he
an iris
me an iris
too
my petals
black like opal
he
a soul
of mother pearl
me
my mouth
is opened wide
he
his iris
ready to strike
the
mystery inside
my nectar tunnels
moon
hangs low
Orion looks away
iris
i still
bloom in silence
he
an iris
too our lives
are
now divided
sun lit cold
Addiction
demander au ciel bleu
when my mind was little
the skyscrapers were tall
God was big too
the streets were filled
with faces strong that walked alone in my drowning dreams
the functions of my body not under my control
and when the body seasoned into what men had sought
it was as if a flock of doves had scattered from my soul
the moon was maiden too long before my birth and then was trampled on her light fallen from its grace
but today i read about a boy and trees his looking for the life that did live underneath
the soil of creation and where someday i will be
looking at the captivating blue glass crystal skies waiting for His words
🌠thanks to my friend Stephen @ https://fullbeardlit.org/2020/04/08/along-this-path-a-five-oclock-poem-by-stephen-fuller-with-audio for inspiring this offering
lujuria entre muslos
look into my obsidian eye gypsy with diamonds in my hair
i am queen behold tragedy below my feet the rose bush is on fire
delicious pungent profound lust between my thighs
nocturnal the rivers that rush and smother my mound
invited you are to swim below my navel weave the carnal rhythm inside my cave
look stare won’t you into me i am night hungry for longing
it’s too late taste the honey of the poisoned combs deep in your desire you’ve trapped your soul
slowly do i come lay my mouth upon your genesis
before you know me the ashes in my lair
i seep into your body on top as mistress i am revenge is mine
while i strangle your dragon with the gripping force of my goddess beginnings
before the war there is a dewey peace betwixt our two horizons
after the deluge emanating from the center of my all
you lay out bewildered in drunk dusky oblivion
esta noche
rosewood arm wrapped tight
moon slice robin egg blue black freckles
beyond the shadow of the spider’s web silvery dew hangs
the heart stopped years ago so quiet it is the invisible steps of the spiders weaving up their net amplified in the violet breeze
my glance molded inside the grip of the cup bitter and heavy
life weeps through the slits of my old old eyes
breath too weak to move spider threads evaporate into a darkness
held hostage
she’s here again vice grip on my chest black night horror demon waif starvation of my thoughts clawing on my floors thorns grow out of my eyes flames of peril dancing on all with illusions of lucid hell all the bottles in the world beg me to rescue them stuff my corpse with SOS written on sulfur stones of tortured paths throw me in the lake of fire fingers running on the walls 2 in the morning feeling lost the saints all laugh at my position i run outside the neighbor calls for me to come back and lock my door i grind my teeth and rockaby in hopes that this episode will soon become another reason to get high on useless capsules i’m prescribed by the drones of science
vos lèvres
thin and cold
red where i bit them
the whisker burn on my chin
your grip around the small of my back
tightens like a snake while wet drunken bitter blood tinged lips suckle the wilderness from mine
dans mon trésor
dogs of the 90’s
Spare Cock Amos had gone to Vegas for the weekend. I had his room all to myself if I wanted to stay there. I decided that this time I would play house.
Jeremiah was a bullfrog, etc. The song oozled out of the broken down radio. First the laundry. I put in the entire box of Tide; when Tide just smelled like Tide. I spent my roll of quarters doing one load. The suds were kinda’ thick. Drying was still a dime so I was successful at that.
Heading back to the room Bryan Boyle was waiting outside of SC’s room. He was sweaty and lost.
“Hey.”
“Oh is Amos here, I gotta talk to him bad. I need to talk to him, is he here?”
“Naw.”
“Fuuuuuccccckkkkkk, whadda ya mean he ain’t here, I need to talk to him!”
“Sorry man, he’s gone for the weekend. I’m just crashin’ before I take off. Heidi’s home though she might be able to help.”
I walked into the room and placed the clean linens on an old arm chair. Bryan had teleported off into outer space universe open wide on this arm chair on other occasions.
Turning to listen with intent to the guy on the radio drinking his bullfrog friend’s wine, I couldn’t help but wonder if Heidi had an arm chair too. Heidi despised me on account I couldn’t like her the way she wanted me to.
I got around to changing the bed and dusted some picture frames. Amos came from a good looking family. Groaning and door slamming could be heard. Heidi refused Bryan. I should have told him not to mention my name.
Joy to the fishes. The chair bothered me. It was the junk bunk. I rode it myself a few times. I felt shame. This shame was different than the other shame. The one you feel over something that happened that you couldn’t prevent. The chair, the junk, the Cecil were preventable. I had chosen to fuck up. I wondered what kind of shame Bryan felt, if any.
Bang, bong, ping, bap.
“Heeeyyy! Open the door that bitch called the cops!!”
Sheepish creak.
“Sorry man.”
Bryan sobbed and with his back to the door frame just slid down to the floor.
“I give up.” He slobbered.
“Dude, man you’ll be ok.”
I knelt beside him. His surfer shirt torn at the hems. Little yellow and pink hula girls and turquoise surfboards 3D’ed at me like flashing acid.
My heart broke as tears rolled down his chubby baby cheeks. The rain finally came. We both perked up at the opened window at the end of the hallway. Wet concrete and drunk piss wove an aromatic melody. Joy to Bryan and a little to me. City rain; we knew it well.
We talked on the floor for hours. Just about dreams and normal things and rock and roll. Sure he picked at his arms and cried a little here and there, but Bryan lived a little.
my way…
spare cock Amos had gone to Vegas for the weekend i had his room all to myself if i wanted to stay there i decided that this time i would play house
Jeremiah was a bullfrog etc the song oozled out of the broken down radio first the laundry i put in the entire box of Tide when Tide just smelled like Tide i spent my roll of quarters doing one load the suds were kinda’ thick drying was still a dime so i was successful at that
heading back to the room Bryan Boyle was waiting outside of sc’s room he was sweaty and lost
“hey”
“oh is Amos here i gotta talk to him bad i need to talk to him is he here”
“naw”
“fuuuuuccccckkkkkk whadda ya mean he ain’t here i need to talk to him”
“sorry man he’s gone for the weekend i’m just crashin’ before i take off Heidi’s home though she might be able to help”
i walked into the room and placed the clean linens on an old arm chair Bryan had teleported off into outer space universe open wide on this arm chair on other occasions
turning to listen with intent to the guy on the radio drinking his bullfrog friend’s wine i couldn’t help but wonder if Heidi had an arm chair too Heidi despised me on account i couldn’t like her the way she wanted me to
i got around to changing the bed and dusted some picture frames Amos came from a good looking family groaning and door slamming could be heard Heidi refused Bryan i should have told him not to mention my name
joy to the fishes the chair bothered me it was the junk bunk i rode it myself a few times i felt shame this shame was different than the other shame the one you feel over something that happened that you couldn’t prevent the chair the junk the Cecil were preventable i had chosen to fuck up i wondered what kind of shame Bryan felt if any
bang bong ping bap
“heeeyyy open the door that bitch called the cops”
sheepish creak
“sorry man”
Bryan sobbed and with his back to the door frame just slid down to the floor
“i give up” he slobbered
“dude man you’ll be ok”
i knelt beside him his surfer shirt torn at the hems little yellow and pink hula girls and turquoise surfboards 3d’ed at me like flashing acid
my heart broke as tears rolled down his chubby baby cheeks the rain finally came we both perked up at the opened window at the end of the hallway wet concrete and drunk piss wove an aromatic melody joy to Bryan and a little to me city rain we knew it well
we talked on the floor for hours just about dreams and normal things and rock and roll sure he picked at his arms and cried a little here and there but Bryan lived a little
intervals in session
the reason:
the lighthouse built in 1874 and lit the same year stood like a resplendent bride against the blue and lavender aging father sky giving her away the edge was just there one four inch move and then
the back story:
i would gulp my chocolate milk shake with my little fat legs dangling from the counter stools peering down at the green and white checker board linoleum floor
an hour before the reason:
with the wind blowing in my ear i catch a few notes of “House of the Rising Sun” emanating from somewhere in the bowels of the tightly knit drunken biker crowd
trigger A:
child-hood memories float slowly into my head as i breathe deeply the Pall Mall smoke wafts by intermingled with the sea weedy odor from below the cliff
the back story’s back:
my mind wandered again into my mother’s ghost i loved studying her design patterns thousands of silk spools and the sequins and crystals God’s firmament in my mother’s house
smiling at Dr. Pang:
i loved to listen to my mother talk in that sophisticated German accent for most of my life she was as far away from me as the horizon i was looking at now
good Samaritan getting complicated:
a scratchy voice tore at the rice paper breeze midway he turned back to look at me and blew me a kiss as he melted into the small crowd
flat lips move at Dr. Pang:
my mother whipped me with yellow nylon rope every time she struck me on the legs thighs or torso the rope would welt up my skin and leave a red hot sting i could move but i didn’t
trigger B:
later that rainy night i awoke in the lobby from a very young age i discovered that an aching soul however would need a stronger analgesic
eclipsed mental decomposure:
i squeezed the memory out of my mind and as i removed my fingers from my eyelids a most beautiful black canopy covered the sky as diamond stars throbbed simultaneously i focused and marveled at such beauty it still causes such wonder in me to remember the night that the moon ate the dark
Dr. Pang concerned at the options:
for years i only spoke if spoken to and i kept my answers to only seven words or less i counted them i laugh about it now i was like Coppola’s Kilgore surfing through my own metaphoric napalm bombs
breakthrough perhaps:
she cut me up and sewed me back together again in her way the welts on my body were the fibers of strength that have helped me endure physical pain her harsh words were the sleeves and pant legs covering me protecting me from infinite poisonous tongues her rejection and unfair judgments were the thread holding me together when life’s sharp scissors cut into me
meu coração partido
words less spoken 