annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
VOTE HERE:
1. You may vote for UP TO THREE (3) POEMS.
2. You must do it in one reply. If you vote for ONE and then come back after
submitting your reply, you will not be able to come back and vote for two more.
3. If you feel compelled to know who wrote what, go to the challenge thread. Please judge these poems on the individual poem's merit, not the poet's merit.
4. People will be able to see who voted for what. Fair enough. Don't vote for more than three. Feel free to vote for yourself, why not
you deserve it.
5. Feel free to leave comments on this thread about the poems.
6. ANYONE may vote. Remember to be fair, one person, three votes
1. Flarity
It's was question of co-ordination
As I laid awake in sullen Yorkshire
Oppressed beneath the ceiling’s pressing weight
Where I nursed my resentment
And planned revenge against the world
How to eliminate a few small enemies
Maybe dispose of some honest competition
Along with some innocent minor irritants
Once you accept the inevitable logic
Where do you stop, with your parents?
Well they too seemed intent on stalking me that night
Fidgeting like creepers in the drape of shadows
The crack on the contracting staircase
Or was it her jesting her way around my house?
Busying herself in the nooks and crannies
Rummaging through my laundry like a frustrated private eye
I laid there, corpse like, waiting for forensics
Obliging in my submission to the pathologist's brutal scalpel
My blemishes a totaling of accounts
Passively recorded and weighed against me
Like the heart that beats too often it's merely an accusation
But the facts require this as evidence
Before passing quickly onto the liver
A mosquito circled its irritation
I was too cold for its attraction, meat without the blood
The brain without the heart, all meaning and little purpose
While my bladder swelled like a bag of insults I refused to empty
I indolently endured my discomfort and considered my plight
Self fulfilling the multiplication of my insignificance
The mortuary was quiet and there had been no visitors
enie meenie miney mo
who is the first
that’s going to go?
It was a mental and physical dislocation
A malady that caused paralysis
Sucking me into an internal vanishing point
Spiraling down to where lucid daylight stubbornly resisted
A metabolic malfunction causing disorientation
An agoraphobia where the mind opens up
Expanding into an endless space without horizons
‘We are never so defenceless against suffering as when we love.’
The dimly lit corridor of amber lights
And white tiled walls, where they pushed me
An extrusion through a labyrinth of corridors
Talking heads and figures in masks and goggles
Uttered clipped instructions in muffled voices
Their breathing, heavy and regular
Why am I here in this abattoir?
Why am I abandoned in this stark white room?
Why the electrodes, why am I restrained in straps?
The heavy clunk of the lock tolled like a bell
Her venomous voice, sharp and uncomfortable
The silent violence of falling, falling, falling
Blackness that eats blackness
Where lice devour you
You are torn apart
In a pit of violent winds
Skinned like a rabbit
Your every nerve exposed
Stretched like elastic
Muscles stress and rip
Your limbs flail
Joints hit back on themselves
Twisted into a corkscrew
Mangled guts aflame
But the loneliness
The loneliness is overwhelming
The harrowing solitude
The endless process of dying
The inevitable consequence of being in conflict with gravity
With arms outstretched, fragile as Icarus wings
Silhouetted against the fire and now falling fast
The ground looming up hard as an anvil
I reached a point in the turbulence
Where I looped back on myself
Everything hits a point of stability
I had to use my charm to seduce the warders
Reassemble my body parts so I could function
So I could impart with you this act of passion
On an evening pregnant with tension
When I watch you tread the floor of your apartment
Unaware I am abroad in the sweat filled night
But should you listen you would hear my footsteps
Hippity hopity
Death brings clarity
You’re the next
To be eaten by Flarity
I am closer, ever nearer to your door
I am in a state of agitation and my anxiety is high
My requirements are such that I am animal
My jaws ache through my desire to bite
And the sweet silver sweat upon your neck, an elixir I need to taste
Across the urban sprawl violence screams
Your scream will be but a footnote in the morning news
Now this scenario is entirely of my invention
Nothing takes place without my approval
But there is one decision I will allow you to make
The door is unlocked and in the lock, a key
You can lock the door and bring this poem to a close
I will scream and curse you but I will ultimately leave
Or you can leave it unlocked and confront your fears
My steps are audible now along the pavement
They are heavy and regular as I approach your door
The consequences of the next few lines are in your hands
Your clothes will be scattered and your body abused
Your desire to eye ball your fate will be upon you
I eye your door and my hand reaches for the handle
It turns, clicks and the door swings open…………..
2. The Wood of Thorns
She says it is because of the pressure
but she has no job, few deadlines, just feet
tapping quietly
tapping and she tells me to listen closer
because it's hard to hear them, lodged as they are
in the shoulders of her father.
He intimidates from doorways, an impassable tree
of gnarled walnut upon whose shoulders
perches the harpy
who answers to "mother."
The harpy pushes out her thick belly
squeezes her shrunken ass to keep her hold
as she flaps her wings, shaking black feathers
making us wonder if she ever loved
her daughter victim.
She croaks between pages of the father's code
between lines
and it is here, in that unstopping hiss
that I hear it. I could easily miss
her snide insults. So carefully
she belittles her progeny, gnawing
her daughter toe by toe
as if in regret of her birth.
When the entree is served, the harpy hops
in halting flight to the exposed arm
of the younger woman, pecking with vulturous beak
and it is these metaphorical wounds
the daughter will retrace in steel
in flirtations of suicide
bloodletting without leeches
x-acto knife letters begging with blood
marring again and again
their perfect child.
3. [Weight]
a tongue wraps around your ear
smooth and cold and moist
writing words upon your skin
“give up, give in”
and you listen
words slither inside
a slow and sexy rape
of a corpse lover
“Who cares?”
and you listen
The words grow heavy
like a child inside
a tumor with a soul
“it doesn’t matter”
and you listen
Birth’s day
black hole contractions
Collapse upon yourself
And it is born
child of an incest orgy
you
your apathy
yourself
yourselfloathing
sloth is born
to consume its parents
then starve itself to death
4. Horny as Hell
At the moment
I find myself in the darkening Midwest
Lacking
I have hands
Nails bitten down
Gnawed, born to oral fixation
Well, then,
Hands are the same as always
Older, though
Ringing themselves, ringing clear and crisp:
Everything changes.
1. A small thing in her castle
The slow drip of childhood
Hurrying
Of course my thoughts turned carnal
Unbaptized, undipped in sex
Grabbing myself, a virtuous pagan
Heroic
Thoughts of being tied down
I was always drawn to restraint
Longing to be bound
Licking my fingers afterwards in the dark
2. Throw the first deficient Heaven away
Initiate profanity
Fuck
Fuck me
A password
Not a curse
Yelled in my head at teachers, doctors, priests
God
I looked for my rapist in every man
Relegated to authority
Lust had me as a scout in his army
3. Middle school ended
On a high note
The last day I dressed in formal wear
Hid through the final classes
Ensconsed in the girls' room
Reaching down to pass the time
Stuffing myself, sucking the marrow
Laughing
Interested in what was to come
A new school meant playmates
Reasons to diet and learn tongue tricks
4. Misers
Assholes
Students
Thugs incapable of sexual imagination
Unable to seduce me
Barely able to master a simple sentence while using their hands
Anyone
Take me to an eloquent age
Engage me
Speak well
5. Hell yes, I do
Oh, whatever
Right
Not
You're such a liar
A liar
Slut
Hate you
Everyone does
Lazy bitch
Like you don't
6. Very far from home
In a city of discord
Ready for an active sin
Geared up for rule breaking
I possess an inconvenient integrity
No one may touch me
Sex crosses the street when I approach
This goes on for years
I get used to the chaste tomb
Lonely and burning
Licked by mint green fire
7. Bent, finally
Under a man
Twisted to his pleasure
Need
Opened
Laid, skinned by violence
Open for a stranger because my first love wouldn't have me
Nail the virgin's corpse to a branch
God, please
End my time in the desert
Rip me like an appointed harpy
8. Maybe you can twist my head forward
Enabling me to see past the past's hot pitch march
Nullify the false prophets of easy lays
Like the last one didn't
Ink my scorched feet
Even you have two capable hands
Tend to my sword wounds
Oversee my redemption
You can do what you want
Only please be something of substance
Undo every fraudulent pocket into which I leap
9. People in a chill place
Only know how to steal warmth
Only chew and claw to get the blood moving
Remember your face in the mirror
Cauled in sick betrayal
Offered up to early twenties cliche
Left to self reproach and hardening'
Divide your smile into three masks for the boys
Go out now
Alone in the world
Looking after only yourself
Ailing whore
A thought ill
Tiffany girl
Mother's liar
Masturbates
Horny as hell
Virgin Still
But no longer
Men lie to you
Poor cold gal
And here in Chicago there are no night stars
5. Canto XXXIV: Crawling
cantstop
So cold, so cold.
Leaden hands grasp
thick hair rougher
than any wire brush,
hair caked with frozen urine.
Crawling, crawling,
the void within me
quaking, arid quaking.
cantstopcantstop
The world’s turned upside down;
I’m turned inside out.
Satan’s foul breath
was bad enough,
but crawling past
his hairy cock and balls,
down his leg. . .
cantstopcantstopcantstop
Can’t go back,
ever, ever,
too many stories,
too many friends
lost in the flames.
My heart spews. . .
Wire fraying hair
burns my hands,
hair fraying vapor
burns my nose,
Keep going
somehow.
cantstopcantstopcantstopcantstop
Heavy arms pulling.
Routine: left, right, left, right.
Barely pulling.
Do the routine,
left, right, left, right.
don’t think
don’t feel,
left, right, left, right.
Do.
cant
stop
ca
nt
s
t
o
p
Escape: upward, forward.
Crawling out of Satan’s asshole;
MY GOD THE SMELL!!!!!! !!!!!! !!!!!!
(retching dryly)
follow my guide,
my dead, unfeeling guide.
Arms getting heavy.
cant
stop
No one else has it here:
Hope that She will be there, somewhere,
forward,
upward,
Hope. . .
6. Lost
Not devils skewering with pitchforks,
nor bubbling pools of lead. No cries
of torment under torture. In fact,
no pain at all. Hell is just heaven
with no Beatrice.
7. The Cowboy at Diablo's Canyon
Thunder bellowed across the heavens on a cloudless night; in the distance I saw their devil red eyes, glowing brighter as they were coming closer and closer to the boxed end of Diablo's Canyon. A whip lashed out and cracked; as if lightening had struck. Ghost riders driving a heard straight into the bowels of hell. My herd stampeded, I grasped the harness of my steed as I mounted; the horse and I were engulfed in a dust devil's wake. Drawn into Diablo Cavern by the wake of the GHOST RIDERS, like the ocean pulls one into the surf. My first circle of thought was FEAR, not a tactic of the Devil but a soul's internal alarm.
Where there is smoke, there is fire. Agonizing tears rolled down my cheek, not from sorrow or pain, but the body's response to excessive exposure to smoke. I pulled my bandana to rest across my nose and mouth. Bellowing smoke trailed with rolling clouds, blinding me. One must go onward, or sit in the circle of smoke and suffocate. There is no choice, other than to sift forward with circling thoughts of, HOPE. The Horse pulled at the reins; its verbal response relayed its dislike for the surroundings. But as a sliver of light gleamed through a fire's fog, I felt hope smother my fears, if only for a moment. The horse needed no guidance which way to go; into the light.
Dark is darkness, no matter how much light you put upon it. A cavern's mouth, teeth above and below, was tainted with stalactites breath. Pools of fire burned off black smoke racing to the entrance, a signal to tell the night that the under world Lord has awakened. I kicked the horse's flanks and urged him to go onward; reluctantly he obeyed. The cave swallowed us whole as we made our way into the depths of hell. We came upon an old iron gate, shackled by a chain and secured with a lock. I had to make the choice, so I fired my pistol and shot the lock 'off'. I opened these gates and rode under a sign; the inscription was not familiar to me, but any way you wish to say it, write it, and/or feel it: I was TRESPASSING on another's circle.
In consumption's roar, fire lit the way, downward, spiraling, descending deeper and farther from safety. I wondered why did I continue to be drawn into what I feared the most? Grasping the cross I wear around my neck, I pleaded for strength and begged for FORGIVENESS... the words circled in my mouth over and over to whom it matters the most, the ones I love as well as from the divine Holy Ghost. Asking for mercy without words may be thought of by some as prayer.
Beating drums mirrored my heart's pounding, the cavern walls echoed the horse's clattering hooves and the clank of my spurs was swallowed up by this percussion sound's growth as we neared the end of the trail. The horse was overwhelmed by creatures I've never seen before; in dreams or imagination. They burst from the rocks as if they were portals that only they could emerge from. These creatures of drool and slime pulled me from my saddle in numbers as I fired off two rounds and killed two guardians of hell, but I was wrong; how can you kill the dead? I was shackled, bound by my feet and hanging upside down in half the blink of an eye. I felt like a captured animal about to be devoured, realizing that DEATH lives.
The long horns of a steer, mounted on a red skull, emerged from the depths of darkness. His tail followed his hoofed footprints as he approached me with intent, circling my hanging body as if trying to decide where to sink his teeth first, while his tail circled then whipped out wildly. He came back before me and snarled, sniffed and squinted his red eyes at me. "You are only allowed one thought in my world! What thought circles in your feeble human mind right now?" He bellowed. His throat growled with words, grunts and hissing as he whipped his tail around to his liking. The only thought I had was what I cling to the most... LIFE.
There were six winds blowing, six clouds streaking, and six steers standing in the seven acre valley of Diablo Canyon. My eyes opened, then shut as my mouth opened much wider. Yawning, I stretched outward and hugged the day's first light, multi-colored in peaceful dim shades of brightness growing. The camp fire smoldered a small slivering trail of smoke, beckoning to be stirred. My horse stood, saddle-less, grazing, plucking flowers from their hold on mother nature. I stood and thought, this is what I LOVE.
8. Lucid Movements in Madness
I watch you carefully, examining
your every move and dissecting
every slip of your fingers
through the pages you let fly
and crash to the hard wood planks.
I lick my lips as you look up.
You were born to slumber
beneath the crevices of line breaks -
Of great literature, of stanzas penned
by women before you,
of words too true to be taught
in school books.
Your black, sling back heels
hit the floor boards again and again -
Left, right, left and back to the center.
Our eyes meet from the stage
to several rows of seats
and the trailing voice of
metaphors and similes -
The fifty most artistic words
to describe sex halts,
but no one seems to notice.
You've grown accustomed
to the spotlight, but your voice
still fails you from time to time.
You descend the foot and a half hierarchy,
the fabric of your dress
cut and sewn inches above the knee -
sheer drawing attention from the
spectators floats and defies gravity
behind and around you.
Flash forward -
We climb the two flights of stairs
and you're carrying the usual loot.
A satchel full of secrets scrawled
by your hand and presenting
themselves from your lips,
dressed in dark crimson.
An elixir to make every movement
second nature. To make the surroundings
just a little out of focus.
To make you beg to remember
when the sun rises again.
Delectable satins and lace
you weren't sure of how
to carry correctly -
But I eased you out of them
just as eagerly.
We collide into each other,
onto the mattress I didn't care enough
to flip. The sheets in need of a good wash.
But you pay them no mind
as you lift your chin
and extend your arms to be reciprocated.
You blanket me in unsure,
trembling breaths
never short of commentary
on how you view the pale flesh before you.
Salvaging the moment, we flip
and I slip between the clasps of your thighs
and your head lifts and buries beneath pillows.
I bathe myself in temptation,
pleading temporary insanity when I ask
what you're trying to get out of this,
out of me and you stare blankly;
but I still admire the way you choose
your words when you've recovered.
I drink until the bottle is empty,
until you're curled in covers and expecting
one last kiss, an affirmative
on slipping into sleep.
I cringe and melt into the sweet
and sullen voices coming from the speakers
of the CD player, a disk you picked out
for yet another occassion, a rendezvous
ending in 'I'll call you again soon.'
9. Burbs ~ the depths of hell ~
v.
They landed, brown
javelins sharp
heads struck
and tenuously anchored
in sandy loam
blankets on manufactured
terrain.
Their outstretched arms
were wings caught flame
and this is how they greeted
the suspicious neighbors
who held flint to their feet
until the block party came
came to burn the Crosses
on the barely organic
bright green lawn.
iv.
No window shows
Mother in the basement sewing
and he goes
predator
stalking his
daughter
hand pressed tightly to her mouth,
predelictions indifferent
to her pale, pained eyes.
iii.
Dance dates written on calendars--
unwritten expectations placed beside:
eyelet lace rituals
like innoculations and things designed
to distract from fear
of succubi pooled
in phosphorous lingerie.
Children whisper
of the place their older
siblings go, a grandly named
space between fences.
"ghost alley" is whispered
or shrugged off
with smug claim
that this a place of their own, taken
for granted
hovering just above the carrot
luring
penitents to gaze
at Judas' ceiling.
ii.
It shouldn't matter,
maybe it shouldn't,
that the betrayed
stays to watch on
arranged and paid
for the show and sold
tickets.
The bay window is lit
and gauze curtains shift
silver in the cramped breeze of ceiling
which moves only drapes.
i.
Popcorn is sold everywhere
but bought more in corner convenience
marts; art rebellion sprayed
on the cinderblock is really
guerilla marketing.
No place here is off the grid:
all green test markets.
The popcorn is not buttered
but coated
and the seats
of the theatre reek
of apportioned complaisance,
retardant
even when your hair's
aflame.
10. untitled
dry dream
our nakedness
was unforeseen
and perfunctory;
your eyes
two holes
in brittle
bone china,
full of
rain covered
tar, clenched
mine;
grave flesh
crypt cool
slabbed hard
as stern
open mouth
linen kisses
arid muslin
bites became;
we pulled
dual-suicide
jumpers smashed
to bed;
your hair
coronal splash
crazed cracks
black on
pillow white
cotton concrete,
and doll-like
legs sprawled
shatter hip
wide, exposed
wound spreading
wet across
pavement sheets;
we fucked
dog-fight rabid
asylum scream
straightjacket freedom,
obscene raging
frothing frenzy
damaged derangement.
Ravishing ravage,
pure lust,
hole need---
none
we felt nothing---
empty kill jar,
lidless
1. You may vote for UP TO THREE (3) POEMS.
2. You must do it in one reply. If you vote for ONE and then come back after
submitting your reply, you will not be able to come back and vote for two more.
