Saturday, May 13, 2017

Let Us Out.

He breathes and
I want
That freshly pushed sound
To enter into-
Me.

Smashed up against
Darkness, and,
With eyes closed
Slit the wrists of restraint
Sucking in the muse-
Hip first.

The rumble of ooze, is
Drawing on reserves
Of too much time dealt in blows
That flooded gate
Burning.

Open your arms, You
That I may inhale your Masculinity-
Pheromone first. And slice you open
To let Us out.
Deserved.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

The Vernacular of Indecision

Copious chunks of time
Blundering over contaminated beliefs
A sanctum of raw, and let us face it-
Useless candor.
This noise, swarming
Elected to hum into me
Over me,
Ten feet ahead of me.
Place the wormhole behind.
Is it so easy?

"A burning violin..."

Build instead, a new cavern
A place to play a succulent tune
To pluck moist notes until blisters form
To sing of oil soaked pine
...and sticky thighs.

Careful now, to not trip and crack
The point of four separate points
As they rush to converge upon the pedestal
Of highest regard.
Knocking jawbone and elbow
To the detriment of ego

The Ego of heart; the Ego of mind
The Ego of Erogenous Platitudes
...and the fourth, more contentious ego
Soul.

The melody of organisms around me
Bleeding into my psyche
Juggling the 'due' in confounded annoyance
Passive/Aggressive mutinies
Multiplying in these closest, innermost boundaries

Fucking each to the other in deep succession.

Instantiated by memories and assumptions
Locked in post-haste anxiousness to serve that 'due' justice
Of an unrepentant, analgesic sort.
Transparencies kept thinner, tenuous, strenuous. Unfit,
...yet succeeding, if success is what you call failure.
These loquacious synonyms
Nothing more than the vernacular of indecision.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Murmuring...

Bubble of ice, or air.
Or lack of air- which is it?
Clouded in cluster-fucked conditions.
Windpipe cinching, motivated by the divide
Of reveries motioning just beyond reach.
That teenage reclusiveness
How the fuck did it ever climb back in?
And burden the wise limbs into submission...?

The savage plastic coating fits good.
Promoting the prognostication of rancid days yet to come.
More unfed love; more unfed limbs; more
Bleak; dismal; eradicating; cock-less nights.
The echoes of male murmuring,
Wriggling in between muscled impermanence
Controls my vacuous, disconcerted attention span.
Distracted, to the nines, the need for deep rubbing.

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Elegy

The smell of incense interrupting my gaze
Black lines used to define- halt.
Austerity hunts early
Snaking the worm from unfed jaws.
A collaboration picks up
Carving idea where idea left off.
Two energies
Making love.
Ink mates naturally
Clung to his last delicate submission
While nearby...
Glass separates the morning between 43'
And a red desert bloom.
Elegy whispering into pristine quiet
Slipping succinctly into the well-oiled psyche
Of what is yet left to manage and handle.
Rough, warm hands are welcome
To ease the stiffness and solemnity
Of martyred tradition.
Coffee cooled yet candle leads on
Into the aromatic infusion
Of makeshift "attempted" release.
     His lines muscle in
     His devotion- profuse.
     In mirroring our addictions,
     I find secular divinity and sexual homage
     To a world knowing no limit
     As the mind runs wild.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

4 Dozen

Holding off has never been so easy.
And yet, it is as it has always been.
Restrained.
Buckled to my senses, to my nonsenses
Merged in unity since before my own opinion
Existed. Formed. Feigned.
How relevant have I made the wrong
Bare-knuckling my own breast
As if it were natural.
And it was, because it had been
Born that way before any notion of self
Was in the cards.

Generational. Coarse ground energies
Eaten in a circle, shit out and sprouted
Eaten again.
Patterns of breathing have evolved
Into nothing but what they came here to do
Destructive when that trauma and Egocentric world
Propagated.
Intensities mix. Intention, inconsequential.
The Lord's of handed down disorder
Ruling yet with leather-fisted indulgence.
Too thick they filled the wounded groove
Of who they inflicted in lives previous.

Cringing. Stimulated by revelations
That I have owned and owned and owned.
Goodness palpitates everywhere,
Blocked by blurred vision, enhanced by
Useless devotion.
Organic medleys linger, making use of any moment
Hint... interest, attentive and caring.
Empathy, magnetic..sincere...willing
These free and beautiful utilities
Open to practice and pungent;
Direct in their giving, their loving, their lift
Unconditional, as it were- to the fullest.

The new waves lap against me each day
Filling blessed moments with sunlight and
Gorgeous intention...
Teaching the elder of how the young love lives
With no effort; strong, amazing, thorough and free.
They are mine, and yielded in the soil I mixed
Pumping laughter and unkempt silliness
Minus the burden of heavy laden miseries.
In decency, in wholesomeness, they lavish my life.
By default I love more than each day before with ease
This enigma of bliss and ache,
So carefully balanced.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Modelo and The Muse.

It might, it might... it might be over soon.
'Might', 'if', 'suppose', 'maybe'
"You are either in or out of your den, which is it?"
Ooh, that place where I find myself
When the crackling dynamite detonates.

He is as good as he ever was, no- He's better.

"Disassociate" Enough.
No other need to fill in the blanks.
"Move on..."
It's what I need to get with the 'getting on'.
Simply put, abrupt. Useful

Smoke-trails, Jameson, whiskers in the sink
It's an all-male event. He even smells masculine.
Thirty year high, like clockwork; he's an oppressive heat
It's good to know that the high standard can still be counted on
When the night stands at his attention.

Philosophy of sound, digressing lyrical brilliance
How to move blockades of 'empty' out of the way
Clipping strings to accord acoustic satisfaction
He plummets deeply, and so we both plunge;
Hand in hand.

Scruff, rubbed closely, and wandering warm hands.
Diligent, pinching fingers, direct in their appeal.
The ringing in of personal new year's has been the best yet.
He has always been close to heart and mind
And so there he will remain.