It is one more night.
There is no light when you
Come in to do the things you do
Things that I don’t want to.
I don’t mean to taunt you
To encourage you to touch,
To touch my secret parts.
That makes me feel *****.
You say I act flirty and that’s why,
But it makes me cry.
I wish you won’t want to play
This awful game again today
That you will go play it
With Mommy.
Maybe she likes it.
I already know I won’t.
Daddy, please don’t.

Don’t get on your knees
Beside my bed and touch my head
And tell me I am pretty like a girl.
It makes my head whirl with fear.
You tell me no tears, keep quiet
And I try it, but it never works
When you **** down my unders
And I feel your fingers blunder
All around on me.
And inside me.
It’s nasty.

Daddy, please don’t do it.
I knew it was wrong the first time
And I know I’m the reason
And you say you are pleasing me
And you mean it lovingly
But it is hurting me inside.
That’s why I always cried
Even though it made you mad
I couldn’t help myself, Daddy
It hurt so badly, and you didn’t care.
You told me not to dare to tell
Or I would go to hell.
That I was a bad little boy.
You didn’t have to tell me
Because nobody will help me.

Burgundy, the color of a dress I’ve never worn
to an occasion that never occurred

Velvet lined
coffin
Where lies the violin
There lies its song

The heart of fiddle strings
that bare of arms
That heart that sings, speaks, no, yells
to the hands that can’t respond!
to a mind that can’t remember
I was drowning in some future
not a violinist’s

“Alive with Pleasure”
read the billboard slogan for cigarettes
behind the happy couple
running out into their future

Forcing the hand of marriage
Waving goodbye to my life
from a rooftop in Scranton
as the wind hauled my laundry three city blocks
dumping my unders on Saint Luke’s sills
sailing my sheets up Wyoming Avenue

I lay on the tar and pebble roof
watching pigeons swirl
listening to traffic pass on the street below
The moment you know you’ve made the mistake
you can’t return from....

Wherever my towels have blown?
I wish them well....

I hear it
half in the bag of blankets
with an empty glass of wine
dumped
Between--
the furnace rumbling on
and the cat purring on my lap

"What the hell!"

That foreign sound!--

...of water in the winter
Far too cold for rain
more like a forest stream's refrain
I start to think of birds-- Then it occurs

I have a problem in the basement

Wading into the waters of Lake Laundry
Glancing warily for those snakes of wires
suspended from their rafter's limbs
about to spit and snag me
with their lightning strike

Slamming that ****
to make it go--
away--

Defeat
dripping off
jeans and unders
A clothes line pinned
with curses

Ah yes.
The smell of the Tide ...
going out
on another day

All the efforts to be near
by being far away,
like the shoelaces we
pull apart
to tie together.
Like the ***** white shoelaces
on your worn out night sneakers,
And to be together would be a tangle of us,
a knot of seemingly simple twists and ties,
but naturally young children,
the young children we are,
must learn to do.
A series of overs and unders,
that we forget
when we ripen.

Yet to untie us would be easy,
one pull and we'd fall lifeless,
next to the black skin of your sneakers,
knowing that we'd be brought back together again,
until you wear out of us,
and replace us with the new leather and fancy threads.
But we'll always be there,
at the bottom of your closet,
wishing to go through the loops once more,
just to be tied together again.

I was swimming beneath the ocean, the silence providing my comfort, the break acting as my disguise, the waves standing guard
Finally, I was able to think, to really think about the world that was spinning, the time that was ticking, and my heart that was beating
The fish swam past me wondering why I was holding my breath in agony when I could just swim to the surface and breathe again, but they were never going to understand, because time doesn't exist to them.
Time doesn't exist to them
Time doesn't exist to them
Time doesn't exist to them
it all made sense as the water continued taunting me submitting to the current, and the seconds of air remaining in my lungs swam away safely to the surface
The shackles of time are a prison of our own creation, and we waste our lives swimming in our existence trying to unders
-
-
-

Jean-kneed trees and boring brown shoes
Fuzzy cuddle fabrics in muddy subtle blues

Bumble words above like buzzing baby bees
Sticky-fingered nonsense and distant mysteries

Table-gum unders like grubby colored stars
Sticky-starchy name tags to tell us who we are

Untouched wishes flustered and everything is new
Laughing candles blown-out from a two-foot view

Eros got bored
one shimmering afternoon
he watched television
and was asking the moon

Do I have to look that deep
to find simply what I need
while thy wifes simply
plays, the food she preparates

And suddenly Psyche appeared
dressed in **** underwears
and sporty shoes
like a modern lady
stepping up infront
dancing the most simple funk

They just had a conversation
and the time abreviation
shall we now count ?
and fall in bed both
in a haste
and have some love to
grabb !
of the modern era
or postmodern blue
flower s biggest leaves
once more under the moon.

Then passion awoke
and their bodys so hot
they slide and caressed each other
gently, and these humble existences
turned sweety
sweaty.

Music sounds from the radio jazz
laying in bed and shimmering sounds
the one under the others arms
the other over the unders barm
touching , feeling, loving , dreaming
penetrating, sensing, needing
screaming.
Desirer, up in ****** zones
Into Yin and Yan silver notes
Eros over the other playing
Psyche is falling the other yearning
the love of earning
desirer shifting
together
into a big sleep
were he woke
up, seing her in
the most beautiful
dress
Gazing skys

Both left behind.

Trail of trials and tribulations,
woe is we
woe is we
and alla what's amattah, real or un,
who but we imagines
either one
or the other, is it real? What we think?
The meaning
centering being with science used
con-science, with knowing, so-vest, in vest
in finding the undeclared variable,
what is woke, in 2021?
Sense of some old known new named,
in a since from then to now, knowing
uses of knowing, knowing needless knowns,
- skei-sharper seps, see useless knowns,
- hard bought lessons you never lived without

"the double minded man ever falls forward,
into the forest" formed
from all the gardens
gone wild when the gardeners died,
it was sudden
nobody's fault, just - happened- as just does\

inside jobs, chrons and tension twisters,
springs of inspiration,
gears of cogitation
wheels in wheels in wheels in swirls
of fore gone conclusions,
we know
secrets, some how, now. We know
there never was a hell,
but the pearling process is valid,
the gate grows wider and the way
more twisted and iridescent than
ever, in all directions, at a turn
to bend the reflection you had
recognized as me, in your
hall of mirrors, right,
uber nur hier auf recht, re
thinking creative critical thinking,
but any re-applicant replies, pearl-wise --
lay it on me,
app-lie the essence of the
shining thing glimpsed scene,
-with wishery and fastest fasting
yet, this kind comes forth, to wink,
and lead on, a totally made up
way, a shone way where none is
as a golden street with no traveling
save messages encoded on reflections
of what the mind in peace has to say to
gloss the truth in eggwhite, wonder baked
in riddles,
as in the left brain's hall of mirrors…
the old fool stumbles in to the knots
all the thread infringed upon, and entagled
your requests to know what imitation lovers love,
sink this deep down. Imitation anointing,
have you never witnessed the super,
superior power of wind over sun,
did you never witness a wizard
with a power of presence like unto
PanaVision, to a pre-lingual toddler male.

Ritual passage,  - far subtler than any beasty
under tilled tale, telling all the trees,
keep growing, expand the life,
expand the knowing, once
known, this is it, this is where,
the forgiven sense appears a force
urging each o each little piggie, we we we
all the way home, pigs can swim, remember.

find the inner child, hall of dark glass walls…
expand to our mutual horizon,
see me see you past the stood unders,
look up,

this is joy being as beauty is,
it may not be devoid of good, nor useless
if I choose to enjoy, invest my will to happiness,
engaging joy receptors cast aside,
by the inner child, so sure the reflections
are others,
come to keep the joy I form re forming
more than one may think or ask,

a worst so good, we accept it as the best.
See.
Today is the only day you read this first.
What you imagine next, line
after line, as we,

no, me, hall of mirrors, I hear me
recall
"You are the most self-centered man
I have ever encountered."

Encounters of the pointy sort,
soul piercing insights, into who
and what
we are, if words are all I make them out to be.

this lalala lightly felt
high noon breeze 
has my head stuck
in all sorts of texty zoos

legs hips navel
clavicle ridge line
hands behind binary bars shallow

these wet blues i feel
feel real
swimming hues
suggesting so much

i am the fool who'll 
follow knotty impressions and
fall for that crevice
just beyond
crenelated hipflesh

where woolly strips the color of sea unders
straps across
and barely covers it
 
three
light
taps
of the tongue
at the back of
both incisors 

is all it takes

and i

lick you
from where you came
to where you went

There are little habits
that hold us together
little things that make the world
keep spinning
like washing our hands
kissing each other good morning
and,
for me,
wandering around the house in the mornings
wearing unders and a nighty
dancing like an idiot
and singing a song that played in my dreams
just the night before
other wise,
it'll be stuck in my head all day
I thought you died alone...
a long long time ago...
*oh no, not me....

Dear lover, I do not know in whose arms you sleep
I can only vouch for the feelings in me deep
I can find solace in the promises we aim to keep
Dear lover I long for you to fill where I am lonely
Take me to the rivers where divinity seekers feel holy
Fill me with emotions coloured in the tapestry of the wind when the songbird inspires a rhapsody

Dear lover, is it me or is there another?
Play me the muse of your love and let me **** from its udder
Let it quench the thirst that bursts when it hurts to be without you, especially in our unders
Dear lover, I am sincerely thinking about you
This feels like some sickening undiscovered dusty hue
You will be the canvas I paint on ****
a flower in bloom.
Dear love I love you more my paramour, I hope you adore this roar of emotion raw collected from secret drawers that store only ideas pure... Lover let us endure.

today was a sideways thumb.
not all the way down but not deserving of up.
today was a rollercoaster,
of highs and lows, unders and overs.
today was walking in the sunshine,
and recoiling when the voice was raised at you.
today was cooking and rain,
sidewalk talks but later feeling blocked.

i gauge today with a sideways thumb.

A Swedish Midsummer 2020

Geography the usual;
The place on planet just the same;
The night light full till after midnight,
Daylight’s dawn at one or two
With so few hours in between.

This year then,
A little different.
Last year when
A crowd would meet
To dance and sing and drink and eat
On park or lawn or balconies,
Families and friends to hoopla til a dark
Which almost never comes
Makes the ending for them.

This a deviating year;
Debating and departing from
The customary dancing, prancing,
History may chronicle as Distancing,
Fiascos, blunders, six-feet-unders.
Romance from six feet of space

This midsummer in the North
Coming forth with likenesses
Has, by the laws of nature
Put the  emphasis on differences
Which we, survivors aa a race
Will surely neutralise and chase away
One future day.

A Swedish Midsummer 2020 6.16.2020 Nature 0f & Nature In Reality; Our Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin