Tag Archives: poetry

What? I dunno.

13 Mar

Nuzzled my way in
Coy, to my spot
To my soft, warm place on your surface.

Ironically, nothing was
premeditated
And it felt relaxed.

When I didn’t move
or take an extra breath,
I saw the sharpest colors
felt the freshest breeze
heard lively silence
and it was completely satisfying.

The taste lingers
Unidentifiable on my lips.
A dormant desire in my heart –
relentless thirst for its return.

The Wall

27 Feb

He a raggedy, cornered, orphaned doll of deep and hollow eye sockets.
She a giant vagina with jiggly testicles mounted on muscular legs
fast on calloused feet,
mocks him and his sentiments.
the doll floats in nothingness; he can’t see, can’t hear, can’t feel
even if the body does.

The giant is sensuous and stomps the motionless body.

Bars in the window
I am crazy

The shape-shifter surrounds and suffocates
He once tried – nails dug into vertically infinite concrete.
Scab and blood the only proofs.

He’s awake. He’s terrified.
She is massive and the foot threatens

Tear down the wall

A cascade of ugly shit from her mouth.
He sees choking hands and bitten nipples
Ripping open a blouse, exposed breasts in shame.
Uniformed rape.

Physical punishment
Faceless body unquestioning into the abyss.
The crowd cheers as the skies fall on the heads of
Queers, jews, junkies, students
Beaten and stripped.

When eyes were still in the sockets
A blade sharply removed eyebrows
and skin,
and blood.

The scars didn’t matter for a rock star
He still got pussy. Even more, for being eccentric.
By now the scars were gone and with them
any vestige of humanity

They found him nearly lifeless
Television blasting.
Where’s the commander now?
Where are the uniform and the megaphone
and the followers and destroyers?

A shot of adrenaline.
A forced re-entry.
Humiliated and sub-human

She built the wall
And she blew it up.
With it went his mind.
Little children solemnly sort pieces from debris.

Pink Floyd: The Wall (film) was so fucking fantastic I had to try to capture the imagery. I apologize for compressing and diluting the work with my self-indulgent little challenge. I couldn’t not.

And now, another poem

30 Dec

An end of year happened reunion
Some discomfort and unfamiliarity
But they’re like me and I’m like them
And soon our lips conquer our shakiness.
My mode is dominant, as they know.
I thank them for accommodating.

I find that every bit I learn
of myself
Is thanks to them, to it, to whatever it may be
in front of me, at that given moment.
I am as I choose to be in each vignette of
grouped breaths, and these
as you can imagine,
form a larger picture I’ve only seen out of focus.
It will be clearer some day. I’m not in a hurry.

It’s what she said that invoked this in me.
I like to think of it as defiance; a will to live
and to live happily. I am more sure each day
that it takes more courage to do that than to numb.

When I see succumbing, I want to push hard
When I hear silence, I want to scream
When I see idleness, I want to shake you and me.
Not just borne of self-indulgence
(maybe a little)
but out of instinct – the unexplainable urge to do exactly
That way or this.
A full breath when oxygen was scarce a second earlier.
At least for now, I despise complacency.