"equator" poems
Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light
brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea
restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges
returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas
in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists
like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream
Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us
one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits
the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current
follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
There are some who may prefer a cloudless sky and the touch of a warm sun. These hearts are similar climates, and you may find them at no great distance from the equator.
Not mine.
My love is for the sedge and moss covered upland of frozen lakes, where the cold white blanket covers the steppes. Peace is found here, among the ice and whispered within the biting gale as it travels over her skin.
Her chill breath touches me, and I am not driven away.
For within my chest beats a fire as black as space between the stars.
And I go unclothed, as the caribou carry me across the frozen land.
I am the horned god.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
slave is someone who does not have authority over their own lives slave is someone subservient controlled dominated by somebody something slave works very hard for little or no pay slave is property of somebody something slave is someone forced to obey
sycophant is someone servile who overly flatters more powerful individual for personal gain sycophant is bootlicker brown-noser fawner flunkey doormat lackey lap-dog yes-men parasite toad-eater (pause reposition) somebody possessed of excessive vanity may cultivate sycophant swarms
side by side they stand clothed in black not quite similar the one slightly taller possibly because the other suffers poor posture perhaps they are related because in odd way they appear alike or of same ilk yet upon closer scrutiny it becomes apparent they have very little or nothing in common the taller one with troubled sad eyes the other smiling obsequiously the taller one more muscular ***** from working menial labor the other with curved spine slumped shoulders because of undue bowing and crouching while blowing smoke up other people’s *****
sadist is someone who attains ****** gratification by inflicting physical pain shame to other people sadist is someone who delights in excessive cruelty degradation to others
********* is someone who achieves ****** pleasure from being hurt humiliated abused dominated punished often self-inflicted ********* is someone who enjoys being harmed misused mistreated ignored by others
sadomasochist is someone who gets ****** gratification by alternately or simultaneously enduring hurt causing pain to somebody else sadomasochist is combination of sadistic masochistic tendencies in someone who obtains ****** pleasure from inflicting submitting to pain cruelty
sycophant slave snakes up leg of movie actress dictator who gains pain through pleasure 2000 miles from equator IED cell phone detonator sycophant dilettante ***** up to sadistic art critic or publishing editor on escalator while below on main floor of shopping mall ice rink figure skater pirouettes bows to nominator surreptitiously bribed by infiltrator mutilator
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
863
That Distance was between Us
That is not of Mile or Main—
The Will it is that situates—
Equator—never can—
4.7k
~
*solstice = sun stopped; in the case of winter solstice,
the moment when the sun ceases its journey northward
from the earth’s equator and turns southward toward
longer days; much like the journey our sun takes,
love solstice then is that moment of
arrest and redirect for one’s direction of travel
in life... and in this, the moment
a Sagittarian and Capricornian
separated on two sides of the solstice,
turn, collide and coalesce.*
~
hers,
the waning side,
winter's reprise,
calls to the night,
at height of eventide.
his,
on ebbing turn,
the sun's reverse,
together rise to step
as one at winter's ball.
their dance across the sky
'neath moonlit nights.
two in love,
in lockstep of
the stars above,
collide and coalesce,
their waltz amidst
the delicate pearls of
a Milky Way stage!
no more his lonely
path among the stars;
his heart she's swept,
to never dance alone;
her arrow sent with bow,
piercing to the marrow,
holds his life,
his very soul.
bold and daring,
her voice of caring,
soothes his troubled heart.
he, her promise, calls
to her adven’trous heart,
two stepping toward
a rising warming sun,
in birth that spans
the space and time between,
forever now as one;
this their solstice of love!
~
post script.
*she (late Sagittarian) is the setting-sun-kissed, rain-misted huntress,
he (early Capricornian) is the rising sun's icicled traveler.
mere days separating their arrival, though theirs could not be
more varied. their births under different signs; his in the wintry
heartland, hers in the sun-kissed southwest; individually they are fire
and ice, huntress and wanderer who together have captured,
captivated each the other’s heart. you’re not likely to see them
separately, but when you do, it’s only briefly when resupplying
their home, their hearth, their hearts. two making a most unlikely one,
but oh so surprisingly, so beautifully passionate!*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Dear Arjana,
Isis told me that you left your paradise for love in disguise
Camouflage love
Erroneous love
Inaccurate love
Artificial love
Mimic love
Man-made love
...
Substitute love
...
I can't trust the "fact" that you wanna desert me only to hydrate a man who's life is so sparse with affection
Can't you tell by how devoid his life is of women?
He can't storm into your life and bring forth lush
He can't be your sunshine and make you feel tropic
He can't have you sprung and spring you out of your glacial phase
...Smh
Bottom line Arjana babe
Is that he cannot draw the line between your north and south poles where it's typically warm when I'm around and rock your equator wild as a 200 miles per hour cyclone Lol!!!
...
He just can't
And I could
So why do you even give G-Gwa-Gwala a chance?
However you say his name!
You need to come back home to your paradise
Before you end up a dystopian
Please reply =-|
Sincerely Masika "Zola" Oluchi
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 4:55 AM UTC
When the sun first shows its beaming face,
at the break of a blissful new dawn.
Your birds that exult with elegant grace,
bid farewell to the night that's gone.
Your flowers ornate your vast lands,
of your priceless treasures they boast.
The besotting Kilimanjaro that stands,
dominating your east coast.
You are home to the best precious stones,
the land of gleaming clear waters.
Garnished with skills and strong bones,
you are served by your dutiful daughters.
The soil that expands on your gracious vest,
the equator that cuts your enormous chest,
birds that bear your golden crest,
are a few ideals of your daring zest.
The treasured soil that fills your vast expanse,
the gracious finesse in your every dance.
From Egypt, to South Africa, Nigeria to Kenya,
From the stupefying Sahara to the beatific Victoria.
I love you dear Africa, The land of the wild,
This poem is for you from your little child.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
There are those who
despise tight spaces
who hate confinement
at least in their own basement
There's some truth
I concur
I need room
not some gloomy tomb
still there are some
who are confined
by the dust below
and the clouds above
they desire
the width of the equator
and claim
the height to the stars
but in the end
with all man as a subject
with majestic skyscrapers
and treasuries filled to the brim
their death creates borders
implodes skyscrapers
and loots the coffers
alas, as they started
in incubators
they remain claustrophobic
in coffins
the world is not enough
because we are not enough
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
At Vernal equinox, the Sun crosses
over the plane of the Earth’s equator
and equalises the night and the day.
Then will the Emerald Dragon awaken
from his hibernation beneath the earth.
Rising in the jade forests of Ghizhou,
this yin creature transforms the cold, dead land.
Primal and powerful, he gathers the Qi;
melts the mountain snows to ribbons of fire
igniting the frosty hillsides to growth,
fuses each thing with verdant energy,
revives again the seed, renews the bulb,
sprouting tender shoots juice-rich and sap-full
Shy blossoms set to bloom and burst with fruit
Fresh scented breezes ruffle foliage
maiden ferns shiver with their thrill and ******
Grasses and reeds bedewed and beryline,
murmuring and humming low and dulcet,
dancing and swaying at the river’s edge.
Roots of every tree draw deep from the earth
Magnolia and Frangipani breathe
and pant out fragrant honeyed lusciousness
Spring sparks and quickens, kicks and is alive.
© M.L.Emmett
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
I woke up and the sun is shining,
majestically emitting its golden glow.
In spite of this, it's a cold Scandinavian morning
and boy, the sun is putting up a real show.
So what's really going on here I asked,
why am I not yet sweating profusely?
Why am I not yet drenched in sweat and sunbaked,
Or is the arid heat being turned on slowly?
By birth, I was born a Liberian, a true African,
my umbilical cord was buried near the Equator.
My nationality is Norwegian, a Scandinavian
By virtue of the winter, I always feel like a visitor.
The African sun would shine until we hide or run
just to avoid the scorching heat and humidity.
The Scandinavian sun I feel shines and people have fun,
A factor to make me question the sun's true nationality.
