"spooling" poems
in a taut black dress
you brush by me
you are
dark summer fruit simmering hot
a sopping estuary
i gather you into me
you cascade like an undulating cat
giggles like trembling gelatin
cherry kiss lips
agile muscle shifting
pleating like soft furs
against my thunderous chest
your tremulous tongue rupturing
like spiced chrysanthemums from heaven
i inhale your lavender breath
your saliva melts stormy mouth up-leaping
i eat your soul
and paradise ********
licking honey rainbows
filling my mouth a thousand times
and a thousand more
its never enough when some one has your heart
suffocate me in your drooling mouth
your body is my aviary
and hot house of man eating plants
i run to your teeth
beautiful cleavers gleaming
shivering with excitement
from your dragging bites
my blood languishing at your feet
have no regard for me
eat my love
i live to be swallowed by you
i hold you through the night
all dire raptures
dark in mystic paradise
tangled in your hair
may mourning never find us
torrid scorched from flames infernal
black candles uncrossing pasts
devils **** your adoring toy
kisses never ceasing
hot weather nostrils steaming
your flexed body writhes
a royal contortion
your heart cleaving
so that i may like a sun
consume your darkest edges
bitter chocolate so sweet
to fill griefs mouth with ecstasy
my heart aches like a siren of echoes
calling to you
shaking your gates down
you are a titanic gravity
and i'm forever tumbling
like eternal burning ashes through cobalt night
it is a steep decent into heavens arms
as i crumble
all smashing diamonds
and hissing flames
into open wounds weeping glitter
your chin jutting
throat stretched
while pulling the roots of your hair
exposing arteries pulsing
stuffing myself on your marrow
you plume like a volcanic moon
showering me with spooling stars
and butter **** kisses
ill turn you into my glistening little *****
all swollen tears for more
rituals of adoration
kisses like monsoon rains
i look up at your supple form
your haunches my temple
worshiping you
smothered in heavens jaws
you cascading pantie-less
in a taut black dress
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Hell shimmies when I am blunted ;
When I take a knock to the senses
When I am skinless,
singing stings
and misdirected by pain
If I had trained better
I'd be deep sea
Sussing distant messages
Operating with slight tremors, vocals and movement
and only when correct...
I'd be home
I'd be instrument
Not an act
Not a pet to society
No mood fool ;
flaked,
flooded
and littered
Rapped at by experiences
Attack reacting
An embarrassment
Watching my own pattern spooling
the same sums
and spoiling with repetition
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
their spines are straight -
two different trees in two different woods.
people like them are not meant
to come face to face.
is this the first time the distance between them is silent?
emptied of political din, hoarse
shouts of protest in market squares,
flags unfurled not in love for a country
but in hate for the other.
are enemies still enemies when they are of the same space?
the two girls recognize
that their hair curls in the same way.
they don't reach out to touch
but a curiosity forms a thread between them.
a thread. their fingers tingle, flutter
spooling and unspooling
this new connection, this new thread.
their eyes swing like pendulums.
how new, how strange to breathe
in air that is clean of artificial hate.
they are curious, spooling and unspooling.
what will happen to this thread?
for threads are too easy to break.
and each knows the power of governments,
their ability to dangle them
then break
and break and break.
the two girls wonder. the two girls stare.
they look. they look and look.
but their spines are straight -
two different trees in two different woods.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
I saw her softly combing her chestnut hair
Each motion like parting smooth ocean waves.
I had to know her and how she behaves.
Yet my heart filled with terrible despair.
My friends told me to turn back,
but I braved the restless sea.
I seem to have a knack,
For finding any key.
I found her reading my favorite book.
She was delighted to know I knew it.
Nothing was more obscure than our love,
for a writer more obscure than his peers.
I dreamed of her every night
her passions warm
our victory right;
in either
dorm.
Every meeting with her I carried
my fantasies: a shell eclipsing the
very truth I failed to see, or so they
said of my nights' shameful proclivities.
We shared our hearts like pastries,
devouring one another's
thoughts until we
knew the taste
by rote.
Of course, we were so engorged upon the
fictions of our authored lives that something
had to be real; had to be tangible
beyond mere spooling tales wagging to tune.
Ignited like a forest fire was the lust coursing through us and
in gleaming moonlit fits of ravenous lips and tender bits
our bodies danced in only so many ways two
chiming instruments can rattle the soul
knocking and injecting essences
to quench the flame that
can never ever be
quenched...
Oh, Lord!
I lay there breathing wishing to die in
the moment I knew I loved her that I
may immortalize the knowledge thusly
ending potential doubt and teeming lies.
A month later, we were still burning and
alive and burning alive but we don't
threaten our haven, we just consider
ourselves lost in a wonderland of ***
Then a man, a few years my senior came,
and he wanted words, he felt entitled.
He felt entitled to her, her mind, her
body, her genius, her love and her ***
A month later, at a bar back at home,
I saw it all too clear and regretted
ever knowing her, ever loving her
every succumbing to the *** that drug.
She's somewhere now, loving him, because he was entitled;
his name was on her history, in her language, on her
books, in her mind, on her, in her, every time
I thought it was just me, he was there
dancing with her, holding her
my hand was a ghost
all along.
My darling portends the end of an era,
but my life began with her and that soft kiss.
My darling portends a life of searching for,
cure to a heartbreak that mends with further pain.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
(Words once dedicated to beauty have become a scream of true hideousness. This truth is your damning, filthy beast of a panther).
I wish I could forget your face
Tell my stupid heart the rot underneath your skin
Our laughter shared was only a tool
The words spooling from your mouth spider silk I coveted
The heat and solid muscle of your body
A comfort until your hands discovered my body
Creeping across to touch and hold steady
Teasing the edges of my underwear
Finding the soft coarseness of ***** hair
Hold me close, be my protector, my champion,
But all you’ll ever be is a predator
Your friendship and my wanting of you stripped me down
I stayed still
Let you touch and rock
Hoped you would stop
Remembered another body that pulled and pushed mine
I wanted you I will not deny my hunger
But I wanted you to want me as a person, as a partner you loved
Not a possibly sleeping girl who you could ******
A girl who you could take from whatever you wished
Did you find my rejection a challenge?
Get excited that your fingers might be the first inside of me?
What would you have done to me?
Would your fingers have been followed by your ****
Why would you violate me, Hercules?
But you don’t deserve that name anymore
You’re a bright flower that rots from the inside
No, you are washed of your name
Your hair knotted in between the fingers of my fist
I relieve you of the weight of dignity, cut you of all strength
You’ve frightened me with what you could have done – were willing to attempt
You’ve betrayed me of my trust and affection
I want you to pay
I want you to answer me: why, why, why?
Why would you do this to me, Jacob?
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 4:07 PM UTC
Something about gunfire.
Somebody says religion.
It’s an opportunity for the TV
to screen the same scenes,
the blinking blue and reds
of a bevy of cop cars
and the spooling headline
that assumes, then confirms
the worst.
And so strangers from all corners
spew their pennies’ worth
like bees fumbling for honey,
thousands of hypotheses
replete with exclamation marks,
the name of a Floridian city
swelling as a violet bruise
in the aftershock,
plunged into uninvited limelight.
The chief claims a ‘lone-wolf’ attack,
a man who loathed rainbows
then wiped his own life.
Talk swiftly turns to guns,
the increasing frequency
of wicked bloodshed,
the how, the why, the ‘this day and age’
and ‘the world isn’t safe’
and the nothing, still nothing is done.
Just one night before,
another tragedy,
a young singer shot
while signing their name,
fans left to clasp
the musical remnants
of a life snatched away,
the acerbic word ******
in a nonsensical second.
Something so horrid
became something so common.
How many more gunshots
must shatter a night?
How many more families
must crumple like newspapers
peppered with headlines of the recently lost?
They are asking for answers.
We wait for them to come.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Spooling shallows,
In which spring reflected,
Soothes the jagged edges,
Of today's unwelcome certainties.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 10:02 PM UTC
*there is a place
in fetish land
where breathing idols
live below the belt
their busy mouths unveiled
soiled shimmering lips yielding
warm spit
thick and wet
the crimson flood
is the flood of love
Dark Hazel
plays
legs spread
like a baby in a bathtub
wiggling her toes
and circulating flesh
in vaporous waters
with scarlet rings through her nose
and smarmy Gods command
neoprene priestesses
***** with a switch blade
and an ***** to die for
color me on my knees
grateful
**** lovin derrière kisser
reading comics
from
the book of *****
while she queen's glare
through ***** party masks
jitterbug arcane rituals glitter
hellions in love
you can smell the volcanoes
malleable baby dolls
with tiger skin bindings
evoke eager spires
through tribal unga bunga
shimmy **** and ***
drenched in yearning
night fires and sacrificial rants
vulva's like fat plums weeping pink milk
mouthed terrorized ******* drooling
tarnished yoga's
of dancing feet scorched
inferno's of pleasure
vanquishing the temples of normalcy
the sky is red with rituals
souls set free
in a **** for all
like a cluster of stars spooling a galaxy*
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
penny pocketed pencil pushers
mutton chopped smash mouthers
salad tossers and *** washers
tangible tap dancers dancing
tea timing tofu fools spooling threads
dead men walk fed up with funeral talk
experimental drug takers bathe them
Meat cleaving beefeaters teach their kids to chop down
cedar
cockroach feeders jot down things
crossing their eyes they dot their T's
tea drinking spider creatures fight for meals
lightning buggers squeal
lighting up bellys and sharp teeth with a surreal glow
God knows I'm only trying to brown my nose
though, by ironing my clothes
it should only show that my clothes are ironed
My foes are inspired
and my friends are tired from all the walking
we go on, talking
and joke about the things that we saw
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
I laid out twenty-two new shining glasses.
Regal, sparkling and tall.
I took each one in hand,
a rag in the other,
and turned on the water.
Suds spooling round
up and down
whirling softly
with old hands
washing with precision.
It's three am and I stand solitary
and tired at the kitchen sink.
I keep my socketed eyes
down to the glass and suds
for fear of looking into the reflection
of the window above.
An hour drones by,
I don't notice.
Busy standing still
in the dead of night,
up and down
round and round
suds bubbling
from old hands
washing precisely.
I wash them once
I wash them twice and set them to dry.
I dry them once
I dry them twice and set them side by side.
I won't be using these, no,
the glasses are for others,
to look proper while shining and clinking
and tipping and sipping
and laughing and being happy.
Eyes down from the window,
where a haggard thing waits,
I look to the glasses,
and wash them once more.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
The howling wind in Canberra
On the 12 July 2016 and it is spooling the view of the TV
I have no idea of how the night
Will be? And how many people
Will be injured
I hear voices of my old school friends hating the cold wind so much
They want to one day to stop the wind
I wish the wind would go away
But it won't because ted bundy
And ed gein are up above Canberra trying to destroy the earth and with the wind in Canberra, well, tonight it's Canberra's turn
And it forces kids to where old clothes and men have to calm them down
I am trying to watch home and away and neighbours and I kept
Getting interruptions in my tv
And I am sure parents have to keep their kids safe if they are going out tonight
You see you have to live your life but these howling winds
Are getting very wild
Like a wolf in the USA
You see I can hear voices from
My mates saying leave us alone
Ted bundy because we are so tough, ted bundy put on his fan
And is set out to destroy Canberra, I have no idea what he did yet but, he has big plans
For the Canberra crowd tonight
And I handcuffed Daniel pedersons hands for him to
Help him destroy Canberra tonight rather than just tying
Up people who used to stare at him at school especially if there are heaps of things that this kind of thing can do, we can destroy the city in our way
And we will never get caught
This is only a paranormal story
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
Spooling out again.
Bleach my soul until it's clean.
Black out till I'm blue.
Suffering the sweet,
tongue the sore until it heals,
worry for a salve,
Anything for you,
I just can't keep swallowing,
can't keep swallowing.
Heartbreak clamping down,
never wanted you to know,
never letting go.
My teardrops were right.
The nightmare had to be true,
for it to be mine.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
Imperial ales coerced our high gravity choices one day.
Bleeding, drenched and on full alert,
I limped from the Tuck's bank to the brewery.
With one pole wet, my whistle was next;
I needed hoppy nourishment, salty pretzels and a stool.
Lacking fish or gear, I imagined it would be difficult
to explain my appearance, but I didn't give a **** I come as is.
To my 3 o'clock a smoke ring silhouette vacuumed my
exhale like spooling cotton candy from 3 feet away;
I took a breath and inhaled her dandelion seeds.
A tattoo of a paper airplane on her wrist was faded from afar,
yet as she flew closer the ink appeared fresh, 2-3 weeks old.
Her hair smelled of patchouli, parsnips, an Asheville scent.
Closer now, I recognized a look of love or disgust in her eyes.
Can't tell em' apart anymore, as the prior wears a disguise,
eventually becoming the latter.
She asks my name and I ask the barkeep for two double IPA's.
We don't need a racetrack to run in circles anymore.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
It's surprising I
am no longer surprised
I am not shocked
I am not fazed
I've pictured and calculated
every possibility
of every outcome
spooling through the wheel
of the dual-coded reel
It helps me to feel
like I'm in control
like I'm protected
like I can handle being rejected
but it's ninety percent ineffective
It's dark in here
this film is wrecked
flashing the same scene
skipping and flickering
as if not meant to resume
ultimately never to end
I can only pretend
between what I see and what is real
is where I'm meant to be
robotically ethereal
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
Taut
Tight
wired and light,
tonight I'm going to take the car
tonight I may or not get far but
I have to go,
have to blow these cobwebs from my head,
quick or dead but under par
tonight
I'm going to take the car but first,
burst the bubble that I'm in,
begin to slake my thirst for all things that will end and in the end,
begin to start
begin to break apart the chain that tightens up
around my brain,
start the car,
taut and tight,not wired right but tonight's the night.
In the finding of unwinding I am wound up tighter than before,
the night becomes a bolted door
and I the rabbit in the spotlight where lurchers hound me,
spooling free
I'm in the car
not very far from where I start and find my heart just isn't in it
spotlit as I am,
still the rabbit
not the man.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Drops of gold
In the stream
Silver sold
To my dream
Drops of blood
In the flood
In motion
Emotion.
Grey temple
Fine apple
Delusion
Illusion
Pure bubbles
Six shuttles
To the door
Of my moor
Raw and rare
Disrobed to
The white air
And for you.
As the rhyme
Plays with time
Pushed aside
Kept inside
Vanishes
Turned into
A taboo
For the night.
I lay there
By the pool
Whilst my sphere
Is spooling
Speeding up
Round and round
Filling up
The pale pond.
As I freeze
The soft breeze
Of the thought
I have fought!
August 1, 2014
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 8:53 AM UTC
from afar
we watch the implosion,
some regard as revolution
others desecration
from afar we watch
the unravelling
the words spooling
upon the floor
we watch sparks fly, hopes die
we watch tears fall, ruck and maul
we watch, disbelief, horror, jubilation
we watch this divided nation..
we watch and pray, we watch and pray
this is the view from far, far away...
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
Typewriters click and clack,
Like thoughts in conflict–
Undecided actions at war.
Spooling paper around
And around, repeating
The journey to completion.
Inky words wet with residue,
Smudged–impossible now
To comprehend the path.
Liquid correction fluid–
Application and verification,
Can fix any inaccuracy.
Alternative worldview,
Eyes do not ever lie,
This is a digital realm.
May 28, 2025
May 28, 2025 at 2:00 PM UTC
Clay
A shoulder of clay cut with runnels
set to music, round notes, fat plucked
chords sustained in eternal cascade
from the concertina of the spooling Manistee
above Red Bridge, blue blazes worn
smartly by these still, mute sentinels,
their averted gaze twining into
graceful arches that usher us from one
moment to the next, fine capillary
weave stretched over rib of stabbing light
that illuminates slick kaolin veins,
a surgical tent to conceal rending fingers
plunged into the wound, our faces
smeared, the trees thrilling to our howls.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
Guilt
Northbound on the left hand shoulder
Even the most armored pads no match
For the glittering carpet of shattered glass
Pile shot through with steel shard, sharp
Bite of burrowing wire, incongruous
As the blue cow I placed above a yellow
Felt board moon as a child, unsummoned
Memory that galls my brand new passenger
Dour as his spear is sharp, running me through
While I watch the reflection of the dog
Vanish behind the spooling concrete wall
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC
the deep end of beginning
without sparks... just a glow on a wave
in a circle.... cleaving to the vacuum
of non-being, wreathed in wonderment
and awe... strutting from the nothing
upon the actual stage.
floating in the concrete villages
of our aspirations.
hovering in the war games
of our atoms... spooling thread
through the void.
when the center -
became the corner of all rooms...
we spilled into the point of all returns.
we came upon a lake of solar flares
and magnetic storms..
grossly impervious
to " Why? ".
as we were.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 3:30 AM UTC
without gills, we breathe on the moon.
the humble tortoise has a house and our theories
are quaint. we have all the havoc of time
in an opulent balloon.
an unusual as usual, floating in open wounds
where the worlds on fire are the frozen ones
and all the Islands of our apostrophe
all pause the revelation
as quickly as you
Like.
summer in a spoon is all the cheap heat of our medallions
suckling the ambivalent inferno of our ice age
spooling an endless wrinkle of our entire folly on a plinth
‘neath a pillar of vaporous Dawn!
Empirial in aspect,... but as fleeting as the miracle.
concave sparks are the Eldar Sign of our implicit medieval chicaneries.
all is the storm of an imperfect thing gasping for black holes-
at the senior prom. the corsage of our immortal souls
adorning the brevity of Life Itself.
we continue in this way
for no reason
with a hat.
Dec 23, 2019
Dec 23, 2019 at 7:08 PM UTC