poetry

milkshake

It’s too simple

To say you hated him

Hate implies a connection

(Between sips of your

Milkshake

To sweeten the bitter taste

Which comes when you

Say his name)

It is a zen indifference

You spoke of

The scars formed

Blossomed for a time

Heavy enough to make

Branches bend

But then they fell away

And you broke the branches

Of their actions

Made a fire to keep out

The cold

And burned their infection away

Dead flesh of yours burned along with it

New and healing with time

You slurp the thick last inch

Branches of veins at your temples

Then you thank them

And

Leave

You listened

And in doing so

Took a small measure of

Whatever they said

They weren’t feeling

But your hands shake

As you go outside

And the milk sits

Heavy in your stomach

It is a comfort to

not float away

Howling with

Anger

And see yourself

Becoming nothing but a dot

In the sky

 

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poetry

Listening To The Mimes

Please be 

Quiet

Please

I’m trying to 

Listen to the

Mimes

Paying attention

Because there is

A clarity to 

the things they say

Sit down with me

And we will

Watch them together

Like stars 

Or the soft fall of leaves. 

Have them teach us

The way 

Forward.

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poetry, Uncategorized

in the trunk

Here in the dark,

Roar of tires on the asphalt

Wondering where my God is,

And when He will pay me back

What He owes me

The musk of petroleum,

Endless packed bursts of despairing sweat

As I pretend all those episodes

of crime procedural dramas taught me

anything

But scripts need the suspect not to call

Their lawyer

And my hustle remains in place

Finding a dark comfort in knowing

This is how it ends.

From a business perspective,

It’s counter-intuitive but I’ve got cigarettes and

They didn’t tie my hands

And people see the beard and the easy manner

Don’t seem to get it all comes

Because I know my monsters

My darkness

And even my woman asked me,

And I answered

But still should’ve listened to her

Otherwise

I wouldn’t

Be

Here

In the first place

But like any good monster

I need a lair

To wait the day out.

No matter who comes in

I’ll be leaving with blood

On my teeth.

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poetry

Almost Real

carved to order

By sacrifices made

Been sold for love

And sent to the salt

Mines

All you’ve asked is to be seen

Until you saw yourself

And to know the pleasure

Of being wanted 

Not needed

Bearing the burden

Still sometimes struggling

But borne with strength

This too,shall pass

Through to sweetness 

And again

should such flowers fail 

to bloom,

remember you’re real

No matter who carved you

Planed the rough parts

Smooth and pleasing to touch

And beneath the right lights

You’re

Almost

Real

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beauty, lust, poetry, sex, women

enough

The warm sweetness of your skin

Sometimes the want makes it

difficult not to tear you away

ravish you until you’re insensible

stretching out each moment

as you tremble beneath my rough hands

gentle in the tender places

a musician’s hand

an artist’s eye

a poet’s tongue

all once the art has been made

at play against your skin

you might tire of my weakness in time,

but the strength which flows through me,

lets you alone at my whim

and when the urge occurs,

i would take you

over and over

until the walls dripped with sweat

and you,

supine and glorious,

beg me enough

enough

enough

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beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

fire in the broken places

Apart from things

Which no longer hurt

Bled until my limbs grew numb

But walked until it clotted

There’s more to me

Than my failings 

Temporary flaws

Burned to flakes of white ash

In the fire of my determination,

so you see,

I am careful and quiet

In my appreciation

a warm arrogance 

and informed by

the quiet knowledge

I know I will survive

But touch my broken places

I’m stronger there

And does your touch

Reach past to the warmth

Which exudes there

Makes your palms damp

With its roiling heat.

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beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

candyskin

cover you in candyskin

so i can eat it off you

composed of licks

like masterful brushstrokes

against canvas

throb against me

because here,

i am the slow roll of thunder

building to a point where

you turn me into an animal

every nerve wired and directed

towards the release

inside you

but the storm builds

and the charge grows

trembling and thickening

pin you to the bed

force your thighs apart

because my want

is the path through the woods

and when i lay you down

sometimes rough with the want

you are not at grandmother’s house

but with a wolf

and so my tongue licks slow

warm and languid

cover you in candyskin

so i can eat it off you

 

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