So is it the same sun that rises at about 5 am in Ghana,
The one that shines brightly on the vaults of the Ashanti gold?
If it's the sun worshiped by Ancient Egypt, of the sun god Akana,
So why doesn't it burn away the snow and the extreme cold?
©️IB-Poetry
2/20/2018
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
There are more and more misfortunes in the world
Known to you dear people in your diverse conditions,
But my life and experience has taught me unique lessons
Of kindred to befit me Elizabeth, a daughter of Zinjathropus
Hailing in the savannah desert, Turkana County of Kenya,
I have graduated in to a single lady without test of marriage,
As desert men look at me in their irritating impotence,
**** clothes wrapped around their slender waists passing on me
Like a dog passing on American dollars; cursed be desert men,
I thought my beauty of dark African complexions will give them a ****** tease
But to my chagrin; desert men have a fear of beautiful ladies
My conscience tells me that my beauty is an eye sore to them,
I thought my bulging hips will entice them as is a promise of fertility
Leave alone not to mention my concupiscent ****** warmth, uhmmm!
Desert men have dared not to see and appreciate my **** bossom,
They often pass on me driving their donkeys and emaciated carmels,
I thought my ***** sharp pointed ******* assign of virginity
Will call them to me into a treat of love, affiliative love,
But sadly enough; these dudes are erotically blind,
They they nonchalantly pass on my **** *****
Wielding a begging bowl in their ***** long hands
Running like drunkard chimpanzees going to Oxfam stores to beg for food,
Cursed be Oxfam an imperialist agent, it has crashed flat
The testicles of our desert brothers into ****** insensitivity,
Oxfam has made African desert men to beg like Hebrew lepers
Other than standing up on their feet to feed their women,
Normally as men would do from the sweat of their brow,
I thought my education will attract them to me,
To love me with those romantic University kisses,
But desert men have crude cultures and slavish religion
They rebuke girl child education as if it is a devil,
Oh my dear God of the forsaken desert ladies
Of the forsaken African daughters,
Take me out of this ****** desert
Take me out of the city desert of Lodwar,
Take me to the equator line and give me a husband,
My eggs are pretty ready to conceive and sire children
Sons and daughters for your own glory O almighty God,
Take me out of this ****** desert,
Where no man treats a modern woman,
Take me out of here and give me a fresh man of my dream.
Because I have known from today;
It is accurse to be a woman in Africa
It is a curse to be a beautiful lady in African deserts
It is a curse to be a woman graduate in the African desert
It is a curse to have ***** ******* in the African desert,
O! Help me God.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
The world was never going to end
in fire.
It was never thought to.
Now. Thunder comes on.
The raincoat boleros around the street.
Momentous,
One two slow slow one two. Earth splits
/ an avocado, molten core discarded.
In the southern hemisphere they are waving flags.
Complimentary colors crawl up the sky tiding in.
They are dancing.
Ba-cha
-ta,
Me-ren-gue.
Their hemisphere Charybidises,
trees genuflected.
Quiet. The puddles are sleeping.
In the north. The hemisphere has run aground.
It capsizes. All the bands are going
down playing.
Rain panics off the timpani
prisming.
The brass cherubs in the clouds.
The strings red shift.
At the equator,
an umbrella floats:
1 bird inside it.
She prays in single syllables. Help.
Please.
Quack!
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
Neon Stella Artois lights and sly hellos
It commenced as we were flew spinning
Ticket stubs and ink -stains
Oh, as our love flirted we both were seeking
Brooklyn Subway stops and ***** clothes
We perched by the equator but only when beginning
Backwards flasks and *******
Then winter solstice was challenged by spring’s springing
Strands of soft pearls and wishing wells
We shivered the anxious touch of a faux July summer’s evening
Empty bar stools and firelight
It was still bitterly February but with the mockery of songbirds floating
Two Thirty Seven A.M. and sea shells
How can the world deceive us in this fashion: fools, we accept ever-knowing
Buttered bread and hindsight
Dawn will crash with frostbite and these daisies will pay the price of their beauty’s sinning
Wine before noon and payphone bills
Wind will eviscerate this moment for once you have touched the sun the ice is more than suffocating
Dry heaving and ribbons
We were only waiting then at the heart of a train station for the stretches of shadows to lengthen
First drags of cigarettes and blue diet pills
The glitter within the dew drops stolen from our tired eyes when our first summer was stolen
Cheap motels and kitchens
We could barely exchange syllables, our melodies quarreling, our blood had thinned
Calendar pages and black lace *******
The euthanasia of the spring would have hung us too if we had breathed it in
The Last calls and lollipops
One can repose more gently in the absence of color than in the theft of sin
Bitten manicured hands and autumn leaves
We used to sleep in a room with wonders, windows, and blankets within
Midnight whispers and rooftops
It was the only place that could soften the swords in all this ruin
****** wrappers and painting supplies
Today is cruel, it cannot be summer if the world doesn’t spin
Happy hour cocktails and goodbyes
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
At Summer Solstice, the Sun is far
distant from the celestial equator
and that day is the longest of the year.
From Khufu’s Great Pyramid at Giza
the scarlet Phoenix with the golden crest
swoops silent and low across the Delta.
Only half a millennium of life
before it passes to the flames of fire
and is reborn again from charred ashes.
This yang bird, fiery and blood cardinal
a solar flare blazing incandescent
pumps joy from the igneous heart of earth
erupts red hot energy volcanic
exciting and swirling the power of Qi.
Sun’s light and heat brings universal life,
and worshipped as Samash, Mithras and Ra,
Aztec God Tezcatlipoca,
Greek Helios, Phoebus and Apollo.
Now comes the agile Phoenix, sunset-stained
Broad-winged and gliding in the cloudless skies
Certain source of abundance and plenty
Plump-rich each berry, mango, peach, pear, plum.
Squeeze juicy sweet and succulent to taste
Summer full blown, mature and glorious.
© M.L.Emmett
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
I admit, I’ve never chosen you.
Falling in love is temporary,
love is a choice.
And I surrender to you.
You’re heart is grandiose.
In search of an asylum,
the delicacy of your love,
softens my core.
Peering into your soul,
through the earthy green
in your eyes, that spec of blood orange
a fire lights inside of you, hungry
to achieve a purpose.
I want to be your motivation,
be your motivator.
We could lose time
but we’d meet back at the equator,
once again, feeding the fire
that lights for you and I.
We’ve survived darkness
time & time again, lost.
In search of that dwindling fire
we find each other, nose to nose.
We are special, We are young, We are beautiful, We are complex,
We are strong.
We are real.
Years spent, trying to navigate
the passion of our love.
We’ve rebelled against time,
against distance...
We are flawed, we are damaged.
But we are stubborn in love.
I hope I’m not too late,
I want a clean slate
I’m not holding back anymore.
For the first time, boo
I choose you.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
Kindred Spirit
(Ode an angel)
Your anatomy is an atom in it's purest form
if I am your moon you are my sun,
unequivocally you are my all.
The sole of you feet
drag sand from other beaches
I am the the owner of an amputated
spirit that you mend with broken kisses.
My kindred spirit.
Idealistically,
the being made from the same mold
when I contemplate you visually
leaves no doubt in my soul.
Physically, lyrically,
metaphorically speaking.
The Caribbean reflects on your face
when sun hits it
giving your Cinnamon complexion
a whole new meaning.
My kindred love.
I am humbled to you have you whole
and you are an angel sans the halo
and your smile makes God himself blush.
You are definitely not of this world
and warmth of your body surpasses
that of the Equator
when I am your scorching fire
you are my log.
My kindred soul.
Your heart is bigger than everything that is
and I would gladly spend
the rest of my life in your lips
undoubtedly, mathematically
an infinity will be it.
Because you are the cure
to my incurable illness
everything that I wanted,
my Earth, my Sun, my all
my kindred spirit.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:13 PM UTC
She was independence
An importance
Born
Mostly from the highland
Her climate exceeds on the equator
Beauty beyond the Amazon Basin
Which no one can resist
A woman whom I loved
In the tropical rain forrest
Arousing so abundantly
Her sources superlative
But largely unexploited
An ethnic mixture
The vitality of her arts
Owes so much
The Samba we showcase
Thriving with crafty influence
Her language craving
To charm my heart
As time expired
A woman with cultural succession
Leaving her
But feeling breathless
My lady Brasilia
As I depart
From the lovely beaches
Of Rio de Janeiro
Her remembrance
Carving our Samba love
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 10:13 PM UTC
i am a phonographic record
and you are the ears that hear me
i cant compare my music
to malignant mammographies
and the phantasmagoria of cash
or to hash-browns and flapjacks
or to a purple field drowning in wisteria
yes, i am hysterical too
like elderberry syrup and cough drops
popping like its hot
so we japa till we drop, it all
yes, everything
so give it a chance
see your face in the reflection
of a pool of moonlight
a **** bather
a fool at the equator
equates to nothing
so i undress my unctuousness
a congruent confluence
like blood on an apartment building wall
a pox in your cereal boxes
flu shots and mandatory vaccinations
without informed consent
we are experiencing a loss of the immaterial
if we pamper ourselves with distraction
we attract the repulsive side of thy will
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:27 PM UTC
steel is what controls me,
steel emotions wrapped in spikes,
steel skin holding you back
steel eye hiding my vision
but I'm growing tired of steel
I'm angry at its coldness, the grey flesh and cold heart
the agony of never being warm,
my friends are the same,
we draw our time from the fix,
lets melt ourselves down
I'm braking free
me and my barbed wire birds
I'm done sitting on the fence of angst but not being sure
if I can climb over
I'm done being a nothing following the crowd between rows
of steel and barbed wire
I'm done dancing between laser beams
and nightmare filled dreams
I'm taking my heart in my hands and running ,
Ill treat it like water slipping through my fingers and the only way to survive is by running faster.
so much faster.
Ill not let my heart slip through my fingers as my wings begin to spread me and my pack
of barbed wire birds,
our wings are made of corrugated iron folded to points
and the motion of flying stings my soul
but ill fly
you'll watch me glide
we will dive of the edge our hearts in hands
god
you'll see me fly, broken bleats from broken wings
bound together with the lust for more then to feel steel against my skin
because I'm flying northbound for warmer skies
lets glide past the the equator and through the tropics
I want to feel the heat that would melt a man
we are the hearts
we are the gods
the deity's of my minds
ill build shrines to myself just to scream
WE ARE THE HEARTS
my soul beats free as my barbed wire wings
no longer am i wrapped in steel
Ill take you with me, swap your heart for mine
scream like banshees
a technicolor passion drives me forwards
we will lay down ourselves to show you
as you sit waltzing through your strip wire fences
Ill turn them to wings ill float so high above you..
Ill scream at the 5 am light and bring up the sun
the world is yours
I am no longer a sheep
guided by lack of sleep
we are a pack
guided by our hearts
by our love
powered by our bleeding
battered
damaged
broken
barbed wire wings
L.G
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
I wanted to give you something more than the pen stroke on paper, more than emotion, something more than the Soft breathe that expelled the words I love you.
So the labor in this mechanism called my brains goes into overdrive. Pumping out words like a chimney releasing smoke. Creating a way to show you my appreciation.
Left with empty lungs from all the times you took my breath away. Weak from the moments you kissed me. Stunned from your everlasting natural beauty. I fail to represent the true meaning of you in my life
Searching for something more. Trying to show you your worth. Knowing your worth more than you can believe. I sit here to realize. These words are misrepresentations of my emotions.
There is no alignment of grammar or sentences to explain what you deserve. stuck. Stuck a single equator away.
I'll show you one day. I'll be able to give you something more. More than you know. Until then, catch my breath with your beautiful butterfly net.
Keep it in a mason jar. Tighten down the lid and watch it as it breathes life. Keep it for memories of what is and what's to come. This breathe is all I have. So I give it to you.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
The Sun & Earth
23.5 tilted degrees
North Pole & South Pole
Equator
Tropic of Cancer
Tropic of Capricorn
and Meridians
North/South/East/West
Hemispheres
Equinoxes
Solstices
Four seasons
Astronomical phenomena
Today at where I live——
On northern hemisphere
The Garden of Eden
A local Home Depot
The Sun will directly hit
The Tropic of Capricorn
giving us the longest night
and abandoning the North Pole
All it has remembered
is the pole on the other end
Where penguins, whale seals,
and albatrosses will bathe
whole day in full brightness
at -15 degrees Fahrenheit
What a chilling exhilaration!
Could I run away from
this so called winter solstice
this unbearable darkness
this senselessness of
obscurity and wickedness
Could I go to the South Pole
and dance with the penguins?
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
Recently,
her mind is
debating
with her heart
resenting
every word
she wasted
on this paper
and all the metaphors
you haven't even decipher
but how
can she stop it
you have brought her up
to the top
then pushed her
to this
bottomless pit
now
she's stuck
in this drop
and it's growing
big
like
a bad habit
running
like
a mad rabbit
munching
on her thoughts
of you
while trying to
remove your face
off the view
like grime
on her tiled walls
made by
endless waterfalls
of whys and what ifs
and all her selfish beliefs
like
how you will read
her poetry
and chew the words
like sticky pastry
but her mind said
"you're wasting your ink"
she should stop writing
poems about you
and let her
memories
sink
in the letters
of your name
that are scattered
in her head
all printed
in heavy lead
therefore now,
she concluded,
the real dilemma,
to wake her up
in this coma
of dreams of you
and
find
a paper
that will reach miles
across the equator
-I Should Stop Writing Poems About You, Margaret Austin Go
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
Lament our random tuesday
– I can't see today the sunny day
of our last spring leaves again
in a treeless pathless meadow
that spring day of silver tounges tarnished.
Dessicated earth is seeping in the blue glass,
the dry cracked plain rising above the sun,
the suns clarity as it is in reality,
and where we have been – I will always remember.
There are no oasis' on my equator.
The Wendigo subdued with pale skill.....
Whose corpse can fail to compare with my soul,
if despair and courage aren't in my heart! -
And if your scent, a mundane beast,
tears at my knees everyday,
and the suns dull golden light,
chilled by a slow approaching wave
for all of our words?
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
They nutrients facts say all artificial flavor,that fake smile is like your faces screen saver,they always talking but I see they watch they behavior,they imagining like the equator,theo this theo that let me be the translator, I don't got a thing so Ima make theo bound to fail like he married to a ring,Ima control his future like its on a string,he blooming I'm not I wanna feel like spring,say he flying well Ima rip off his left wing,making a black man fail I'm guessing the white mans there King,
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
It's yet another virginal autumn
sliding through the
core of my esophagus,
the most bitter medication,
and the healthiest
to some "He" I've never met.
Let us all take a gander
at the undersexed ice queen,
turning his moans
into a frostbitten cackle
heard far past his grave
crafted with the polarizing
limestone of unintentional cynicism.
He sits at the bumper
of your public transportation system,
perfectly positioned in the middle,
so he can play God,
he jokes!
But it's because he loves people watching.
People watching
is not
people knowing;
people watching
is not
people loving.
Judgmental
is a barrier
same as those
elementary PSAs
about saying no to
strangers, also known as
creepy men with toupees
in decades-old station wagons;
these filthy humans,
all know that man,
all are his children,
all his faithful followers,
his filthy, faithful followers,
no sensual thoughts
will creep into my untouched oats
this grimy morning!
I will never
have dreams
in warm Equator-creeping nights
of making friction with their flesh,
even the boy,
the beautiful boy
standing savagely
on this public bus,
making the waves
pumping through this contraption
that makes up my frame
no longer stagnant,
rabid with the saliva
begging to drop
to commemorate
my loss for words
and my panting
need
for action.
His body is eternally dripping
with the juice of a hard man's labor
luminous vibrance through the skin,
the power of the Latin sun
in the drops of salt running
all the way
down his body
and I feel myself
recording his existence,
no name needed,
just his face
and body
in this rhythmic Orlando morning.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:52 AM UTC