"feetless" poems
Breakers in a misty grey sea-storm,
Spray-foam rising and tossing,
Plunging me into seasick momentum.
I ****** out white stretched palms
And throw back my head,
The salt air stings my throat.
It burns within my chest
While hanging feetless
In the storm driven billows.
I fix my eyes on the
pearly black cloudless night
and beg the stars to anchor me.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
Staccato-sex. Can you feel the damnation in the
trickling water of minutes? This fragment considers
revising but in the next act, I will turn you into a miracle:
a cloud of a sigh into rarefied air, and that is all.
The ******* of women hang in trees. Consider this statement
a ruthless compunction. Flesh in the market, I haggle prices
with the butcher. I’ll take one in exchange for a love
christened with portent, I gave it no unction – fresh as a fruit’s glaze
in spring, or the crunch of dew somewhere along Baguio in the morning,
intestinal roads frothing with excess of fog. Consider trees
in akimbo past your sweltering window – the panes in feverish heat,
what are you to do but splash water? Bathe. ***** Sully.
We have no inertia in this feetless adagio. Wind is sandpaper.
Pain is tactile. I am a ****** paving the way, crucified on no longitude-latitude.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
be a feetless floating
gill fin laden underwater
poet, My mouth would still gulp
I would recite and still stutter
all the words in fish languages
and possibly mate
with my father's daughter.
or my brother's mother.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC