"liquidity" poems
first I smell myself.
the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings
then I smell herself.
sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure
then I smell our sharings.
lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh
then I smell our combinations.
the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem
it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite
Friday, March 29 2019
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
My poetry is an acquired taste,
So come, dear one,
Place your tongue in my mouth.
Pace yourself, there is so much,
Spoke and unwritten,
That fruitions only when spit-shared.
Flick your tongue-tip to mine,
Sealing bond, the salt caramel of my rhymes,
The iambic meter of my tamarind prose,
The buds, flowering, poems forming,
Watered by the admixture of joint, minted saliva.
My poetry, so very complicated,
Hints of currants and ash,
Soil volcanic, basaltic vowels, oh's and eyes,
Cursed verses that commence with I,
Nonetheless, despite soil inhospitable rued,
Compositions flourish, born wetland soluble.
Yours, for the taking,
Yours, for the tasting.
You place your fingers on my waist,
My body of work to contemplate,
My ditties, you spit out,
You want courses, not appetizers,
You want truths, not fluff, lies, menu tastings.
Columbus and Magellan, thy fingers named,
Trace the curvature of my ***
With tip and tipsy stroked caresses,
You laugh with the pleasure of all the sssssss's.
Hissing all the day your satisfaction,
Capturing my writs, by your tongue's duress,
Recipient-thief of my literary largesse.
I am dressed all in white,
Stripped bare to my native coloring,
Except for two brown nippled spots, you lick,
Imbibing milky thoughts from fountain-heads *****
Savoring, relishing, stanzas that praise love's flavor.
With every line, every word-painting accessioned,
You make my soft parts hard,
My hard parts soft, but my liquidity,
My tears, they, that, you drink straight,
Licking, liking, and oohing and ahhing,
You tongue curled, upside down arching,
The storage point of your seduced gatherings.
To drain me full, your incisors cut,
Straight lines, entry points for your *******
Taking, draining, leaving nothing,
Not even one aleph or bet escaping.
When you acquired my poetry, my verbosity,
Pillaging soul's hiding place, took and *****
Your acquired the best, breaking my nape,
Imprisoned on and by my island's seascape,
Blanched and pained, a blank tape,
I am tasteless, witless, mockingly, tongue-tied.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
sometimes I think
there might not be a tomorrow
so my time can't be wasted in any established institution.
whoops, there I go, wasting.
whoops, there goes the future.
band together,weird brothers.
a half assed attempt from one of us equates to a hundred ten percent from one of the others.
but what difference would it make?
there's like, a hundred million of them &
only one of me.
we're already snuffed out by the numbers.
so we throw ourselves off track; it's some what hypocritical - but hey -
at least we're following our hearts
or whatever *****
we think is the most vital.
simple existence is the biggest shame.
for the love of god.
you'll rot if you stay for the spindle,
drilling yer spiel & teething on the tiers, stagnating in the famous cesspools of shalott.
settle in, ferment to liquidity.
Imma just watch yall
waiting for the day
your stocking feet curl up &
die beneath the mortgage,
leaving the zirconia slippers
of a dream seeing red.
be clean
be neat
be nice
be right
be alive
& smile
but not too much.
that's the tell to tell em
something's up,
the specimen are not disrupted
or adapting to challenge
of being ******
with these conditions.
they appear to be happy.
too happy.
something's missing.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Sunset is a washwoman's stream of rubia dyes
And the crushed scales from the Kermes insect,
While the loosened garments of life slide
Over the ancient liquidity of the hills rolling
As the mountains rolling as the seas rolling
As the clouds rolling as the graves rolling
Like eyes rolling back to sleep.
I am pressed for lullaby,
Not the pillow-clap of thunder or the ether songs of Persephone,
Biding by her asphodels with icen fingers from plum-colored hell.
But press my ear in my mother’s lap of ancient sun,
Of peplos and himation and stola,
And listen to the vines and bunched grapes
And all of heaven sink in its commodiousness.
Press my ear to the sun-fed heart that flows
To the furthest span of the cloth-seas of man and
The solemn songings of the ever-deepening sky.
My mother all along smoothing out the wrinkled sheet of sunlight.
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
I've been poisoned.
Tried not to drink it,
this liquidity of hate--
but it seduced me
called my name
cajoled me
enticing me to try
to be the same
as all the others
who were surrounding me--
I fell victim
to believing the lies
that somehow their
'espouted truth'
would set me free--
but what the hell?
How could I not know?
There are no truths
in lies
only pain and sorrow
that so often don't show
until much later
when you look around to see
that you're totally alone
no one to hug, no one to help,
to set you free.
So let this poison do its job--
let it work and destroy
all of me!
