The song ceases–she vanishes
behind velvet curtains–
but he already strayed too far
into the fantasy to forget her:
another twenty another few days
in hopes to earn a soulmate.
Tag: Poetry
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Verisimilitude
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New Blonde at Church
Eyes of Nod stumble into Eden’s canyon,
drown in the deluge of milky waterfalls
dammed by a meek cream-colored top.
The pastor preaches the power of prayer,
but ears cannot hear at such a depth
betwixt Babel towers no light can scale.
The hunger whets his mouth, muffles
his mind in mirages: to fill her, to subdue her.
The sermon ceases; he slithers to the back
to welcome the girl with the divine rack. -
Resurrection Day
Chained to a chair among distant peers
who see me a shrub among the playboys
who pleasure their palates. I bury my
ostrich head in my phone and wander
aimlessly about the Internet veiled
with determination to deceive any nosy
eye that may catch a crack within the guild–
unearth the runt too often exposed
in previous exhibition unintentionally
burlesque–and ignite old bruises still
borne in my chest. Bridges burnt–now
cursed an island–though the shore is inviting.An old friend wades through the crowd
toward my direction. I sheath the phone;
I rehearse the lines prepared to convince
her of transfiguration–to show her how
interesting I’ve become. A smile beckons
her closer, ears anxiously await to the baptism
offered by her voice, but the bitch travels
over me to the long-haired teen who leads
the worship band (and plays the douche
at the Yogurt Mill every Sunday night).
I scurry into my phone once more and
respond to imaginary text messages.I wait for the night to end before the sermon
begin. The crowd gravitates to the chairs
furthest from me, but a new girl breaks
the taboo and sits beside me. She anoints me
a saint with her oceanic eyes–she offers
me her name–she brings me back to life;
I offer her kindness incarcerated for years.
We exchange social graces that gild the surface
of the treasure chest we just discovered,
then we turn to the pulpit as Pastor Mike prepares
his sermon–as I prepare to listen again
for the first time in three years. -
Shadow
A ghost, I slither through her entourage,
slide fingers into the seams telescopic eyes unveiled–
tabooed truth among the moles and mimes–and pull:
black shirt ironed with logos of pop punk bands
slip off her shoulders; faded jeans pressed
with handprints of former friends fall, followed
by panties and bra–bare but for her Vans.
Mesmerized by the scenic mountains for millennia,
drawn to the depths of crevices I dreamt to explore
since the day we first met at the church’s cafe,
but still I search for more seams to unstring–
a loose thread dangles from her tongue’s sheathed edge.
Persistence powered by pain pulls until even the flesh
I fantasized about fucking falls to the dirt–beneath
the silk is found neither bone nor muscle nor heart
nor brain–only darkness unnoticed those midnights
I followed her into alleys after worship, but now I see
in the bright hangover light her contours conform
to the bottom of the soles of the boys she follows–
everywhere. Now I see why she spoke so highly
of animal rights when I was her best friend. -
Tears
Shut slits drip drops–
the streams stain the flushed face
in whitewashed trails across the expanse
beneath the quaking horizon,
but not one drop drips
into the serpent’s plate–
each drizzles into hands drawn
toward infinitely toward infancy–
dabbled in novelties that ferment
into renovated firmaments–
oblivion’s face debased
as the prince commences the crusade.
Even vinegar sweetens deserted
palates–the density sobers inebriated
stations, cracks the core of Calvary,
resurrects crucified love renewed:
I am reborn. -
Flagellation
The thief wakes me from the dream I fell in–
the nightmare frightens away my inhibitions–
I crawl through thorny gardens–they puncture
the box that imprisons my spirit–torrents
flood the desert I strayed into–stranded
on a lie by a girl I once loved and still require
for life–and pour into plains with a tempest
that quakes the stillborn world. The Sea reborn
on midnight as the dawn approaches.
The drought ends when the rain begins. -
Lifting You Up
To lift you up: my body’s agony,
my heart’s delight. Though arms will buckle, sight
will never sore to witness you defy
the laws of gravity when you take flight.Your joy when willowy legs levitate
above gravity’s chains give flight to doves
the hunters pinioned. Though teeth gnash from weight
so great, the world I’ll carry you above.No treasure–even Columbine–I’ll hold
as devotedly as I carry you–
more polish than pearl, more glimmer than gold–
whose laugh empties the grave and tames the shrew.Though muscles tear, I’ll suffer every trial
to relish the manna that is your smile. -
Reprisal of Spring
To wean off her is unlikely these days.
She tastes like Eden’s roses that pricked me
last Summer. Autumn ends. Winter remains.Her emeralds eclipsed the Sun and stained
my sight with light that tints everything I see;
to wean off her is unlikely these days.I sheltered in her home as seasons changed
but fled from her when I spotted the fleas
last Summer. Autumn ends. Winter remains.I crawled through wilderness and ate of grain
but never found melons that taste as sweet;
to wean off her is unlikely these days.I circle homes in which I’ve seen her play
and vainly cry for mercy–to reprieve
last Summer. Autumn ends. Winter remains.Therefore, I had no choice but set aflame
her homes, her gardens, and even her fleas.
To wean off me is unlikely these days.
This Summer, Autumn ends. Winter remains. -
Slippery freeways steer me toward diesel
Slippery freeways
steer me toward diesels as I
write Hayden’s ballad. -
All Things for All People
It’s the end of an era for me. Happy New Year! Happy New Decade!
An oyster for every cunt
who wooed me with purrs;
an abyss for every dick
who poked at my flaws;
a puppet for the princess
who strayed among mutts;
a puppy for the bitches
who marked me with shit;
a slave for every god
who drowned me in dreams.
All things for all people
left nothing for me.