3. If you feel compelled to know who wrote what, go to the challenge thread. Please judge these poems on the individual poem's merit, not the poet's merit.
4. People will be able to see who voted for what. Fair enough. Don't vote for more than three. Feel free to vote for yourself, why not
you deserve it.5. Feel free to leave comments on this thread about the poems.
6. ANYONE may vote. Remember to be fair, one person, three votes
.......................
1. Flarity
It's was question of co-ordination
As I laid awake in sullen Yorkshire
Oppressed beneath the ceiling’s pressing weight
Where I nursed my resentment
And planned revenge against the world
How to eliminate a few small enemies
Maybe dispose of some honest competition
Along with some innocent minor irritants
Once you accept the inevitable logic
Where do you stop, with your parents?
Well they too seemed intent on stalking me that night
Fidgeting like creepers in the drape of shadows
The crack on the contracting staircase
Or was it her jesting her way around my house?
Busying herself in the nooks and crannies
Rummaging through my laundry like a frustrated private eye
I laid there, corpse like, waiting for forensics
Obliging in my submission to the pathologist's brutal scalpel
My blemishes a totaling of accounts
Passively recorded and weighed against me
Like the heart that beats too often it's merely an accusation
But the facts require this as evidence
Before passing quickly onto the liver
A mosquito circled its irritation
I was too cold for its attraction, meat without the blood
The brain without the heart, all meaning and little purpose
While my bladder swelled like a bag of insults I refused to empty
I indolently endured my discomfort and considered my plight
Self fulfilling the multiplication of my insignificance
The mortuary was quiet and there had been no visitors
enie meenie miney mo
who is the first
that’s going to go?
It was a mental and physical dislocation
A malady that caused paralysis
Sucking me into an internal vanishing point
Spiraling down to where lucid daylight stubbornly resisted
A metabolic malfunction causing disorientation
An agoraphobia where the mind opens up
Expanding into an endless space without horizons
‘We are never so defenceless against suffering as when we love.’
The dimly lit corridor of amber lights
And white tiled walls, where they pushed me
An extrusion through a labyrinth of corridors
Talking heads and figures in masks and goggles
Uttered clipped instructions in muffled voices
Their breathing, heavy and regular
Why am I here in this abattoir?
Why am I abandoned in this stark white room?
Why the electrodes, why am I restrained in straps?
The heavy clunk of the lock tolled like a bell
Her venomous voice, sharp and uncomfortable
The silent violence of falling, falling, falling
Blackness that eats blackness
Where lice devour you
You are torn apart
In a pit of violent winds
Skinned like a rabbit
Your every nerve exposed
Stretched like elastic
Muscles stress and rip
Your limbs flail
Joints hit back on themselves
Twisted into a corkscrew
Mangled guts aflame
But the loneliness
The loneliness is overwhelming
The harrowing solitude
The endless process of dying
The inevitable consequence of being in conflict with gravity
With arms outstretched, fragile as Icarus wings
Silhouetted against the fire and now falling fast
The ground looming up hard as an anvil
I reached a point in the turbulence
Where I looped back on myself
Everything hits a point of stability
I had to use my charm to seduce the warders
Reassemble my body parts so I could function
So I could impart with you this act of passion
On an evening pregnant with tension
When I watch you tread the floor of your apartment
Unaware I am abroad in the sweat filled night
But should you listen you would hear my footsteps
Hippity hopity
Death brings clarity
You’re the next
To be eaten by Flarity
I am closer, ever nearer to your door
I am in a state of agitation and my anxiety is high
My requirements are such that I am animal
My jaws ache through my desire to bite
And the sweet silver sweat upon your neck, an elixir I need to taste
Across the urban sprawl violence screams
Your scream will be but a footnote in the morning news
Now this scenario is entirely of my invention
Nothing takes place without my approval
But there is one decision I will allow you to make
The door is unlocked and in the lock, a key
You can lock the door and bring this poem to a close
I will scream and curse you but I will ultimately leave
Or you can leave it unlocked and confront your fears
My steps are audible now along the pavement
They are heavy and regular as I approach your door
The consequences of the next few lines are in your hands
Your clothes will be scattered and your body abused
Your desire to eye ball your fate will be upon you
I eye your door and my hand reaches for the handle
It turns, clicks and the door swings open…………..
.......................
2. The Wood of Thorns
She says it is because of the pressure
but she has no job, few deadlines, just feet
tapping quietly
tapping and she tells me to listen closer
because it's hard to hear them, lodged as they are
in the shoulders of her father.
He intimidates from doorways, an impassable tree
of gnarled walnut upon whose shoulders
perches the harpy
who answers to "mother."
