No. 16

so high were we, lofted and floating
a hard foam stagnant raft
anchored above the unconscious

side by side huddled, protected from rain
grounded, present, certainty of presence
peaceful and content with no static electric

no pedestal false, no precious fixation
only unspoken lyrics between beats
establishing a retreat safe for exchanges

dulcet sounds lower, cue a flow of ideas
organically dissolving the disconnect
leaving a pool of reciprocal receptivity

agape folded with philia, whipped text
into subtext, keeps the language light
the implied essence slightly hidden

too soon begins your slow descent
shaky limbs, intent separation, again
placing space between body and mind

remaining buoyed, I see you recede below
the evanescence of this haven we created
still high, I stay afloat til the surface breaks

and then I fall.

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No. 15

seventy seven and sunny
forcing your body to do work
sweating out last night’s booze

convex lens in hand, I have an excuse
to exclusively train my eye on your knee highs
bold as blood amidst a sea of black and white

you love knee highs.

in fluid motion passes plastic
body to body, hand to hand
with varying ease and grace

but none with such as yours.

through this rotund glass I
choose to frame and compose
to see the field I want to see

reduce each figure to anonymity
remove myself, the context
remove the meaning of Person

with the exception of you.

despite my manipulation of space and shape
I still taste the saline on your upper lip
feel your fingers pull my pony tail

you’d said stop, bashful and embarrassed
by the griminess of your sinewy limbs
and the grass stuck in your beard

I didn’t care.

at times it can be better to live with
splashes of mud on your hands
drops of sweat on your tongue

a little dirty.

No. 14. disorder.

found an old less-than-mediocre poem, wheeeeeeeeeeee.

few streetlights, fewer traffic lights.
I can’t seem to speak.
my speakers are broken.

bbbzzzzZZZZzzz, in stereo
until we hit another pothole

— silence.
time slows.

shy mind too content to spoil with words
a straight and steady road unwavering,
I round a blind internal curve and wait, impatient.

my eyes roll over miles of moon shadowed fields,
trained away from you, framed within frames,
for fear I won’t see what I feel.

and now the window falls, escape wisps
of silver, sparks red, sparks of energy invisible —
microscopic specks from our small cosmos, fleeing.

time folds in, a soft and stifling linen sheet,
the end of a wave rushing to reach the crest

— trapped.
it catches us

me with one hand on the wheel, twirling my hair
to keep my spare hand from straying out of my chaos
into yours, and you, turned away.

No. 10, or Uncontrollable.

my words
they’re falling in pieces
tripping from my clumsy tongue
meandering
trudging through mind muck
breaking up
smaller every second
syllables separate
— disintegrate
— dissolve
spinning
they revolve
tumbling
down
— brain to blood
— blood to lips
— lips to air    to ears
HEAR:
what’s in my brain
doesn’t make it to your ears
fear and nerves rattle my words
they race around mental curves
vibrating herds of garbled noise
jumbled
they are mine no more
the moment the sound slipped from my lips
I knew:
the words were from another
a stranger ciphering my message
messing with my sentiment
scrambling my meaning
— my feeling
perhaps it will translate
— untangle
— unravel
between your ears and brain
aim for restoration
reassemble my narration
patience, please, & cooperation
come to understand:
my words,
they have a mind of their own.

There’s something living in these lines…

A steamy mug of dark coffee—or five—
nursed between soft palms as the night becomes
the morning. Lines begin to come alive.
They dance a reel or two and twiddle thumbs
for their audience is dull and drowsing.
Together in a mass of curves and limbs
thrusting out at all angles,  harboring
resentment in the hours dark and dim,
they protest in anger: “We are not one,
but many—individuals!” they cry.
“Don’t let us blur, with your weary vision,
into a moody mess of black and white.”
Stare at the sheet in hand, eyes full of tears,
blink til it fades to black and disappears.

Blame.

Staring at the blinking neon numbers,
dim entrancing chartreuse—wide eyed lying
flat on my back as guilt washes over
my body like the flow of sea crying,
creeping stealthily toward dunes, sighing.
You never mentioned her—that’s not my fault.
You smiled, shrugged. Thought you were teasing
until I felt your hand on my thigh, taut
fingers squeezing gently, then brushing soft,
tickling my ribs. I laughed helplessly.
Your arm came ‘round me, but I did not stop
your empty gestures. You grinned drunkenly
at my indulgent smile. I know next day,
you’ll forget. I won’t. I should not have stayed.

No. 9

the hours fade away
— peel
— pare
— husk
pumice to the heart
rubbed red and raw
the guards, they fall apart
dissolve into the dark
releasing brief relief
a voice to sing        to speak
to mutter    to uncover
to liberate and loosen
— a tongue stiff but not forgotten
— thoughts and words and longing
— fears and hopes and wanting
chaotic and disheveled
they were crossed
— with inhibitions
lost
— in self suppression
fraught
— with old tradition
until the night surrounded
unwound the tightness halting
the reticence untrusting
stripping weary wanderers
of their wariness inhuman
but now they see the dawn is coming
and each retreats.