Perfect

A perfect coin sun shone upon
the highest leaves and trickled
all the way down onto the grass
and our faces.

The river below was the cloudy
hue of water in a cup that a
painter has been cleaning his
brushes in. Aloft all the birds
chased each other. Squirrels
grabbed acorns and dragged
them into the trees that they
had recently fallen from. The
stretching flowers were politely
vain.
A spring breeze pushed the only
cloud away.

And then
the girl with the pretty, long hair
told me she loves me!

More So

The ankle-high grass is a softer sand between their toes.

He wears white and she a brighter shade of red.

To her, as he expounds, his words are a plainer song
That he sings beneath the shadows of blacker clouds.

They can hear the river from here, but they cannot
See it.

To himself, he thinks her hair seems longer as he presses
The strands between his fingertips.

An infinitesimally small gap closes
Violently.

Trees rise higher around them.
The very chill of the air is sustenance.

She struggles not to imagine him
More so a hulking devil trying to
Disguise himself.

And passing that moment of first
Humble embrace on the unfurling
Trail:

He strains to not relate her more so
To a razor in silk.

Prose Pt 1

At least she keeps the place clean. And looks so pretty preening herself, for me. And sometimes even by artificial means that go wasted on me. My taste was never so pervasive. I tell her I need that unbearable reality. That beauty requires no paraphernalia. And I've told her before, but I still suspect she doesn't believe me.

She looks down on me from her stool scowling as she brushes her perfect hair. She is still angry that I set her, very expensive, hair extensions on fire and then tried to flush them down the toilet.

She says, "You ought to think more of how people define you. You reject the most natural vanities out of some absurd spite. Yours is the greater depravity in nonsense...and pretense against any obvious social cadence. And from you, who scowls presumption with the gumption of pure justice."

I tell her the make-up that she just finished painting on makes her look like a whore--then we make love. Later, as she rest her head in my lap, she plays with my hair and chest and pressed her other hand under my thighs. The while she's been staring intently at me, cooing intamately something I don't bother to hear.

Looking at the oak tree out the window as the sun is setting I speak, "I might not go to that party tonight. No. I am in the mood for wine and the brooding seclusion of the waterfront."

"But everyone is going to be there!" She persisted.

Babes in the Woods

He strides in airs of vague defiance.
She looks on in complete silence.
The lovers travel far
with dreams of walking among the giants.

They're in the wood, between the ways,
where shadows lie broken by sunrays
and the breeze wispers of the decadence
of fire-light nights and sleepy days.

They walk as if they dwarf the trees
and the sun shines jealously on the spot.
For they seem to him a brighter hot
even still the night may freeze.

She shivers in the darkening cold
and, stealing a bit of warmth, takes hold
of his arm
until she is wholly consoled.

The night gets darker and the way, stranger.
Still on their path they firmly stay.
They did not know the well worn way
may lead them headlong into danger.

But that they feared more than all other
things that cut and those that smother.
That they feared worse in the wild wood:
none's more than their fear of one another.

Bad

When I was younger I was myown beloved.
But I was bad to myself.

So I loved my friends and I loved their friends
but I was bad to them.

So I went to live in hermitage
but everything I didn't kill went
away.

And there was nothing.
It was good.

Narcissus Reduced

You don't know sweet woman
That you have humbled me;
See when I thought I'se struttin'
I was really drunk and stumbling.

Yet you lie next to me
With velvet, vermilion skin.
How could you not see a fool
When my disguise is so thin?

You are pleasure beyond indulgence,
And glory beyond wealth
To demand the love of a man
Who loved only himself.

You don't know sweet woman
That you have humbled me
And when I close my eyes
You are all that I can see.

Kindling

I suck spit,
Eat shit,
Bite thighs,
Get lost in eyes
Of the deserts' green turquoise; she drives the boys mad.

She loves bad,
Fucks good,
Screams mad,
We really could
Let the secret take its nature in our forgetting.

She says she supposes
Her fire is dwindling,
So I cut her lovely roses
Into bits of kindling.

Gethsemane

a triolette


In Gethsemane
Misery is unspoken.
Feigning something manly
In Gethsemane
As I pass the lady
Who tends the garden.
In Gethsemane
Misery is unspoken.

Prose

for Rael

I would like to meet people who lack depravity and gravity. This crowd is so wickedly static. And I will surely burn in the heap with the rest, unless I go alone. But this girl unfurls her curls, like chains, and my cries of elated disdain resound as I'm bound down. She laughs at me, as I reel in knotted steel. Tension spreads across us like the dissemination of her redwine tears across the wet cement. We hide knelt beneath a street light. The moon beams white indignation upon us. We cannot see the stars. Tar catches at her heels as she leaves me in the rain, to breathe.
And she will die in Estonia.
And I will die in America.

Was it the Lover or the Beloved...

Was it the lover or the beloved,
who was pimped by
the simple logic of his hand up the lady puppets skirt.
As his fingers parted her lips she spoke:

"The heat passing these moments
burns and turns the furnace
where passion was fashioned,
in steam, by the friction between
two afflicted souls"

With that he took his hand from her skirt and ran it the length of her legs.
"I'ld like to stoke that factory fire with dynamite kegs."

She pretended this offends her,
so he might've lent her
moments romantic leisure.
These he couldn't render.
So her Tuesdays love letter
was marked return to sender.

Girlies

She's batting her eyes,
To my surprise,
And as I feel the tension rise
I surmise:
The gamble is worth the prize.

I didn't plan this tonight.
I might,
Because I know how to do it right.
And those thighs,
The gamble is worth my pride.

Do I have something to feign
For this game?
Though my tongue is feeling lame,
The same,
The gamble is worth my pain.

With her glare still fixed on me
Anxiously
Like I was the object of myown jealousy.
So weep,
The gamble is my disease.