This poem’s gonna get in your face.
I swear - it’s gonna start with you.
This poem is potent.
It’s gonna step up behind you
and show you
right where it’s at.
Make you lay down and beg
for more.
It will definitely
have it’s way with you.
Shove you right back in your seat
and you’ll want it
just like that.
You simply can’t do without it;
and you know it.
You’ll make excuses;
be driven, to see it,
more and more. This poem will
make it so very hard
to just say no, and mean it.
Your eyes will be compelled
to follow this poem
down and down,
bit by bit,
to it’s final, trembling line
and just when you think it’s over,
it’ll reach up beneath you
and make you wish,
so very much,
for just a little
bit
more.
Junkies, Johns and Judges
It’s carpet burning being belly down.
Relatively living with human warmth wavering.
Jujubes and Smarties gush
against a rusty, crusty sink.
There’s no place like home.
There’s junkies, johns and judges
keeping grudges.
Skim the skin and dump the dregs.
Paper tongues stick out and lick out
and click like tiddlywinks to the gutter.
Welcome to the freeze down,
get the sleaze down girl.
Hum drum lunatics
flail about with vague unease.
Trailing sweet disease.
You know he gets his licks in,
gets his quick sin, gets his kicks in.
Only that and nothing more.
Out the door Sweet Thang.
Take tiny breaths so’s not to punish
this long and lonesome night.
(He could be passed out cold by now.)
He chews me up - screws me up
with all that prattle, I won’t tattle
I won’t be going out today.
I simply stand
and hold my other hand
like a stranger.
Sodium Wives
In the eerie absence of day
I cast over my shoulder
seeking sweet dreams;
sugar plum slumbers
in a rolling realm of soft and silky.
Ones are dark and somes are light
and ones are dark Oh My!
Where there’s no home for lonesome.
Like nothing ever happened. No.
Because I said so.
I lay here on my back curvaceously crystallizing,
wondering what your preference is,
this way or that,
or that and just as dawn
pries open my lids,
I get the strangest feeling that
I’m just a modern version
of Lot’s delicious wife.
The Unfortunates
The not quite pink color of navels,
nipples and noses pinched like
the worst pursed lips of a school
marm Madam in deep concentration
or crisp agitation or possibly even
a cruel consternation and Lord,
she knows your name.
Marbled eyelids collapsed one
atop the other with little
slaps of flat flesh pleasingly squeezed
tight against lurid lights and savage
sights. Little slits that might
allow a peek into hang-dogged heads
seeking solace or salvation
or so we should certainly hope.
Perfectly circled knee caps;
pressure induced rosy rounds burnt,
bent and rent in the petrified prayers
of the unfortunates. Purifying, lengthy, breathy,
blurting and pleading soprano whispers
of babes clad in plaid to serve
the likes of all of mankind
and then some.
Clasping good hands holding
good hands chapped and weather worn or
worked and torn yet chapel bound each
eve and morn or so on and so forth amen.
Union
Her lace bouquet thrown away;
his singing song blossoms full blue.
So immense her burning
tongue did say.
Summer will slice the wild
wind from the morning.
There grows a slender day
to consume a dark, red evening
when secret skin runs
liquid after love.
Spanish Moss
She slept against his chest
feeling rather rebellious, somewhat just in fact.
There was no great rush, only
listening to the grinding noise against
the bleeding background of bayou.
Spanish moss hung, swinging from it's own noose.
Her sort of shining kindness nested
the old fashioned way, cunningly concealed.
She knew this to be a sly riddle.
It wasn’t easy to sleep sitting up
unless you really wanted it.
Huddled the shack, puddled in mattress
he thought all the gulf was beneath him,
sliced with summer sun above.
In one unguarded moment of fear,
nobody looked familiar.
The spark of his ready temper
frantically slashed at her neck.
It seemed in her ears she heard his cries;
the direction of his questioning,
answered with lopsided loopholes.
Porch chimes tinkled their tiny church tune.
Beetles chirped in tall grass that clumped and crept
about her dark knees. He couldn’t hear her naked feet
slap along a hard-packed path.
The monotonous voice that rose was flat.
She palmed charms to conjure, melted expensive wax.
A burlap bundle of feathers and bones.
With gypsy quick tapping, rapping a rhythm
upon his heart, a human-tissue tambourine.
Messaging the membranous muscle,
a peculiar pied piper whose fingertips
slowly reduced the rhythm
that set him straight on his way, yes indeedy.
Got him right about that business.
