lady in red
in my head
in a book I read,
that men are misled:
beauty kills us dead.”
get out of my head!
“To where shall we head?”
“my creaky twin
or a hotel bed?”
our minds are led
by hurried legs
as her lips, red,
push me to the bed
tinged with dread
Rapped version: https://vimeo.com/286097673
(password is "stand").
A construed connection
The dampness of my soul
Glistening on his declared, steady skin
Repelling my dripping grasp
My slippery infection
slithering to a ripe apifany
An intricate abnormality
That is me
A remodeled intellect, grasping for fresh ventilation
Panting in all the raw air
My quivering inhales, so pathetic
I lie on my bed all curled up in myself.
No lights, no ventilation, no disturbance.
There's no spark that would lead me out of this cave.
I'm suffocating on my thoughtless brain wave.
There's no one I know coming to me to save.
I desire nothing lord, put me back in my grave.
The rocks and soil will make a comfortable bed I suppose.
Stop battering her mind by invasions
of your curious cultural perversions
Get out of her way I tell you for god sake.
She needs quietude
To come out of her servitude
to repair and restore her aptitude
In the balm and calm of solitude
Her dome is broken with throbs
torn yarns spasm derobes
With velocity escape to infinity
Due to your ferocious felinity
She needs peace to space walk
To gather the ruffled rob safe back
So leave her alone I tell you
As if she were in ICU
She needs silence to settle
Down to revive her mettle
with rarer precious metals
Cement her mental pieces
Mind can swoop down with trough
Ride on a rough wave's crest
Pat and pacify with suavity
bring back the halo from infinity
zero down the hero with unity,
from a state of KD
rejuvenate the PD
Back to an ambience of 3D
So Leave her alone I tell you
Let her bleed, perspire in despire
If mind willing, desire compelling
Let it prepare her self, to repair itself
the broken respiration sighs
With high waves of neighs
conspires to set in her scattred inspiration
To the errected pyre of desperation
Asunder to cinder and surrender.
Let the fire embrace her to scintillation
In a catalystic ambiance of ventilation
Mix and suffix with whirling flame
To phoenix her into a healing dame.
For god sake leave her alone I tell you..
girlworm, you grab a wrist like you've known modesty in the shyness of a bare feeling gripped tight on the one offering it
tightrope fingers falling into the spaces of unspoken territory, slipping into familiar qualms like the worn lipsticks that fits the grooves of my lips like an object of my affection
knowing the contour of what i'm never aware of
anxieties creep like an overgrown lawn
these fears personifying into antsy women invading my kitchen telling me that there's not enough ventilation and the stove is on leaking gas into the baby lungs of a young smoker
and when i begin to argue they give both a look of sympathy and disgust as they say "oh child you drown so easily"
so i sit chewing my nails as i count the birds outside flying back and forth from their post as if they can't remember where they're going towards or if there's something that could possibly pull them elsewhere
my mind swirls in the smoothie of a plastic cup that sticks to the coffee table, the rings of different bottles painting circles for me to memorize again
my paradise sits with the roughness of his knuckles and the ambiguity of eyes that could know everything and i would set fire to the stars inside because of the jealousy that grows from pretty things being smoldered under skin
when i begin to lose my person, pale and shivering i go towards it
empty stomached and ready to be buried in the clothes of her
that i can imagine becoming the consistency of yogurt in my lap
kissing back my tremors as i lift up her hair from curious shoulders
dry-heaving the importance of the cheeks that feel warmer as they settle on hands that are brought together as if in deep prayer and i know i will collect myself again one day
girlworm, you're a swarm in my chest and i am me
Once upon a time each morning began
With a ventilation shaft and the night’s
Foul fall of dreams, drama, and downed debris
Dammed and maybe ****** against the window screen
And then an apartment window so high
I could see only the San Diego sky
Train windows, the Mojave through the glass
Then only for a little while
there was you
The scenery keeps shifting, and that’s okay
Life is a John Ford movie every day
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree: The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
— The End —