A WORD ABOUT FLESH…

Rapture holds
passion, not
infidelity.
(You have become
my forsaken
malady).

Ravish me.

The heat (is nearly
crippling).
I’m kissing,
your neck, (when)
my tongue finds the
sharp definition of your
Adam’s apple…Tastes-
so sweet, (and
so wonderful),
beneath the stubble
on (your neck),
your sculpted jaw,
and the other
delectable parts of you.
The salt of
sweat, leaves a hint,
in my mouth. Testosterone,
magnetic pheromones,
(fill up my sinuses,
head, and my throat).
And this divinity, almost
makes me forget, about
the pleasure I feel, every time
you move your hips.

Ravish me,
baby.

And slippery high moments,
that pale me-(just).
Pierce me.
Impale me, again and again.
It’s the flesh in my body, and
the ice in my soul.

fin

Frustration: (Enter Stage Left)

I’m gonna give it up,
because, “I likes you”, but…
I don’t . I love the
things that you, could do, to me:
but-won’t. There’s not
enough, (of you), to come
around my (back-ward,
dirt-road, no-excuse-for-a)
back-door.

Upon the knee
of optimism: “it’s
more colourful
than I thought”…
these township roads Continue reading

DISCORD THROUGH ME

I was so happy to
see you. I’d been,
thinking about you-
(but, had no way
to reach you).
So I waited.
(im)patiently-incidentally,
it was worth it.

I’d love to romance,
about the things,
that we did-(but,
I fear that
my kids, will
stumble upon it…). And
you just don’t seem
like the romantic-type.
(I see you more as), a
hardcore, (sweet),
dangerous-
sexy, delicious-
type…(that would be
MY type). What a savoury
coincidence. And since,
I’m baring all of
my self-
ish, soulful thoughts…
I think I might
adore you.
Your strength, and,
your bad habits…But, mostly,
it’s the rest of you…
that gets me so
distracted.
(But, you already knew that).

My thoughts of you,
are filthy.
Filthy, deviant,
and base.
Far too lewd to pass,
through my
sweet,
cherry
lips…

(The irony, of course,is

that you will probably never

even

see this).

 

 

fin

 

DADDYS HANDS

 

 

Beyond acts of nature,
past acts of no god, my
Daddys Hands,
were calloused and stained.
Typical of the cold hard,
manner, that possessed him.

The night a stranger beat me
up and raped me, my clothing was torn-(in an attempt to complete,
the sickening task).
Afterward, I was discovered-
hiding, in the apartment of
my best friend, (and his room-mate).
I was still hysterical when my
Daddys’ hands,
appeared, out-of-nowhere, (for the
first time, ever). My Daddy,
my Papa, the king of my-Dystopia;
didn’t tolerate tears. Especially
hysterical ones). But, I was
unable to hold them back.
I tried, to mop
the saline pool, from the
kitchen table, with my sleeve.
(It would have been rude
not to). Apparently
that night, the delicate matter
of wiping the tears, from my cheek,
was left to my father.The whole time, staring, at my face, in absolute
silence. He looked as though he
would murder, the pitiful-excuse-for-a-“man”. The “man”, who indulged
On the violent defile, of a fifteen
year old girl.

It was my Daddys’,
fifteen year old girl.

(A well practiced deviant; the
monster still wore the scent of
his other young victims,
when he was brought into the police station). The creeps paper trail was revealed and enlivened, in the wake
of my own tragedy.

I stared at my
Daddys’ hands;
unable to lift my head, for
the shame. Mechanical, yet thick, and
unyielding to challenge, his
knuckles were enormous-
toughened by, the elements, and
actions, fueled by rage, personal
insult and drunkenness. Both my
Daddy, and his hands were
perfectly suited to tasks,
born of necessity, (unspoken), deeds of un-notoriety. His old school model of honor, was uncompromising and
non-negotiable.
Stained with age, and strengthened
by years of laborious past times, my father was inured to hardships, far
worse, than poverty. His
thick skinned flesh, was
barely visible, through the permanence of grease, tar, and nicotine. These
top layers, (coupled with an angry
demeanor), made an impression on
everyone who met him. But,
it was the mystery-the morbid
curiosity, of what lay underneath;(what grandiose, disturbing deeds could cradle those stains on the surface)? It was this
uncertainty, that dispensed
fear and intimidation, to people
who deserved to know, his
exacting inclinations.

By the time I finished
evaluating the strength, within my Daddys’ hands,
my personal sense of safety, had returned. (As much
as it ever would).
My aspirations toward revenge,
and punishment, distracted me,
and slowed my heart. And, when
I finally looked up, I saw my fathers’ face. He had been transformed, into
a sympathetic and approachable
person. If I didn’t know better,
I would have thought ‘he felt
my pain’. With the calm, it was
only natural to be anxious-
nervous of the storm to come. Still,
I had never felt so safe, perhaps,
even loved.

To be conclusive, but
sadly, matter of fact; the love
and gentility lasted
(approximately), three days.

My childish delusions of justice, were
worsened by insult, when my
attacker-a-monster-a-guilty-repeat-offender,
was rewarded, for my
escape, before full penetration. He laughed in the face of my best friend, as he walked out of the courtroom.
I don’t know if
he ever paid
the $150 fine.
That was his penance,
for damaging….,
for sullying….,
(my soul,
my heart,
my grace)…
For taking the “little”,
From my “Daddys little girl”.

There isn’t a day that has gone by,
that I haven’t wished; my
Daddys’ hands
had got to him first.

FIN

SEEING THINGS

It was wild, in my world

tonight…(These) weren’t just everyday,

tracers and loomers, eye was seeing-hulking

figures, (that) stand idle, but always

conveniently, barely visible, to

me and my wasting peripheral vision.

Casting shadows over my task

at hand-my stomach

knows, that enormity, is not

the only oddity-I don’t want

to see. Twisted and malformed creatures,

(with formative dens, in

the darkest, deep places), have always

sought comfort, in

my hallucinatory worlds. But these

unfortunates; low down, drooling, perversions

of a sick and hopeless world, well….

After observing them for (what

may well have gone into tomorrow);

I give them the title of

‘full-on-runners-and-peekers’.

 

[Psychotropic worlds, “they”

write prescriptions to remedy, are

seemingly adaptable-I live in

them, quite comfortably]. (I think

that), this is just a natural course

of my suddenly, (more often,

sullenly), misplaced sobriety. My

attempts to describe, the

things I see, daily, (through disrupted

senses), are pale and ordinary.

If only you could see…through my

red, eyes-through dulled,

binocular vision, (vibrating,

my very core, to its already

unsteady foundation). If only

you could feel…through the castor,

black walls of my

(broken-reconstructed-but-still-

unmended), heart. If only

you could process…these images,

through my limpid, stripped

brain. (Always misfiring, and

blacking out, in dizzying attempts to

function). It’s horror show

fiction-as real as my own

reflection; ultimately imprisoned,

within the confines of my tired,

old soul…unimpressed by anything ,

anymore.

 

It’s not frightening,

or even

unusual. It’s

just another flight,

through the crevices;

the urban

slums, my rural home-

stead…day and

night. A place for

my imaginary

friends

to fight…

 

My World.

 

 

ITS ALL UP

“They” say that I don’t know you
“They” say that I’ll get burned…
(apparently “they” haven’t
considered)….
Incendiary suggestions make me
crave immorality,
brands of sin, and depravities
still, (undefined, to the christian
world).
And, so if you don’t know, (although
I’ve made it
very clear)…
I think your the shit-(and yeah),
I think your pretty sexy
(If I could have your),
attention,
undivided,
I know I could impress
upon
(the) best parts
of you-(don’t know)-
(I’m sure you do): how
you
affect me. (For), I
think. I crave, I fuck-
ing adore
you… I want
to bring out
(those
aforementioned),
parts of
you, that I see every time; when
(I undress
you),
with my i’s.
I could devour
you, with
no repercussions, shallow,
REBOUNDing
or otherwise.
(I’d love, to
ride,
this out). IF
you
could take….(my wayward)
mind in
to a different part of
lunacy…(my very own-
ed) and heated,
insanity.
When I saw you
shake, (consequently);
it brought out
the worst in me. Filthy ,
and lewd, I could’ve
(so easily), reacted,
(indiscriminately).
And, every time you
brush against
me,
reality
leaves me; electric,
burning cells,
(laced with adrenaline)
consume me.
(From the inside out), I’m
uncouth, and I’m base.
But, when I breathe,
(inhaling deep)…
testosterone, so
close, beside me.
(It brings out) the
worst, in me. I’m
shameless, and impure,
the trouble, (could
be worth), admission price.
My soul, my
life…

I hope you’ll agree;
It’s all UP,
from here.

Zoo Poetry

The vogue seal did not dance;

Sitting only in vain,

and knowing when

to pose for the camera.

The vogue seal is

as mythical as;

my income tax return, and

(all those people),

who give a damn what you think.

And, the bad seed moose-

was out too late,

and sentenced to life in jail.

For moose prison

is as mythical as,

your silence.