Sunday, November 20, 2011


Quickening, I feel
Chrome-plated veins- now tested.
This is challenge here,
Confronting, canines bared.
Do I look and then lean in...?
Licking fangs that threaten to puncture and drain me?
Or crawl away feebly in reverse
Slapping my senses as they beg to push-on
Steed-like in their stature.
Grotesque to grovel away, defeated
At 38, I have collected many battle scars,
Eaten my experiences, chewing them to great length
Expecting to anticipate the return of what's been learned
...and the timing to chime on queue.
This life is a battle-zone.
Fought for victory, defeat, victory, retreat...
Cleaning old wounds that ooze when memories ripen
Vindication dies down and Pyrrhic conquering buckles.
I am encased in my diary of 'Done'.
Strategy now beckons with a new voice
To linger longer with the tablets of 'Think Twice'.
The dagger swung in the dark fueled by adrenalin
Yields more than a hefty slice to any foe
It can pierce greater enemies that trigger much worse
Inflicting irreparable damage within strata upon strata
Of what may have been left, unaccounted for.
Triggering 'regret' is a foolish mistake
A long-haunted Mistress that will gnaw like no other
Sanity is far too precious a countenance
To barter with juvenile conclusions that punch on impulse.
Nearing the end of my third decade in,
I wish to reign in on that 'untouchable' fighter.
To pet with compassion and relearn a few things...
I retain my youth in other ways,
After all, 'Hope' springs eternal
In the background of any play.
I am weary from my travels, though yet undefeated
Sometimes the win was detrimental to my cause
But necessary nonetheless.
I remember now as often as I can to caution my moves
To whittle away at primary motives,
In the event I may uncover something-
Unaccounted for.
The devilish child lives in me yet
The lurking wish to delve into hysteria;
Cascading mirth brought on by 'living dangerously'
They are too far behind me now
Memories I hold dear that when recanted,
Spatter and hiss for some tangible tie to the 'now'.
I look back but for a moment, smiling, wise with age.
I can no longer afford such meaningless game play
Mine is a history of violence
That through right-handed manipulation,
I tinkered enough to fan-out the pain
Begging the mirror to show signs of forgiveness.
The remedy of seeking 'no-reflection' grows tired.
I peer in now and long for kindness...
To Love and be Loved, by the self that I am.
Though my past would have me aged and cane-bound
I attempt to find peace but not by vein of boredom
To travel on with confidence and less abuse
From the battle-zone of 'I'
The Lover & The Fighter; contained.

Saturday, November 12, 2011


You should know as I do,
There is professionalism in aged fingertips
Gifted with higher sensory reception
To fiddle with the senses...
Yours, Mine... Some one's.
Intermediate self against self;
I tap my own fancies without moving a muscle
...and beautifully enough, muscle finds its own way
Contracting with its own thoughts,
Memories- Expanding
There is a haiku hidden in every breath released
Each ancillary component has meaning
A definition all to its own
Collectively, they write novels
Whispered in transit; constant
A slow-moving volcano
Lava-licking, permanence-sticking
Scarred in the most lovingly manner, within.
The inner tattoo holds the most vibrant shades
Melodious encasement of what two can do-
When they are one.
For all skins many languages
The softest, kindest whisper errs not
For any cautions sake
It wraps airtight in its magnetism
Sucking in every static clinging electrode,
The past orchestrates the longing of today
The hour that lives in the now has priorities,
Mine flow in myriad direction,
There is no 'stop n' go...'
I suck the bone of patience- daily
Knowing that eventually
All the stewing I do within my own existence
Will be tasted in time
When in the most potent of moments,
Trust is again found.

Sunday, November 6, 2011


In like a sliver, deep tissue reawakens.
Saxophone humming penetrates, I am alert
Muscles around the nape begin crawling...
Hibernating in their isolation...? For Winter? Forever?
But then, were they ever truly sleeping?
Hypersensitivities say 'no' and the tickling over senses,
Reverberate, undulate, ejaculate.

Sight immobilizes, sound travels quickly, touch begs in silence
Taste terrorizes the tongue, sweating in waves
The smell of skins melting, while the mind orchestrates;
Theirs is a desolate cry for a true strip,
Baroque in quality, the potential for fervent memories
They are lunar in their landing.

Volatility seeps in, attempting to steep regret
But fuck that mindless notion,
When the love drips in through either door
This convoluted consummation demands full attention
Full throttle; full frontal and when the pitch is hit-
On all fours.

This is the dehydration of the senses
The cock eclipsed the squelch and the scream
No sound issues, only the thick, sticky vacuum of 'enter'
The 'sucking in' found on this map, is the dilated pupil
Sexual, sympathetic affection, in a dimly lit circumstance
Tears the moral seams and loosens the cognitive reasoning

I can shake the nerve for one night.
Without boundary, judgement or discovery
There is no consequence when the relaxed muscle is given-
In the true absence of expectation...
So why then,
Is committing to the simple act of 'release'
So difficult?

When one makes love to the soul within
No amount of moisture, clench, squeeze, flexing, cavorting
Can replicate the trade taken,
That comes to pass between the eyes.
The 'come' from Love is most gratifying
...and far longer lasting.

A gold nugget procured in understanding
Holds greater value than the stone that was stolen,
Swapped in exchange for weakened flesh.
Fingertips that trip over goose-flesh,
That they have come to know and love- brag in silent excess.
Needing nothing more than the memory they make-

Thursday, November 3, 2011 is bliss

The atmosphere here is, Etruscan bronze
I follow and feel, feebly at first
He says nothing,
No eye contact could be more clairvoyant
His fingerprints bear my signature too
We share no words, we never do
The volumes of understanding betwixt us
...they are enough.
I smell dark hair, unkempt and soft
Bovine in stature, steps taken are in earnest
I am diligent in the attending of his lead.
He walks with purpose interwoven with patience
That though we are aligned in this synopsis
It may yet take several more long moments
To find our mutual footsteps arriving,
At that porch where perception sharpens
...and I'm ready...
Ready to walk in and follow for the last time,
Into the entry of all tomorrows.

I am eager in  my recanting
Recollected again and again,
Embellished only by the presumption of why
Why such decadent imaginings reveal themselves to me
Over and over and over again...
These aren't dreams that plague my mental scope at night
They are memories of where I am headed...
Into a calm state of relaxed and contentment.
I see the figure who teaches,
He bears the outline of a Lover;
A match to rival nothing known
...and everything desired, craved and ached for.
Kind eyes that hold no damning secrets
Warmth pervading his every exhale
Ooh, I have and it is bliss
Bliss to mark the messenger and take care,
For tomorrow may bear gifts worth receiving
...and I want to be ready.