I am not needed or wanted
nor am I free--
I am merely someone
others use for their fun
I am no longer human
I cannot claim I belong
for this poison I drank
is far too strong.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Like poppies blossoming on cinnamon skin,
a scent of liquidity and movement
trickles down, flowing away—a stain
pervades, hiding from the light.
Just a bite through appled flesh
and it all fades milky cold
to glisten against the shadowed
halls without a sound; falling
is not forgiven
nor is it bound in a leathery
tome affixed with flutters
of seraphim and songs
chanted to darkened walls
hollowed: the name of timeless
beauty. Garnet drains in a pulse
breaking against the grain
within the hourglass and hands
that grasp at forever.
So alone. And frail with thoughts
of staying that way; every footfall
never finding another stride
to syncopate beside. Fear
is made of un-belonging, like
a lion’s anguish lolling
through his teeth, predatory sharp
but lamenting for the lamb
and desire and everything
not supposed to be acquired
by the one abandoned by faith.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:09 AM UTC
First impression, first date.
You come late, a major sin in your own lexicon,
tango dancing redesigns your hair to curls atwitter,
despite remedial ministrations in taxi,
you text apologies profuse en route,
but you have been outed, and
I am charmingly amused
A warm December eve,
a local Italian eatery,
table by the window,
red wine floes melt your defenses,
allowances made, you're intrigued,
enjoying our dinner of
charming amusements
But really you like my understated swagger.
I like that you like my understated swagger.
Walk home armed, arm in arm,
your paintings I must come see,
Immediately (!),
You offered this as desert, instead of biscotti,
a tour of your new apartment, sleek/simple,
messaging that this is me,
if you ever want to be invited to stay
Inspection over, my smile is a knowing
that this first foray deserves a concessionary accolade,
So in a mode so gallant at the front door,
Adieu you are bid, and devilishly clever,
I merely shake you hand,
leaving you delighted by this gallant, modern,
charming amusement
Looking at my watch, three and half hours
have passed.
Maintaing that in your ways set,
Early on, I challenge your rigidity,
Turning your hair from curly,
Into spun straight Rapunzel gold liquidity,
By asking politely, humbly, on bended knee,
You give in happily,
Charmed, amused at my ferocious insistence
Looking at my watch,
I too, am delighted, charmed, amused, to discover,
It seems my watch is running slow,
For it is now three and a half years later
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
*dreams in colors that don't exist,
and 'mares re dear sir, deadlines missed,
wrestle~arrest poet,
instant awake
in the wee time,
pouring liquidity,
fluids and words,
puddling, stinking,
coming,
from the
always dangerous,
always interesting temple inner inside,
sanctimonious no more sanctum*
this particular sleep,
shortened, irretrievable,
bookmarked "closed,"
chapters,
hours too soon,
this rest business,
arrested
filed in an ugly
grey metal file cabinet,
in an unfinished manila prison
with your other unimportant poems
*the dark room universe
populated by
hints, shadows, voices,
waiting, welcoming,
mirrors on the walls
unified in one voice
deep, obtuse,
demanding recognition
"hither hither come"*
forced march
to a visitation,
to the the parition,
of your reflection,
clearest ever seen,
in the black pitch,
uncovered by guise, feathers
the clothes of normative pretenses,
the man-made borderlines of
preservation falsehoods
*seen your own semblance,
parts rearranged,
uncanny,
the mirrors are screaming:
shameful lovely,
this, our artistry,
your apparition,
now accurate,
reflecting your under-
lying
condition,
at last,
an accurate portrayal,
of your inaccuracies*
do you find yourself attractive?
this new balance,
the unregulated pieces
of you
before your dissembling,
discerning,
dissecting eyes?
*feeling the valence,
an introduction,
a physical magnetism
any attraction
any resemblance
to the semblance
that writes
this s.o.s.?*
answer us thus,
do you up
and like yourself
unvarnished,
grunge, swag,
truth trammeled,
don't you want to kiss yourself
goodbye,
or better yet,
fare thee hell?
*go ahead,
ask yourself now,
that one question
that prevents conception,
from your inception,
what is it that
makes you exceptional?*
don't you realize,
everything about you
ends in a question mark?
*how dare you write poetry?
you are the false poet,
you live on the division
tween artifice and self-deception,
this, your only precept,
and now that you are
clarified,
answer this,
knowing you know
nothing
but artifice,*
how dare you write poetry?
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
the languid liquidity of linseed-eased pigment
as the bow of brush stroke sweeps a new hue
over the layer of vermilion,
this feel of silken resistance,
this quality of vividity,
this aroma that countless painters encounter
whilst abstracting sunflower or sunset
is what gives pleasure to my paint.
