient Egyptians knew!
the ancient Greeks knew too!
but... no mathematics...
then some pope-****-smear of a Galileo
was the one with the telescope
"probing": proving the heliocentric model
most adequate...

one spider whispered to another:
find any cobweb: piano concertos in the desert?
no... me neither...
let's just wait for some of these sand-*******...
camel-jockeys to catch up...
we'll show them... mummification:
hey presto!

- and they did... how quickly that spider
launched into the mosquito...
rapping it up like a... nothing to be
beside the futures of food-stuff...
it felt...
well... not ignoble... a pride in a sense
of hierarchy...
the spider easts the mosquito...
it's really levelled ground in the insect
dominion...
i allow maggots to swim in sodium
hypochlorite...
i catch a mosquito by its leg
and feed it to a spider...
the spider does the mummification
ritual... the world balances itself out...

it's a strange sensation: it's hardly a feeling...
one gets feelings on a graveyard...
count the bones...
wake up... re-wake...
the fickle faculty of memory:
so prone to amnesia...
i abhor dreams.... therefore i dream none...
less Freudian ******* shrapnel....
less & less...

i need a mirror to take a selfie...
i need... the apparition of 3D space...
you can't revise QWERTY!
you can't improve it!

i can type without looking down
at the keyboard: here's to imitating the Liszt...
the Chopin...

eh?!
i didn't cite:  E... did i?
i included the surd of breath...
EH?!

ask the ******* Hebrews why we have concern
to begin to laugh...:
it's trapped in their definite article:
HA! SANTA!

           i'm here for only one thing...
beside thrilling it alive in Thailand...
or... recovering fractures in Europe...
someone... maybe one... or two...
have... stolen my identity...
                  sorry...
             garlic pickled in some red wine
will always go under the radar...
electric six's album should never have:
gat bar! bay bar!

   it's the 1980s and sade...
smooth operator....
             best kept feeling...
feeding a mosquito to a spider
rather than simply killing it...
like... the inversed... imploded...
ploy of game...

who needs tiger blood?
bluff?
i need... a mosquito...
a spider... a spiderweb... like a piano...
i need an awake spider...
the red wine is not to be...
necessarily... mixed with garlic...
although last time i heard:
infusing ren wine with three or four
teeth of garlic (nuggets?)
is a slimming elixir...

father SLiM? *******... yacht...
bogus crew...
feeding a mosquito to a spider...
death soon arrives... "tomorrow".

- still need the geocentric model when
reading the map... hell:
i need the flat earth perspective when
reading a map... i don't really care much
for the equator, the Greenwich meridian
when getting from A to B...
funny how geographic "algebra" works...
from point A to point B:
a round earth doesn't really help...
perhaps if i were sailing but even then...
a straight line...

Darwinism didn't really undermine
man's final vanity... according to Freud...
nor did Freud undermine another vanity...
Freud & Jung created the divided schematic
of what once man:
i wouldn't say man was Leibniz's pristine
monad: something indivisible...
but it was close: to be divided by memory
fickle faculty:
how it dries up through the churn of
pedagogy... so much strain on learning
2 x 2 = 4... a, b, c, d, e... f, g, h...
fair enough: to later rearrange into words...
but i don't appreciate the classical alphabet...
the genius behind QWERTY...
i type without looking down at the keyboard...
it's almost like: imitation of reading braille...

maybe the alphabet should be less: a, b, c...
it's not like the vowels are at the beginning
while the consonants follow...
it just doesn't make sense:
rigid...
i wonder what would happen if children
were taught the QWERTY alphabet sequence...

or... just remember all the letters:
it doesn't matter in which order you remember them...
just remember that there are 26 letters in the English
alphabet...

- it's so pointless just killing  mosquito...
a fly... hardly...
but a mosquito... just at the right time
when it inserts its needle and become a syringe...
that's the sweetest of moment...
lord of the flies? who is the lord of mosquitos:
didn't ha-shem eat up all the lesser
gods of the Levant... but somehow avoided
gobbling up the lord of mosquitos?
i'm conjuring up a deity the Hebrew deity
didn't gobble up into his pantheon...

what name... what name?!
to challenge a name like... Beelzebub?
Be'el'zee'bub...
proper pronunciation with
the apostrophes: intra-verbum...
just so you know...
who: hoo! i'm getting hot from all the cider
and whiskey... god... i'm gagging for
some absinthe... the moon is ripe!
it's full...
     i need some slimming elixir...
some red wine infused with garlic...
to keep the vampires away...

