death by poet(ry)

 

when you woke up this morning

the dust in the acidic

draft-less air

had already settled upon your face

thus ruining

those past-apocalypse seasons we spent together;

it is a reminiscent of these

when I find myself at a morality loss

rousing up in cheap motel rooms

where the continental breakfasts

don’t seem “continental” anymore.

     why do we keep on running?

     where do you think we are going?

     why can’t we just stake our claim

     on some little dingy foreign country (side) dive

     and trade treason for reason?

instead of bathing today, you bathe in perfume

and sit upon my dormant cock

the heat within your woman’s womb

doesn’t placate me anymore

but it’s the slow wind of those acidic elements

that waft through your monotonous hair

that which stirs my black key stroke erections.

and each strand that rakes through my hand

reminds me of earth –

pigmen born of mud

air, where contagion spreads –

fire, hel (lelujah) in the sky –

water, a grave integrity of baptisms –

you lay your naked face against my cottoned chest

feeling for my last breath, you whisper:

 

you don’t know this

 

but you have a black picket fence

staked around your heart

a grave marker

sitting on your soul

 

and, you’re wearing a suit.

 

no self-proclaimed poet wears suits,

anymore.

so-stop-pretending-to-be-dead.

 

 

Playing hooky at 115 Degrees

Nothing really to write about except for that I played hooky from work yesterday and went to see Jack the Giant Slayer and then snuck in to see OZ The Great and Powerful.  Bad. . .I know. . .But it’s done and over now.  So get over it already!

 

“Jack the Giant Slayer”. . .a breathless piece of work.  My fav character. . .two-headed giant.  Of course Ewen McGregor wasn’t bad either;)! 

 

“OZ The Great and Powerful”. . .a stunning piece of work.  My fav character. . .China Girl. 

 

The following poem was one of two poems nominated for a 2011 Pushcart Prize. . .Enjoy.

 

———-

 

 

115 Degrees

 

Beads of sweat

trickled down slow

between the perfumed citrus folds

of her beautiful round breasts

unbeknownst to the woman

innocently directing me to the nearest freeway

under a blazing sun of 115 degree weather;

and I almost envisioned myself on her

disguised as one of those perfect size atoms

of H2O evaporating into an open of a pore

uninvited, like rape after a date of kissing and no sex

only to proliferate in the end into a bead of virgin sweat.