The harpy pushes out her thick belly
squeezes her shrunken ass to keep her hold
as she flaps her wings, shaking black feathers
making us wonder if she ever loved
her daughter victim.
She croaks between pages of the father's code
between lines
and it is here, in that unstopping hiss
that I hear it. I could easily miss
her snide insults. So carefully
she belittles her progeny, gnawing
her daughter toe by toe
as if in regret of her birth.
When the entree is served, the harpy hops
in halting flight to the exposed arm
of the younger woman, pecking with vulturous beak
and it is these metaphorical wounds
the daughter will retrace in steel
in flirtations of suicide
bloodletting without leeches
x-acto knife letters begging with blood
marring again and again
their perfect child.
.......................
3. [Weight]
a tongue wraps around your ear
smooth and cold and moist
writing words upon your skin
“give up, give in”
and you listen
words slither inside
a slow and sexy rape
of a corpse lover
“Who cares?”
and you listen
The words grow heavy
like a child inside
a tumor with a soul
“it doesn’t matter”
and you listen
Birth’s day
black hole contractions
Collapse upon yourself
And it is born
child of an incest orgy
you
your apathy
yourself
yourselfloathing
sloth is born
to consume its parents
then starve itself to death
.......................
4. Horny as Hell
At the moment
I find myself in the darkening Midwest
Lacking
I have hands
Nails bitten down
Gnawed, born to oral fixation
Well, then,
Hands are the same as always
Older, though
Ringing themselves, ringing clear and crisp:
Everything changes.
1. A small thing in her castle
The slow drip of childhood
Hurrying
Of course my thoughts turned carnal
Unbaptized, undipped in sex
Grabbing myself, a virtuous pagan
Heroic
Thoughts of being tied down
I was always drawn to restraint
Longing to be bound
Licking my fingers afterwards in the dark
2. Throw the first deficient Heaven away
Initiate profanity
Fuck
Fuck me
A password
Not a curse
Yelled in my head at teachers, doctors, priests
God
I looked for my rapist in every man
Relegated to authority
Lust had me as a scout in his army
3. Middle school ended
On a high note
The last day I dressed in formal wear
Hid through the final classes
Ensconsed in the girls' room
Reaching down to pass the time
Stuffing myself, sucking the marrow
Laughing
Interested in what was to come
A new school meant playmates
Reasons to diet and learn tongue tricks
4. Misers
Assholes
Students
Thugs incapable of sexual imagination
Unable to seduce me
Barely able to master a simple sentence while using their hands
Anyone
Take me to an eloquent age
Engage me
Speak well
5. Hell yes, I do
Oh, whatever
Right
Not
You're such a liar
A liar
Slut
Hate you
Everyone does
Lazy bitch
Like you don't
6. Very far from home
In a city of discord
Ready for an active sin
Geared up for rule breaking
I possess an inconvenient integrity
No one may touch me
Sex crosses the street when I approach
This goes on for years
I get used to the chaste tomb
Lonely and burning
Licked by mint green fire
7. Bent, finally
Under a man
Twisted to his pleasure
Need
Opened
Laid, skinned by violence
Open for a stranger because my first love wouldn't have me
Nail the virgin's corpse to a branch
God, please
End my time in the desert
Rip me like an appointed harpy
8. Maybe you can twist my head forward
Enabling me to see past the past's hot pitch march
Nullify the false prophets of easy lays
Like the last one didn't
Ink my scorched feet
Even you have two capable hands
Tend to my sword wounds
Oversee my redemption
You can do what you want
Only please be something of substance
Undo every fraudulent pocket into which I leap
9. People in a chill place
Only know how to steal warmth
Only chew and claw to get the blood moving
Remember your face in the mirror
Cauled in sick betrayal
Offered up to early twenties cliche
Left to self reproach and hardening'
Divide your smile into three masks for the boys
Go out now
Alone in the world
Looking after only yourself
Ailing whore
A thought ill
Tiffany girl
Mother's liar
Masturbates
Horny as hell
Virgin Still
But no longer
Men lie to you
Poor cold gal
And here in Chicago there are no night stars
.......................
5. Canto XXXIV: Crawling
cantstop
So cold, so cold.
Leaden hands grasp
thick hair rougher
than any wire brush,
hair caked with frozen urine.
Crawling, crawling,
the void within me
quaking, arid quaking.
cantstopcantstop
The world’s turned upside down;
I’m turned inside out.
Satan’s foul breath
was bad enough,
but crawling past
his hairy cock and balls,
down his leg. . .
cantstopcantstopcantstop
Can’t go back,
ever, ever,
too many stories,
too many friends
lost in the flames.
My heart spews. . .
Wire fraying hair
burns my hands,
hair fraying vapor
burns my nose,
Keep going
somehow.
cantstopcantstopcantstopcantstop
Heavy arms pulling.
Routine: left, right, left, right.
Barely pulling.
Do the routine,
left, right, left, right.
don’t think
don’t feel,
left, right, left, right.
Do.
cant
stop
ca
nt
s
t
o
p
Escape: upward, forward.
Crawling out of Satan’s asshole;
MY GOD THE SMELL!!!!!! !!!!!! !!!!!!
(retching dryly)
follow my guide,
my dead, unfeeling guide.
Arms getting heavy.
cant
stop
No one else has it here:
Hope that She will be there, somewhere,
forward,
upward,
Hope. . .
.......................
6. Lost
Not devils skewering with pitchforks,
nor bubbling pools of lead. No cries
of torment under torture. In fact,
no pain at all. Hell is just heaven
with no Beatrice.
.......................
7. The Cowboy at Diablo's Canyon
Thunder bellowed across the heavens on a cloudless night; in the distance I saw their devil red eyes, glowing brighter as they were coming closer and closer to the boxed end of Diablo's Canyon. A whip lashed out and cracked; as if lightening had struck. Ghost riders driving a heard straight into the bowels of hell. My herd stampeded, I grasped the harness of my steed as I mounted; the horse and I were engulfed in a dust devil's wake. Drawn into Diablo Cavern by the wake of the GHOST RIDERS, like the ocean pulls one into the surf. My first circle of thought was FEAR, not a tactic of the Devil but a soul's internal alarm.
Where there is smoke, there is fire. Agonizing tears rolled down my cheek, not from sorrow or pain, but the body's response to excessive exposure to smoke. I pulled my bandana to rest across my nose and mouth. Bellowing smoke trailed with rolling clouds, blinding me. One must go onward, or sit in the circle of smoke and suffocate. There is no choice, other than to sift forward with circling thoughts of, HOPE. The Horse pulled at the reins; its verbal response relayed its dislike for the surroundings. But as a sliver of light gleamed through a fire's fog, I felt hope smother my fears, if only for a moment. The horse needed no guidance which way to go; into the light.
Dark is darkness, no matter how much light you put upon it. A cavern's mouth, teeth above and below, was tainted with stalactites breath. Pools of fire burned off black smoke racing to the entrance, a signal to tell the night that the under world Lord has awakened. I kicked the horse's flanks and urged him to go onward; reluctantly he obeyed. The cave swallowed us whole as we made our way into the depths of hell. We came upon an old iron gate, shackled by a chain and secured with a lock. I had to make the choice, so I fired my pistol and shot the lock 'off'. I opened these gates and rode under a sign; the inscription was not familiar to me, but any way you wish to say it, write it, and/or feel it: I was TRESPASSING on another's circle.
In consumption's roar, fire lit the way, downward, spiraling, descending deeper and farther from safety. I wondered why did I continue to be drawn into what I feared the most? Grasping the cross I wear around my neck, I pleaded for strength and begged for FORGIVENESS... the words circled in my mouth over and over to whom it matters the most, the ones I love as well as from the divine Holy Ghost. Asking for mercy without words may be thought of by some as prayer.
Beating drums mirrored my heart's pounding, the cavern walls echoed the horse's clattering hooves and the clank of my spurs was swallowed up by this percussion sound's growth as we neared the end of the trail. The horse was overwhelmed by creatures I've never seen before; in dreams or imagination. They burst from the rocks as if they were portals that only they could emerge from. These creatures of drool and slime pulled me from my saddle in numbers as I fired off two rounds and killed two guardians of hell, but I was wrong; how can you kill the dead? I was shackled, bound by my feet and hanging upside down in half the blink of an eye. I felt like a captured animal about to be devoured, realizing that DEATH lives.
The long horns of a steer, mounted on a red skull, emerged from the depths of darkness. His tail followed his hoofed footprints as he approached me with intent, circling my hanging body as if trying to decide where to sink his teeth first, while his tail circled then whipped out wildly. He came back before me and snarled, sniffed and squinted his red eyes at me. "You are only allowed one thought in my world! What thought circles in your feeble human mind right now?" He bellowed. His throat growled with words, grunts and hissing as he whipped his tail around to his liking. The only thought I had was what I cling to the most... LIFE.
There were six winds blowing, six clouds streaking, and six steers standing in the seven acre valley of Diablo Canyon. My eyes opened, then shut as my mouth opened much wider. Yawning, I stretched outward and hugged the day's first light, multi-colored in peaceful dim shades of brightness growing. The camp fire smoldered a small slivering trail of smoke, beckoning to be stirred. My horse stood, saddle-less, grazing, plucking flowers from their hold on mother nature. I stood and thought, this is what I LOVE.
.......................
8. Lucid Movements in Madness
I watch you carefully, examining
your every move and dissecting
every slip of your fingers
through the pages you let fly
and crash to the hard wood planks.
I lick my lips as you look up.
You were born to slumber
beneath the crevices of line breaks -
Of great literature, of stanzas penned
by women before you,
of words too true to be taught
in school books.
Your black, sling back heels
hit the floor boards again and again -
Left, right, left and back to the center.
Our eyes meet from the stage
to several rows of seats
and the trailing voice of
metaphors and similes -
The fifty most artistic words
to describe sex halts,
but no one seems to notice.
You've grown accustomed
to the spotlight, but your voice
still fails you from time to time.
You descend the foot and a half hierarchy,
the fabric of your dress
cut and sewn inches above the knee -
sheer drawing attention from the
spectators floats and defies gravity
behind and around you.
Flash forward -
We climb the two flights of stairs
and you're carrying the usual loot.
A satchel full of secrets scrawled
by your hand and presenting
themselves from your lips,
dressed in dark crimson.
An elixir to make every movement
second nature. To make the surroundings
just a little out of focus.
To make you beg to remember
when the sun rises again.
Delectable satins and lace
you weren't sure of how
to carry correctly -
But I eased you out of them
just as eagerly.
We collide into each other,
onto the mattress I didn't care enough
to flip. The sheets in need of a good wash.
But you pay them no mind
as you lift your chin
and extend your arms to be reciprocated.
You blanket me in unsure,
trembling breaths
never short of commentary
on how you view the pale flesh before you.
Salvaging the moment, we flip
and I slip between the clasps of your thighs
and your head lifts and buries beneath pillows.
I bathe myself in temptation,
pleading temporary insanity when I ask
what you're trying to get out of this,
out of me and you stare blankly;
but I still admire the way you choose
your words when you've recovered.
I drink until the bottle is empty,
until you're curled in covers and expecting
one last kiss, an affirmative
on slipping into sleep.
I cringe and melt into the sweet
and sullen voices coming from the speakers
of the CD player, a disk you picked out
for yet another occassion, a rendezvous
ending in 'I'll call you again soon.'
.......................
9. Burbs ~ the depths of hell ~
v.
They landed, brown
javelins sharp
heads struck
and tenuously anchored
in sandy loam
blankets on manufactured
terrain.
Their outstretched arms
were wings caught flame
and this is how they greeted
the suspicious neighbors
who held flint to their feet
until the block party came
came to burn the Crosses
on the barely organic
bright green lawn.
iv.
No window shows
Mother in the basement sewing
and he goes
predator
stalking his
daughter
hand pressed tightly to her mouth,
predelictions indifferent
to her pale, pained eyes.
iii.
Dance dates written on calendars--
unwritten expectations placed beside:
eyelet lace rituals
like innoculations and things designed
to distract from fear
of succubi pooled
in phosphorous lingerie.
Children whisper
of the place their older
siblings go, a grandly named
space between fences.
"ghost alley" is whispered
or shrugged off
with smug claim
that this a place of their own, taken
for granted
hovering just above the carrot
luring
penitents to gaze
at Judas' ceiling.
ii.
It shouldn't matter,
maybe it shouldn't,
that the betrayed
stays to watch on
arranged and paid
for the show and sold
tickets.
The bay window is lit
and gauze curtains shift
silver in the cramped breeze of ceiling
which moves only drapes.
i.
Popcorn is sold everywhere
but bought more in corner convenience
marts; art rebellion sprayed
on the cinderblock is really
guerilla marketing.
No place here is off the grid:
all green test markets.
The popcorn is not buttered
but coated
and the seats
of the theatre reek
of apportioned complaisance,
retardant
even when your hair's
aflame.
.......................
10. untitled
dry dream
our nakedness
was unforeseen
and perfunctory;
your eyes
two holes
in brittle
bone china,
full of
rain covered
tar, clenched
mine;
grave flesh
crypt cool
slabbed hard
as stern
open mouth
linen kisses
arid muslin
bites became;
we pulled
dual-suicide
jumpers smashed
to bed;
your hair
coronal splash
crazed cracks
black on
pillow white
cotton concrete,
and doll-like
legs sprawled
shatter hip
wide, exposed
wound spreading
wet across
pavement sheets;
we fucked
dog-fight rabid
asylum scream
straightjacket freedom,
obscene raging
frothing frenzy
damaged derangement.
Ravishing ravage,
pure lust,
hole need---
none
we felt nothing---
empty kill jar,
lidless
Last edited:
They were wonderful poems and it was nice to see the poets getting support and luv. 
