Friday, January 22, 2010

Self Control

I can hold
desire in check,
till my penis grows
longer than my memory


The gifts are missing and

the evidence has all

but disappeared into

the pockets of a trickster

and his friends, without amend.

In the light of discovery

the emptiness was viewed

but then ignored, as many

who had witnessed became

bored, with their discord.

A claim was forbidden

and those who held opinion

faded back into the corners

and the hollows marked by

fear, and would not hear.

I was bound to stumble,

I was bound to equate

triumph with redemption

and all the tiny ravers

said “amen, so be it then”

But Not For You

You may judge me when

you’ve been sequestered

and immobilized by fear

With every thought a plea

for welfare or survival

You may tell me that

this too shall pass if you

have made the journey

safely out of crushing darkness

to a place of sanctuary

You may hear this if you feel

your heart could break at

any moment for the ones

who suffer thus without relief

but not for you


Movement is slow. Thoughts take position and remain for hours,

surrounded by nascent, scurrying demiurges signaling destruction.

The stuckness of it feels overwhelming.

No forward yearning , no backward insight.






Till falling, failing, welcomes darkness.

Best of Luck

She’s acting fearless again.

Withholding her drab secret,

two cigarettes burning at once.

Her eyes seem tired and distant

without her usual battered grin.

As if she'd been struck too often

by ambiguous verbal jabs.

Holding on to confidence that’s

slipping from her mind like

marbles falling through the broken

corner of a sopping paper sack.

She’s restored when she’s alone.

She settles into partial comfort

and compares the risk of loving

with memories of consequence.

When I come by to see her,

I taste sugar on her tongue.

I feel the space that she’s allowed

for my unspoken misconceptions.

She’s not as fragile as she looks.

And because her heart creates

the now belonging that I seek,

I find I miss her.


Jiggling, bouncing, scraping bottom

sensing nuance moving faster than

the mind can comprehend.

Along and weaving in and out of

dreadful, flashing, ghostly patterns

pooled in depths left unexplored.