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 3:20 AM UTC
I could swim in your oceanic eyes;
But when you give me that look
You lay dynamite on my iron skin
And you open me like a wound:
Spirit of fire that burns
Like a blade of sunlight
I sacrifice myself as I die
Into you, you ancient name of fire;
And your temper between the jaws
In the abstract geometry you propose
Lays me in an impassive torture
And you load ghosts of yesterday
Into Tomorrowland,
My cry and the cries of the torturer.
Be it the first dawn,
The last dawn,
We are bigger than the night
But the dream of us fits on the bed,
The bed of rain,
The bed of storms,
The liquidity of our bodies
As the moon wakes and asks
For our spirituality,
Souls entwined, we tear the night apart;
But we aren't always in the mood
At the same time,
Vehement bodies on invisible clocks
We can't see ticking,
You speak in Winter,
I speak in Summer;
Our words vanish like
Syllables of vertigo;
We are lost between the argument.
For all the good and the bad
I would make love with you
At the precipice,
Hanging at the cliff;
To fall in love or fall to our death,
Each is a timeless matter
And through it all I
Know that I am alive between
The polar shifts.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
The wicked whip of word
Lashes welps upon
The starved psyche
Of the errogenous mind
Indeed the moment rises
In smoke and indigo sheets
Of layered heat pressing down
Into the flesh of desired
Impunity , iniquity , liquidity
Happy is a framed stated stanza
Of thine behind plastic cups
Of wine in sheds
Of gray aged wooden shingle
From long long ago
Was it "Bored-dough" or "Shabby"
Time will consume
But the experience
Leaves you panting
Thirsty for more
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
You send your words,
Directed to my ears.
My eyes they read,
Somehow they fear.
I imagine the others;
how they'd react.
I wish not to retalliate.
If I can forgive you,
I should forgive myself.
That agony, directed:
in reverse: through reflections:
of infinity mirrors: with refractions:
reverberated light: quantum waves:
perpetual motion: unviolated entropy:
Let me hold that forgiveness,
Let me offer it to myself,
I want to take the hostia,
The sacrificial bread,
The holy communion.
Chanel divine grace
Into my inner being.
Give me utmost peace.
Allow me such union,
I will consume from the chalice.
spilled liquidity: ripples in water:
splashing kineticism: frequency oscillation:
oceanic dispersion: moistened vibration
wettened wavelengths: aquatic repetition:
Will it not dilute?
Will this spirit stay mine?
Will it not disorient?
Will this wisdom remain?
Will it not expire?
Will this solemnity be?
Give me the strength,
I implore my higher self
If it is to exist
That is.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
Every touch, electric
every nerve, aflame
eyes locked, to eyes
we'll never be, the same
Moving with such ease
her mouth, her lips, divine
consuming, every part
our bodies, perfectly, aligned
Feeling her liquidity
her fingernails, on skin
hitting all the high notes
without, and so, within
Culminating in the moment
control, lost to the lust
climaxing, at the peak
with, the final ******
Sliding in, the velvet glove
slow gliding to the verge
time, that we hold back
so at the pinnacle, converge
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 9:38 AM UTC
today,
walked the river arcade,
by the river~side.
same,
where, & when,
a decade earlier
and a laugh ago,
we performed
a daily differential calculus
of the distance to that line,
a watermark,
where my accidental drowning
would be insurance covered
don’t recall, if back then,
poetry writin’ was a good
a daily companion, or-even
a mere passing acquaintance
but went to
all-in-all-alone-freedom,
found riches,
yet still pressed in rags
of remorse, mourning surely,
until & still a
woman, or
three, rated me a
good looking edible,
even
if only didn't always dress
in black, head to toes, like an
extra cool new yorker, or an
attendee at my own fun~ereal
since those days,
gallons millions, zillions
of brackish seawater has flowed
out to sea as far as
England, Philippines, New Zealand,
whichever be connected to the
rain water of Adirondack mountains
flowing past East 57th Street,
my salty tears replenished,
but time changed the causation,
from oy to joy in simp terms
that rhymes…with me and yours
water woman water woman water
makes the heart capable of weeping
tears of joy,
oh! happy drowning
how do
you cross from woman to water,
that, now I walk on a
water bridge of loving
hard, steel & liquidity of
concrete, smooth roughness
became the path to loving living
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 7:13 AM UTC
flux.
a word whose very sound connotes its meaning, a sloshing state of change
a liquid moment,
for we solids,
of bone and flesh,
though
we may be islands of stolidity,
entrenched, focused, organized,
when the surround sounds
of change are all about
you too are
fluxed
the serenity of splendid isolation
is not an impervious shell,
close eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth
these liquid times we abode,
inescapable from the roller coaster of
crashing storms of our
environment
try as I might,
cannot recede into a
white sealed envelipe,
cannot secede from
the froth of current events,
in the age of no distances,
and the rotational revolution of
but one lever,
a single beating wing
can disrupt the
the supply and communication
channels of our normative existential machinations
let me retreat unto my poetry trance,
but that choice
is currently unavailable
be wary of the calm of routine,
we live in a time of
the olympics of change,
and we cannot walk
on water,
nor tread forever
flux.
the liquidity curse of our
ever curving intersections
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 11:57 PM UTC
I wish I could look into your eyes,
But Aphrodite won't let me;
For a mere mortal must not heavenly pleasures cherish.
