Posts Tagged ‘sweet’

shame


30 Mar

=8-

=8-

over

 
maybe it’s a weakness
but I need
to fall
into the arms of a woman
my head upon the sitting thighs
tonight
tomorrow
a good woman
one that will comfort past the epigraph
no et al, past the marble, the bronze
a cursory fetish, a curiosity tickled
lips treasuring a churlish quiet, a bottom lip to love
slanted snide, waiting to be bitten
tomorrow
tonight
I’m already falling
a conjuring so cruel
I’m falling now
where is our bed

lead me then shoot me

=8-

lovesong # 4


11 May

——–8———

——–8———
lovesong #4

 

are your eyes still brown
or have they changed with the years I haven’t seen them
your skin, I know, I can see
has scars like new gods
peccable upon it
as though creating myths on empty planets
waiting on some unifying abyss
to blithely bring it all together
the granite box on your nightstand like a bird wing
that keeps pages and my soul
dreams in tangible forms,
self-manipulating, improvising until climax
a short time until the holiday
until rest
I’ll see you reading
from across the room, still near
your eyes still brown
my appetite to know you
truly
undiminished
——–8———

vigilance, i guess, one eye closes


12 Dec

————

————

divinities

even in their silences she had to nurture them
it was the way he thought a mother ought to be
the milk warmed for the babies
the sweet delay in life becoming alabaster hiss
she shushes, soft
the voice mellifluent, crafted in succor
the children dream
the mother lays awake
and even in these silences she has to nurture them
because she knows
that monsters truly do exist
and they surround you all the time

(twelve lines for TM)

————

lifted, not far off the ground


01 Dec

—————-

—————-

purple drapery
 
as much as i want to be surrounded by nothing but your underwear
like the rob gordon line
evening blouses, lacey garments, indie fashionista smocks, demonstration commemoration tops
anything and everything disrobed
keeping the apartment messy to stay in bed as long as possible like a lazy bohemian motif
as titillating as all of this might be
colors molted new by each attaching memory
new skin to smell and to remember
new ways to feel your nudity
based on what you’ve left behind along our floor
as proud as i would be to hold such honor
to play footsoldier guarding your place of pardons and reprieve
where you sleep as though the world did not require your full attention
i would drift inside this duty granted
favoring the responsibility to guide any errant follicle of hair
fastidiously grazing over the pathway to your gaze
away from where your dreams may be prevented their foolhardy rushing in
as much as all of this is my ambition, truthfully
i fear i don’t have strength more today than to get stoned
step out onto my balcony
or maybe even to my building’s steps
(no further though, oblomov kush keeping the man grounded to the courtyard)
to whimper just a bit
you were the winter baby to my fever
and it’s too cold outside for me…
… for me to be melting quite this much
i don’t have strength enough right now to get all back together
and they don’t like giving credit out to humpty dumptys anymore
no matter how sweet they deign to sound
like trumpets undistinguished from other metal squalls of night
—————-

nothing to ignore, the world complains


12 Apr

————-

————-

dream sequence after she touched my arm

 

this is my dream of a floating world

where everything is correct

currency is open-warfare lust

you have a touch that pours the bourbon sweet

it takes time

it always has

we’re sailing through it

the acid makes me lazy (like Lazarus’s hypocoristic)

so rest with me, the world can sway all on its own

around us for a while

just learn to let the colors play, little darling, soak inside each iris

do you enjoy creating these new cosmoses with me

without ever leaving this bed

and hey, watch where you wave that thing

there’s already too many burn scars on this blanket

too much ash seeped into the threading of the sheets

don’t give me that look, baby, I won’t be cross

(won’t wear one either, if you ask)

don’t let it concern you though, de trop

we’ll wash each other clean eventually

let me just finish my drink

(you poured it sweet again)

and sleep with you another little while

————-

February 7: I


03 Feb

————-

————-

periodicals

 

newspapers full of fading people

cities delicately reimagined as thieves

blemished, blurred by oily fingers

we all end up alone

unable to see the eyes in front of us

but if you leave, it’ll be even worse than alone

and I’ll have no one to follow during my midnight constitutionals in the park

slowly realizing that we’re all ultimately strangers to each other

strange, strongheaded

whispers that open windows

another scar appears on my arm

the one I use to write

from where I helped you move your couch

the one we need in order to continue fucking

the only worthwhile way to spend the day

too long, too much

I read, the

newspapers full of fading people

I worry that this article will last another thirty years

and I’ll be sitting here, a

faux intellectual pretending middle class

dilettantish but insured

reading what to make of another morning

waiting for my dinner drink

thinking of ways, for hushful wagging decades now,

of how to kill the man that smudged us

 

————

smoking in the living room


21 Jan

—————-

—————-

gradual departures

 

she came along the alley

walking away from what buckled like her sea

cotton candy hair, torn sandals

she told me she was turning thirty-three

 

I grabbed a beer and sat to listen

suddenly self conscious of the fact that I haven’t shaved in the last two months

she asked whether she could stay

I said, always, but you never do

 

she gave me a ultracrepidarian crown to lose before

eight years ago in summertime and analgesic blues

she liked what she found inside my jeans

and how I melted for her over time

 

tom waits and bowie on the mixtape

the prettiest star hiding in bolan’s guitar

I called her a cunt

the first time she asked me for a shot

 

she swings on the outstretched arms of fate

like a playful child readying their nap

I tell her that I could say her name out loud right now

but I already know that she won’t stop

 

all in my mind

she came along the alley

slipping away from the paternal sea

just to let me know

that this is the type of show you’ll only understand upon multiple viewings

and I, after kissing every spot of hers she let me, wished her a happy birthday and took her to my sky

————

twelve past midnight 01


18 Jan

————–

————–

poor

 

this road has

            been

            so slow

            dripping

your little boots like kidney beans

the colors wet

mud and rain water, the broken tooth

from Spanky, the Redfern larker,

who hollered at the wrong chick,

floating like the first carrot, just for flavor, in the soup

 

each boot

            drops in

            the cinereous mood clinging, viscid

            until

you finally reach the building

where I used to live

selfish in the duds of unpaid bills

you didn’t bring daisies or a sundress

just yourself in a heavy overcoat you got from some other man used as proxy

who no longer lives for you, many leases signed ago

 

the wait is

            retaliatory, combative

            a relationship to immolation

            but always a preparation for the next

you ring the doorbell, percussing lightly with a gloved paw

marked pink in the western orbit like a late winter afternoon

from where your college roommate spilled her tea kettle

around the time when we first met

I kissed your hand then

but tonight, darling, there’s no one home

————-

bubblegum


16 Nov

———–

———–

bubblegum

 

love is the light on

the genius of the family

the acrid kneaded in the sweet

the coffee and the surrender I wrote about before

gods falling from the skies

mediocre chinese take-out at 4:37 in the afternoon

on the dot

evening slippers and an urgency sustained

a familiar face and ashes on the ground

a long train ride masking a clandestine destination, that’s it

as a good and practical an example as any

 

love is the light off

always in potential

always a new moon to replace the old

always same and different simultaneously

it is as it becomes

the dangerous, topsy-turvied melody of a gypsy accordion along a wisp of smoke

the grotto underneath the waterfall

mixing blood and champagne to create the reflection of the near-hidden empyrean

 

it is one star

that one over there

you see it

and the light comes on

———–

Cheeky Sunday


24 Mar

————–

————–

lovesong

 

if you find yourself

making love in the dark

then it’s time

to change your bedmate

and

acquisition for yourself a sensitive

poet-type

(from the store that sells those things)

who reads too much Salinger and Hesse

who drinks too much

but doesn’t take it out on you

who’ll sit with you

when you’ve snorted too much coke at a girls’ night out

and you can’t fall asleep

without Neruda, green tea and conversation

he’ll be vulgar but polite

with a widow’s peak and too much music on his mind

but still with a whole apartment there for you

which you can paint

any color that you want

like an eyelash on a fingertip waiting on a wish

and there’ll be light, I promise

and just a few cracks along the crystal of the vase

where the narcissi stand like an alienated Spring

and all will be found in time

because there will be an abundance of it

an avalanche of mesmerizing moments

fit for poetry

and long walks

upon streets that empty on command

in a city that becomes newer every day

like a lover you’ve replaced

 

(for Franny)

————-

From a Hitchhiker


23 Feb

———-

———-

southern syrup, southern dust

 

she told me to say it twice

but I’ve said it so many times

more than that

I’ve lost my voice

grew hoarse

blood lubricating the throat

aging

an old soul song

in a black Lincoln

roaring down a country road

and then her lips find my neck

and she pulls her dress up

I pull over to the side

Lucinda Williams sings

like a young sickness

her thighs tasted

like a hot toddy poured over the brim of the glass

and we couldn’t speak again

for quite some time

because once passed by behind the last exit

a rest quickly kissed along a smile and an escape

and twice turned us sweeter

nectarous like a sentimental chemical

along a foggy highway

somnolent and pleased

saying it a third time

saying it a third time

saying it a third time

————-

Supernova Hidden by Interstellar Dust


14 Jan

———–

———–

you are air turned to gold

 

you are air turned to gold

and I said that

because I thought you’d like

the Dr. Manhattan reference

I want to live in love

I want to be sweet to someone in this world

because in my neighborhood I always have to look mean

for risk of getting caught up

food stamp office in the ghetto

is Langston’s nightmare sped up

knife scars and bullet wounds on dour faces

bleak from the water you can’t drink

a thin tub of graceless bodies

sweat and cigarettes

a kid drops his mother’s coat

the floor is sprinkled with a set of needles

like rough uncut diamonds into greedy hands

teenagers talking about gauges hacking foes off at the knees

we all sit and wait to be reimbursed for poverty

and there I think

I want and need to be sweet to someone

because the only gods existing

are in your comic books

 ———–

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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