what will i name you: lord of mosquitos...
KOMAR... mosquito in western Slavic...
Darwinism doesn't bug my vanity...
i.e. it doesn't bother me...
it bothers me that it's a history eraser...
nothing from yesterday here on in...
in the anglosphere...
the monkey: mammon key "happened":
an oops! ****! hey presto!
deluxe! no one grieves for Robespierre...
i might...
like i might for the wild imaginings of
the Marquis...
               if only... i prefer prostitutes to these...
"free"... masculine prototypes of... ahem... "women"...
once the woe... once the woo of man...
now?!
i prefer prostitutes...
no need for dating: plus... if they're Turkish...
they like a beard... a hairy chest... a hairy
stomach...

i'll push this dagger into that crux of:
et tu... so far so far as it can be harnessed
collectively that i'm... passionate about...
not angry... bitter... pickling my emotions...
there's a gherkin for a heart if anyone is
willing...

lord of mosquitos: raba'albaeud...
well, i could make that apostrophe disappear...
but i'd only replace it with a diacritical marker
above the A... to imply: "a.a."...
i.e. that there are two... Siamese vowels...
but it wouldn't help the pronunciation...
let's see...

raba'albaeud vs. rabālbaeud...
            eh?          ha ha... "no" difference!
so much for everyone being... "literate"...
they read like they might eat...
i've been told i eat in a way that...
invites other people to eat...
so much for others... dictating pleasures
unattainable...
i was a dinner once... with school friends...
i was the only one who asked for
rare beef... everyone else...
doubly butchered their wants...
they wanted them well done...
beef? well done?!
oh i'm a snob at that...
IT'S NOT MINCED BEEF!
YOU NEED... JUICE!

i kept my mouth shut and ate happy...
so much for friends...
i.e. "friends"... people you spend a lot of time together:
it works in a pedagogic environment...
school's great...
you are ***** into their presence...
you have to have... work-around tactics...
bullies... brutes... nerds... teenage mothers...

the full moon: while everything is attired in:
quicksilver...
the full moon: skin-head BISCUIT...
while everything is attired in quicksilver!

too many vowels... too many vowels...
raba'albaeud...
i "think" i'll rename him...
phonetically, though: ra'ba'alba'ood...
although there's an E & an U instead
of the omega...

Lithuanian: U'ODAS: ooh... not you...
i need bitter... twice bitter than an IPA
Czech absinthe...
i need to see straight... wonky too!
i need my tongue to be aflame!
i need teeth made from iron!

- history has become less linear than it used
to be... it has begot an ouroboros
of repeated... thanks to journalism:
history used to be linear...
time has reached a year 0...
but there's no revision taking place...
don't shoot the messenger!
i'm looking for the name of the lord
of mosquitos...

it's a hard name to conjure:
even though you have all the tongues in the world
available on the palette...
i need bitter... Czech absinthe...
i want to feel: hot... as rot...

Latvian: not Estonian... i.e.:
not sääsk (saaaask):               ODU...
主 / オモ (omo-odu)... that's clearly pushing it...
       オヅ
it would be so much simpler to just **** a mosquito
rather than... purposively...
feeding it to a spider...
i would "feel" much better killing it...
than having fed it to the spider...

Napoleon might have added:
sure... they're literate... but literacy only arrives
as useful when the literate are bilingual...
what use do i have for these people
distract by letters...
what use for the priestly class...
since... their safeguard is... "missing"?

sweet amber... whether beer: gods' juices...
or simply... mead...
from the work around of Hephaestus....
safeguard these names of the gods...
before they disappear...
before the Czech absinthe becomes too
bitter... still drinkable... but hardly enjoyed...

"too many vowels"... the "argument" follows
suite... i'm red... hot... chilly-esque...
chasing zeppelins... chasing diacritic markers...
covert: how you might say:
SPIERDALAJ: DALAI LAMA....
  ARES... his son...
                  Hephaestus....

             while i'm burning!

                         pronoun verb
custard: ich arbeit...
all the nouns the world might allow...

butterfass...
                   i'm itching to pass by:
butterfaß.... consonants ought to have...
better... phonetic encoding symbols...
like TH and PH have to encapsulate F...

who needs buTTer when one Tao might
have... MITE vs. miGHT?!
two consonants coupled...
not another night in Posen...
please... not another night in Posen...

chasing
i don't want to be English so much....
too many troubles...
too many fictions...
i want to be inherently "biased"...
too many frictions...
  too many fictions...
chasing  Zeppelin....
     ditto: base... the Warsaw "boat":
about to... sink.

When needs aren't being met through expectation of a future that will be far away behind us ..
When times had flash before my eyes and there's was no turning back to the present time of tomorrow dust..

But my own back was wondering if i was always against leaving
when always grieving on how much to the existed moment feeling that there's  was also much more needing
without it or without you it would not suggested to be believing ..

Pointed where I had envy the moment of  how the way your carelessly cared for the moment we shared ..
But without a doubt, there's was nothing wrong on how we dare to shared about how we never truly believed that it something that would  left us despair ..

As it was only the time to be nearer was seeking to how much existing memories you were to me, but as a dream we were only reaching for the moment we hope to hear of meeting, yet it somewhere I liked to be ..
Yet it stills found greater thing to remember where it ongoing hours ago.. I can't help but wonder if it is that you've  wanted if said don't ever let me go..  

As small a stop sign it can be but it never stop impressing on how much you mean to me ..
When all I can see even if it isn't you and I when there isn't one moment like this I'm dying to tried ..

I’ll be here whenever you’re near because here is whenever it begins again.
Seeing this never ends is a time worth spending it all over as long when it’s over then.

It was the hour of dawn,
When the heart beats thin and small,
The window glimmered grey,
Framed in a shadow wall.

And in the cold sad light
Of the early morningtide,
The dear dead girl came back
And stood by his beside.

The girl he lost came back:
He saw her flowing hair;
It flickered and it waved
Like a breath in frosty air.

As in a steamy glass,
Her face was dim and blurred;
Her voice was sweet and thin,
Like the calling of a bird.

'You said that you would come,
You promised not to stay;
And I have waited here,
To help you on the way.

'I have waited on,
But still you bide below;
You said that you would come,
And oh, I want you so!

'For half my soul is here,
And half my soul is there,
When you are on the earth
And I am in the air.

'But on your dressing-stand
There lies a triple key;
Unlock the little gate
Which fences you from me.

'Just one little pang,
Just one throb of pain,
And then your weary head
Between my ******* again.'

In the dim unhomely light
Of the early morningtide,
He took the triple key
And he laid it by his side.

A pistol, silver chased,
An open hunting knife,
A phial of the drug
Which cures the ill of life.

He looked upon the three,
And sharply drew his breath:
'Now help me, oh my love,
For I fear this cold grey death.'

She bent her face above,
She kissed him and she smiled;
She soothed him as a mother
May sooth a frightened child.

'Just that little pang, love,
Just a throb of pain,
And then your weary head
Between my ******* again.'

He snatched the pistol up,
He pressed it to his ear;
But a sudden sound broke in,
And his skin was raw with fear.

He took the hunting knife,
He tried to raise the blade;
It glimmered cold and white,
And he was sore afraid.

He poured the potion out,
But it was thick and brown;
His throat was sealed against it,
And he could not drain it down.

He looked to her for help,
And when he looked -- behold!
His love was there before him
As in the days of old.

He saw the drooping head,
He saw the gentle eyes;
He saw the same shy grace of hers
He had been wont to prize.

She pointed and she smiled,
And lo! he was aware
Of a half-lit bedroom chamber
And a silent figure there.

A silent figure lying
A-sprawl upon a bed,
With a silver-mounted pistol
Still clotted to his head.

And as he downward gazed,
Her voice came full and clear,
The homely tender voice
Which he had loved to hear:

'The key is very certain,
The door is sealed to none.
You did it, oh, my darling!
And you never knew it done.

'When the net was broken,
You thought you felt its mesh;
You carried to the spirit
The troubles of the flesh.

'And are you trembling still, dear?
Then let me take your hand;
And I will lead you outward
To a sweet and restful land.

'You know how once in London
I put my griefs on you;
But I can carry yours now--
Most sweet it is to do!

'Most sweet it is to do, love,
And very sweet to plan
How I, the helpless woman,
Can help the helpful man.

'But let me see you smiling
With the smile I know so well;
Forget the world of shadows,
And the empty broken shell.

'It is the worn-out garment
In which you tore a rent;
You tossed it down, and carelessly
Upon your way you went.

'It is not you, my sweetheart,
For you are here with me.
That frame was but the promise of
The thing that was to be--

'A tuning of the choir
Ere the harmonies begin;
And yet it is the image
Of the subtle thing within.

'There's not a trick of body,
There's not a trait of mind,
But you bring it over with you,
Ethereal, refined,

'But still the same; for surely
If we alter as we die,
You would be you no longer,
And I would not be I.

'I might be an angel,
But not the girl you knew;
You might be immaculate,
But that would not be you.

'And now I see you smiling,
So, darling, take my hand;
And I will lead you outward
To a sweet and pleasant land,

'Where thought is clear and nimble,
Where life is pure and fresh,
Where the soul comes back rejoicing
From the mud-bath of the flesh

'But still that soul is human,
With human ways, and so
I love my love in spirit,
As I loved him long ago.'

So with hands together
And fingers twining tight,
The two dead lovers drifted
In the golden morning light.

But a grey-haired man was lying
Beneath them on a bed,
With a silver-mounted pistol
Still clotted to his head.

but instead,
i was a flower that was carelessly plucked by you
because you thought I was fragile
and that i was beautiful;
soon after,
you kept on pulling my petals,
asking me with shaking breaths,
"do you love me or not?",
choking my stems
as you clench your fist
trying to make me feel your
desperation
and your painful
obsession
you always think is love.
you thought your preference of me
among all the other beautiful flowers
is a wonderful gift I should appreciate,
but let's be honest here

all you ever did was stop me from growing

The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.

It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk
of the man you were raised
to believe
was too virtuous to be
in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him.
The man who brought you into
the world as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.

More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner with them
a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (even though
you’d feel like a traitor if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.

In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children
I may ever bring
into this ******-up little game that
goes by the name of “life,”
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems
to be navigating the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****.

The words you whispered
from the lips that kissed her
sparked a romantic essence.

The skin you touched
knew nothing such,
for it was that of an ever unique presence.

The words you whispered
left her heart blistered;
contrary to actions that you displayed.

The skin you touched
feels nothing much,
for only the print where your hand was stayed.

And the lady you charmed,
left abandoned and harmed,
lies numb in the tears that you carelessly drew...

As you skip away with your romance anew.

i am shåï
and im here to stay...

lipstick stains
left on your
swollen cheek
love uncontained

red pen marks
drawn carelessly
i have not forgotten you
my dear

you came home
the other day
why did i even bother
to kiss you away?

the stains
still remain
on a carpet
that cannot be cleaned

your cheek was swollen
i cant think
i forgot
a heart stolen

you were here
maybe you once were gone
i cant think
just the mere thought

(b.d.s.)

Sliding into the water as I rise
She holds onto me, I stand steady
Feeling the hot, soapy suds slide down me
Her fingers on my legs, gently caressing

I look down to see what my leopard-girl's up to
Through the steam, I feel her roving eyes
Whose slinky slits belie what she intends
Not an inkling do I have ....of what she holds in store.

Then she's beside me....yes, her on bended knee
And with her lips planted carelessly along my belly
I quiver now in the shimmering heat of her arrows
On her haunches, darting lower now to thighs....

I flinch in disbelief as she reaches up, all coy
Does a befuddled thing I would never expect
She.....oh, holy smackerel in a barrel, baby!
What in blazes ARE you doing to me?

My senses fall to pieces, mind in utter disarray
Wordlessly, I try real hard to hold it together
As she scratches lightly, while purring oh-so deep
My feline fantasy coming oh-too-true!

Mumbling sweet-nothings in a haze of desire
Ramming shaft into her mouth, we make a different musical jam
Throttling up all the way to the hilt
Sure ain't nothing so sweet as her takin'-at!

She shifts the rolling gears,  I sway along
Clutching her hair for support, I humbly beg release
I see her ***** her eyes, makes ME ***** her harder
Makes me buck, drives me up that ***** wall!

I am in the driver's seat now, better believe
Feel a touch unsteady, but I hold her reins
I pull her maddeningly tight into me
Such delicious thrills course through my veins.

Pumping on vigorously, I'm-a  gonna spurt
But I know I have to pull the plug a bit
So her face and neck and **** rejoice
As not everyone can swallow what I give.

Ooh! Sweet heaven...now rinse off all-a that love-sap
Gingerly step out, wreathed in smiles
I let her soak on, as she's wont to do
She loves a delayed bath and I do need the time....

No room at all for doubt must be left
For her to earn folded returns for sated favour
She must be famished for some humble pie
How creative shall I prove to be, I wonder....

Swathed in terry cloth, her skin all pink-an-rosy
Oh, will she be just ripe-an-ready for this picking
Deftly will I lead her down, on downy floor
And mete out sweet and fitting penalty.

Growing exceeding restless, she will moan
But I shall will her to her knobby knees
Shame, wouldn't want her to be uncomfy
Give the lass a cushion....there, there.

I will rake my nails delightful 'cross her back
My leopard-girl will taste and be a crumpled mess
She will crave the whips across her ****
To match her lovely, striped, distorted mind!

And.... do I spy the goldfish bowl beside our bed?
Yes, methinks a wicked dip.... will do the trick
And her tower of resistance crumble, it must
Oh yeah, have I got a treat laid out for my pussycat!


Star Toucher, 30 March 2013

Metal armies invade my womb.
taking care of what I cannot.
clinging to me for life,
I carelessly take yours away.
Marching to the slow drum of your not yet formed heart.
The armies march.
Away from me they go.
Content with a job well done .
My body aches.
You are no longer with me.
Three moths flew by so fast.
You were growing so big.
And yet I killed you.
With metaphorical hands I murdered my baby.
They did the job, but they know not what I go through since you've been gone.
I think back to the shiny hospital bed.
The pan they carelessly threw you into.
Thrown away like garbage.
I think of my stomach.
Flat once again.
No life within it's walls.
Room checked out.
Cleaning crew comes.
My belly is new again.
Maybe ready to try again someday.
Life taken.
Vacancy.