I wish your majestic gait could attain the liquidity of a waltz,
And yet, lose not a scintilla of that grandeur,
That made modest a proud admirer.
I wish I could touch the hands I saw in a dream,
Bestowing spring upon the autumn-struck lilacs,
Lying keen, by the empty street.
I wish I could make you hear 'L'amour est un oiseaux rebelle',
That my earnest love for you, on 'festive' eves sings,
To commemorate grief, that days make me oblivious to.
Now! I call upon you!
Come here,
And be the harbinger to my bliss.
Come here, I pray,
And help catch every moment that dies,
Before we even know it existed.
O come here,and let's sing,
'Libiamo, libiamo'
Before death even knows we exist.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 1:04 PM UTC
You asked me if I felt chills
down my spine when
I listened to jazz music
late at nights.
It was almost two in
the morning
and I was riddled
with paranoia
and sleeplessness,
so I told you that I spend too
many nights thinking
of my own mortality
and not
listening to the
strum of cellos and
violins clashing
together;
a supple sort of melancholy
trickling down my being.
..........
You told me that
you were tired
and that you were
picturing me
mumbling in your ear,
the things
I type down in
lazy, barely sensical
texts that lose their
meaning
when I read them
again in the
afternoon, craving
connection
more than love.
..........
We both have songs that
we can't listen to;
mine
is about a burning house
and it
reminds me of a
fifteen year old girl who
never
woke from her sleep.
yours
is about
someone
who broke your heart
and refused
to slow down even
when the
carousel stopped spinning.
...........
So, we live in each
others ripples,
consuming the
liquidity of time
that
we allow ourselves
to exist in and
I wander away a lot
but
you call me
your favorite reminder.
I keep travelling
through familiar
streets alone, watching
our lives
together collapse; lost
to a tide of memory.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
I subside on the constants
in waves and meters.
three am or pm:
one in the same.
apathy begets
apathy
in a circular swirl.
I remain insaitable
in my thirst for fluidity;
I foam at my breaks.
I remain solid;
jaw jutting against liquidity.
despite my pacifism,
I still cannot dissolve.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
We feel ourselves rogue and peasant slaves -
In that is no disgust.
Collectively yet to have been stripped of
Our formalities, plunged into fiction, devoid of normality -
An undiscovered country, if you must.
We doze cosy in dreams of passion
Where space and silence nudges pens; they bleed.
Though liquidity stiffens
Flair and genius warm the air
Assuming a pleasing shape, indeed.
We weep under a broken voice
When seas of trouble rise to strike us down.
Remorseless - how can it pause to pick and choose?
Treacherous - anxiety bedevils our news
But temporary, false is its crown.
When we think or moan, twiddle thumbs or disengage,
There is nothing, not even tears, that dares to drown our stage.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 4:29 PM UTC
My heart has
Turned blue
Liquidity and
Cold
From empty romance
And empty promises
Do take a swim
In my cold heart.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC
Here in the dusk of the day I dilute
Myself into anything:
I am a hummingbird and I go fanning
The flora of the forest,
I move in a slow motion when I watch
Myself fly,
However I am also the wind which carries
Each feather in a flight of fancy,
And soon the Luna dances into my
Fluttering wings and I am lit
By the mist of living water as the moon
Makes them tiny falling stars,
A galaxy is lost in my wings,
And soon I am the rain in the night
As I cover the earth in liquidity
With my falling ways
Giving life to life,
And while the rain I covered
My sad human form walking in the
Afterthoughts of the hummingbird,
As I move into the darkness,
And I remember I am afraid
Of the shadows.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
stage life...
is so complicated
they'll confiscate it
your eyes will summit
their stocks will plummet
stage life...
is an oxymoron
you'll labor for em
your body's numb, once
stitched seams come undone
lick your finger.............
wine rims sing about it
lick your finger.............
counter to clockwise flow
lick your finger.............
add your liquidity
lick your finger.............
finer tuned frequencies
lick your finger.............
consume their recipe
lick your finger.............
won't find harmony
lick your finger.............
blood soaked oath's decrees
stage fright...
it comes in droves
watches all your moves
ebbs and flows
cautiously, write about it
cannot hide, darkest hours
insatiably, desired thirst
tie dye shirts, passion's curse
drink whiskey, pour a cup
no replies , it's all ****** up.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC