all of a sudden passion suddenly

straight razor searching

not tortoise. an ivory moment
of removal, of smooth revelation
under bald glare.

they drape the water like seaweed
or snakes. don't let them
touch me, no severed contact
with skin.

now gather, bind
with floss or string.
hang braids from the rod
till they dry. there is time
for drying

while you're beneath
bone fuse and suture line,
understanding.

In a short chair
sun beats down burning
toes in hot sand

brush of skin on thigh
nudge in crotch

No ignoring

Look beneath Ray-Ban's
as gleaming white teeth
all snarly
bite into tensed belly

~ Pristine beaches
here, there
Ocho Rios is never far

i felt like tellin ya'll a story

little children and licorice sticks



where hellfire burns,
charring bodies tarry black
licorice twists bend melt-y into ribbons,

and with those gooey ribbons,
the devil makes highways for us sinners,
since we long been cast from sight of God

Granny says Praise the Lawd,
Hallelujah, Praise the Lawd!!

in the bastard folds of night,
moonlit promises are soul scarring nightmares
and biblical promises of creeping reapers
trolling for souls caught outdoors after sunset

do you remember those perfectly placed
at the post office and laundry,
how to have your soul damned straight to hell
comic books? instructional pamphlets
printed on the cheapest paper
the Baptist Church could buy, oh I do,
and they almost set me right

cause I read everyone and understood why
Jimmy and Susie were going to hell
for sittin’ up late to see a full moon
and when they were spied beneath
the Confederate Rose,
their unsaved, prepubescent souls were damned
to hellfire, eternally doomed

Deacon Townes came by one Sunday,
full congregation in tow,
he was shaking his fist as his body swayed
and he shouted out prayers for our family’s soul
and he held that decaying bible waaay up high

and I heard Mama praying for a lightening strike,
it took me ten years to understand why

seems Daddy took Mama out to dinner,
tenth anniversary, they had a glass wine
and as they danced, they never noticed
deacon Townes and his pinched-faced wife nearby

seems it was a sin to have a sip,
and then I understood why,
Jimmy and Susie, with their cartoon glazed grins
weren’t real upset about their prospects of burnin’
seems they' d be in real good company
besides, you can always repent-
right before you die

I could count hairs on your leg,
from ankle to thigh,
but there's distraction,
envy of other legs
that curve and spread--

straddling table,
green and metal whore
who holds your appetite.

You reach beneath her
with warm dish,
cum sliding into cracks
that nearly split the center.

It fell from my hand
when you were brutal.

I must clean the plate
before you'll slide out
and leave the slut behind.

If not for the nudge And
the breath of damp
depth, Sand under
knees cooled in Knock
You Over salted waves water and
Wine this time the Salt's
in the ~~breeze~~

*

He who is Not to be
Confused with
You

Crawling
Crawling

*

to eve: from whence it pops

someone
is thinking of combs
and hair and baldness,
dropping tortoise shells
on our heads from above

someone naughty

laughing at the
::utter confusion and stuttering:: of these
his poetesses, still,
wicked and cryptic

laughing
at his ::disturbing the waters:: of a seemingly
still autumn day

he who will not be silent
he who will not be still
he who knows, he :will: feel the autumn
lift hair from her collar--


no more need for comb nor razor
nor hat
yet :still it grows:

!


yes disturbing
wicked, cryptic
and falling onto our heads op:
twisted in our thick hair
fingers through tangles remember
::a curl lifting over his black sweater collar::

yet still it grows
metal shorn
straight metal trim
untouched by shell and pin
yet it grows
right from your head
right from our head

straight razor searching
by WickedEve ©

-

not tortoise. an ivory moment
of removal, of smooth revelation
under bald glare.

it drapes water like seaweed
or snakes. don't let it
touch. no severed contact
with skin. gather,

bind with floss or string.
hang braids from the rod
till they dry. there is time
for drying

while you're beneath
bone fuse and suture line,
understanding.


I think you're all shook up, anna.
11/05/04 by WickedEve
This poem is disturbing. It disturbed me. I'm disturbed that such disturbing things pop into my unshaved head.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

eve
11/05/04 by annaswirls in through
stutters hic
up
and trillllllls
delete me too
swear it was not there when I checked it


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

eve
11/04/04 by Sibilaire in through
this speaks to me
uncombed is your best read
hats hide nothing
that wants shown

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

eve
11/04/04 by Anonymous
this speaks to me
uncombed is your best read
hats hide nothing
that wants shown

Click to expand...

nips and tucks

newest lover tempts with treats
melted long before
licks frosted drips with borrowed tongue
bites with borrowed teeth
hugs with burrowed arms

wanted real to feel, to fill
the holes she poked in him, twice
not thrice, he told her seventeen times
he grandly hated rice
then he rose and threw her teeth back
into the pricey face that she could never own

gray eye sky clouds wink
promise? threat? another
day of errands, no escaping
grownupville much as I will
try but play out moments
it's ok laughing passing bites
of time defy feet on the ground
and everywhere is music
rhythm rocks this world
we've curled around the scratch
of why and there or who
whenever I ally myself to plans
and dreams I forget how to fly
one day then again one day
then again is all the meaning
I can comprehend

Beatnik Chick Poem

Far from streets where once I walked
are houses set against nature, wide-spaced
among the sawtooth landscape, braced
to wind, muscling winter aside,
cursing darkness simply by standing.

This is our human vanity, our defiance,
building restaurants and bars, demanding
a piece of territory. We stare down nature
with hospitality. Even tiny gas-station
convenience stores are dug in to another
way of being, illuminating parking-lot
faces fleshed with a different stoicism

than I once knew for this is no city.
This culture does not fear uncertainty
in the stranger across an avenue,
nor rush to escape screams and sirens.
Not here where solitude won’t outlast time
frozen in the fundamental truth of ice.

These streets are not what I once knew.
I am welcome here in these pools
of endeavor. Well-liked, sometimes
well-loved. I could even stay here,
freezing and thawing. I could return
smiles like always for this is my human

vanity, to nod like always, holding back
whoever it is I am, being the stranger
across the avenue who feels closer to stars
than faces. Who once walked other streets,
homeless within every landscape’s home,
even my own, even myself.

fuck it
all
i want
is sunrise
to tea
temples clean
from hour's mud
and blood
set free
no tick
tock
tick
sick chronos kick
to the tempo of tension
ascension from schedules
screaming
scholary schemes
dreaming detension
of ancient ideals
reaped of redemptopn
and no tick
tock
tick
swallow this sick
sense of sand
flooding lungs
slipping through
my hand
but fuck it
all
i want
is sun and sea
above and under
my balcony
and an hour
a day
just
for
me

fantasy

loins brushing
flash fire electric
heated contact
then bereft so suddenly
shivering cold
confused
wanting

tell me please
to look
deeply
into your eyes

echo

all of my last life
I was a lost child
searching love
constantly working
against grain
fighting elements
of natural
to find they were normal
in the end
finding nothing…

this life I am an echo,
haunting

I tire of poetic reflection
of extrapolations on situations
poised in varied word play
about days and nights
seasons
reasons for fiights
or flights from relationships
luscious lips and inviting hips
twisting to and fro in ecstasy
sunsets slowly melting into oblivion
rain pelting down onto sleazy streets
where wayward lamplight
is the only illumination

To what purpose are these phrases
formed and foisted upon others
do we not hear the same music
are the notes floating not the same
to each of us
is not the sunlight bright at times
and blinding or dim at ohters
obscured in mist
and do two hearts not beat the same
our lungs breathe in and out in
common refrain

Of what import is it to me
that I know how it is you see
and what you feel
and memories you have of long ago
or just last night
What is it that you want
That you think I ought to know

yeilding

to feel the fierceness of your voice
trembling in me
authority, command, taking.

to hear heaved sighs of pleasure
moan of pleased
lingered touch
and reminder there will always be more
of deliciously twisted variety

to push me with each pulse of you
within, around, enveloping
intricate ropes binding
from a trace of finger
across my face
cheek to jawline.

For you to slowly stare
closing distance
a single wing felled
from an eagle
unhurried and sure
in descent

until mouth captured
and the creature within
is stroked
by a swoop of your tongue
tease, beating
under mine
lifting up over and over
tickling underneath

until you hear me whimper
then a muttered growl
complete yielding
to this animal in me.

echoes_s said:

Saturday night alone, house all to myself *sighs*

any more questions tungtied42?

Thank you Vampiric Mirage

Click to expand...

Another night come and gone
with only memories
and not mammaries
to sink my head into

Visions are not the same
as the feel of flesh to flesh
no matter how warm
the remembrance

And what of the aroma
that stirs loins
and the tastes that tease palates
these can not be conjured
from thin air or tongues talents

What do we do
with these memories
but fill pages and evenings
and empty beds
perhaps hoping someone
cares enough to share
them with us.

Loot me,
ride your barbarian hoards
through my rural dust street.
Pillage my village,
strip clean all wealth,
set my hatched roofs
and haystacks on fire.
Take no prisoners,
make no excuses,
no explanations.
Just because,
because you can.

Leave me
a shivering ruin
to assemble from scratch,
to cut fresh wood
and plough new fields.
Still a village,
but with it's last virgin
swept away
by resolute hands.

What was one is done and undone,
a length of grosgrain unbowed
but still of a piece, a slick of silk
that holds back hair or wrapped
around two wrists is hardly felt
barely there until untied it falls.

Everything fails. Everything falls,
leaves end their reign, expose
the craw of branches, clouds let
down their bounty. Rain undoes
dust, drools the earth to puddles.
Snow carpets the same space

mimics death and clocks tick
like metronomes, time edges
past everything but memories
pressed in the pages of other
seasons, brittle roses faded if
unforgotten new ones push past

the passing of was. Omniscience
ruling cycles of change, glances
that remain until heads turn, until
the yearning of some wish awakes
to day and still more voices speak
of go or stay, but these no more

than words, strangled in cups
of morning coffee, swallowed sweet
and bitter, then empty. Done
then undone, carried, dropped,
picked up again, pieced together,
runes and stanzas, oracles

and dreams, the quilt of hopes
or schemes worn ragged warm
and cold, grief buried in its folds
closed lids, one toe of truth
exposed then shrinking back
into belief, the safety of retreat

from what is lost or won and done
or un beginning of the ending
slouching toward something else
unknown, embraced, even in the
wreckage of a poem, the rise
or fall of heart or home, anew. Begun.

Slow dance, first chance
To feel your impression of me
Pressing onto my belly
Denim straining cotton
Tropical warm and damp
With possibility.

Breast to chest chin
Rests on shoulder you feel
My impression begin to
Harden and brush upon your
Black sweater.

Do you mind if I move
In time, hips push, grind
Into you? Blue jean
Secrets pressing seams
In the Junior High gym.

Madonna tells us
"Make the most of the dark"
And we do.
Then we part and start
Over, chance to impart first impressions

"God did you feel him?"
I want him next
Smiles while our boys make adjustments to
Pants and hair, prepare
For the next song.

i honestly didnt like that

really breaking the rules tonight

remember the time
you asked twice why
when I wavered
a breath second
wavering a fat brown dildo
yet I only thought
quietly
when i should have said

to feel fullness
and stretching
hardness
filling and pounding
pushing pain
and think of you
fisting me

but i don’t use it that way
more a tease
to remind me what i am missing
so i would wanton ache
building pressure
to the point of eruption
of a thousand electrified
nerve endings lighting

fuses sparking, igniting
following lines
crackled heat racing
through wires
until impact
where it flares
instead i let it ebb
away

night after night
riding the edge of lust
moaning raze
to the point of wanting
to just grab someone
and take him
and use him
until he has nothing left

Eyes glow in the thick
blinking

You are out there
I am waiting

Trixter

Climb on up here
see what is in store

No ring-tailed bandit
robs this Cajun twice

oily sheen

hides herself behind glycerine
and cornsilk rainbows, blending
color onto a wrinkled, pasty face

she loves her fingernails,enablers
of skin in need of scratching and clawing
at faces with no skin to begin with
and ribbons of light invading her bones
lasers with purpose, intent

on searing softness into the stones
that she never chose
but she recognized those boulders
and the reasons they remained
after everything else had come and went

At this very moment
time is happening

Everything I do affects you

The ripple is infinity
it goes on and on

At this very moment
time is happening

Everything I do affects you

The ripple is infinity
it goes on and on



too much coffee and not enough sleep

On the edge

tentative steps
but then once again
you are staring off the precipice
and into the chasm below

you are familiar with free fall
the sights you pass
on the way down
memories wished forgotten
but branded deep in your tissue

those scars hold two lessons
a warning of what to avoid
but also the promise of healing
consider both before jumping
but if you do
pack a parachute

his touch so tentative
filling her vision with
boiling red rage
he caresses her softly
and green bile chokes
he stands to show his love
she tries to run from
his purple hideousness
her ankle caught
she fades to black.

"It's just a bad dream!"
says Mom

Occam's Razor kisses Chaos Theory

neonurotic said:

At this very moment
time is happening

Everything I do affects you

The ripple is infinity
it goes on and on

At this very moment
time is happening

Everything I do affects you

The ripple is infinity
it goes on and on



too much coffee and not enough sleep

Click to expand...

it is even simpler than you make it seem
that butterfly in Indonesia
fluttering her wings?
you did that too, admit it
the simplest answer is always
mostly likely to make the most sense,
get it? but everything related
I'd just asoon forget it

and join you for a cup
of somethin'