THIS POEM

This poem is not dramatic

It draws no ooohs or aaahs

It won’t make your heart tick

It won’t drag on for hours

It won’t leave you on the stars

or on barren shores teary eyed

I will need a dark room

and a minimum watts onion bulb

a creaky lab stool

and speakers called HORNS

I will need an auditorium

open the doors when I’m through

This poem won’t be heard

It wasn’t even written

this poem won’t be read

I mean, who are you kidding.

You will not believe this poem

You won’t know what happened

I will sit on the creaky stool

The empty space will fill me with dread

I will clear my throat to keep cool

I will resolve to perform like a droid

 Then I will see your haughty face

you will multiply and fill every seat

  

 I will shrink into a grain

and you will laugh like I have goofed

and call me a scatter-brain

silence is golden, my words testify I’m a fool

 I will scurry back into oblivion

and leave this poem for HORNS and creaky stool

THE LAST CONVERSATION

ME:

 how do you want me?

HE:

       corseted as you cant breathe

        with skin pale as you cant bleed

       thin as a barbie...

       lashes too heavy you cant see

       that looking at you

     I  don't see past the view

       you  painstakingly renew

       You

       my dear are a cheap clone

       of plastic and silly-cone droves

Botox enhanced and hydrogen blown

but don't worry my sweet tote

for that is how i took note

and remains the adhesive that we still holds

...FOR ONCE

Slit your throat

and watch red trickle down

the crevice between those towering mounds

-my tower on crumbling days

down fields of black sprouts,

bending to give way- surrendering

watch that firm steady gaze

waver for once -in near defeat

white turn pale red, black dilate glazed

and tears betray fear

as sturdy limbs flail and lax

now those terse lips quiver

pleading to overturn the inevitable

as white congregants turn gay

red cloaks creep slowly over their

saintly facade, filling ancient gaps

i will warm those purpling 

lips with mine and love them

and pretend to give you life

and pretend to perspire in sincere effort

... and for once

be the hero - tragic hero

return from a long forgotten battle

disheveled and unkempt by time and duty

yet victorious and unhurt

...from a duel with you

THE NEW I

I

miss the luxury of being mad

leaving crimson tear stains on ivory pillows

and canine tattoos on layers of lower-lip tissues

I
miss the purge of vaporized hurt escaping through my ears

the release on impact of my bare knuckles on a dumb wall

and the verbalized bile escaping the compressor in my tight chest

I

miss clenching my jaws till my ears ring

the exhilarating numbness of tightening a fist till it turns bloodless

or the perfect slap that manually overrides prior settings

*shrug*

the new I is too busy

....at the distillery

where every thing is bottled and corked

intersects

Will we look

back and

in reminiscing curse

this day that we tore

with trembling hands

into jagged stripes what could

have been a masterpiece

or

will we

look back and

in gratitude extol

fear for stifling the flames

whose conflagration would have

left us charred beyond salvaging

or

will we

remain rooted

at comfortable crossroads

till forces beyond us force us

kicking and screaming…or not

along pre-ordained paths

I'LL WALK

I enjoyed the jolly walk till now

Where my toe tips tingle at the very edge

Of the dark smooth and glossy spiral that

Revolves tantalizingly, beckoning my very core

To fall into a fantasy of sensual abandon

You see the indecision of my heart

And my hesitant pulse ululates your fears.

Your pleading fingers work my body

Slowly crackling my nerves, dissolving my senses

Yet you fail to touch my mind

I peek into the inviting abyss

No doubt how much fun awaits but

After the high has cleared

And the intoxication has lifted

It’s just me and you and this crappy feeling

So no thanks, I turn on my heel and

I’ll walk

BREAKING THE ICE

Towering alone, the iceberg

Prickly summit, daring the approacher

to brave the cold exterior

cross seven seas and not shudder

at the imposing build of a 

more-than-self-sufficient loner.

The warm titanic advances

Bearing the sincerest.

Bright lights, giggles, prodigal lovers

Approach the cold adversary

With careless abandon

The foolhardy risk of imminent danger

The unavoidable bruise to the side

The crashing sound of impact

Cracks  forming, spreading

 Tentacles across the cold wall.

The slow thawing process

That is replayed from scratch 

When total strangers become friends

THE ROCKER AND THE CRADLE

To and fro not needing a hand

Recounting the years, those rocking bands

Cushioned downs that cushion your down

Part, against fears of taking a bow

Out. Many places, could’ve been there

Yet this motion leads nowhere.

 Arthritic joints unable to skirt

No buying time on the black market.

To and fro those loving hands,

Rock the naïve mind serenaded by fairy bands

Pretty eyes large and brown

That send hope rays through the town

Tiny ecstatic limbs kicking the air

 Cant wait to go where those hands were.

Nimble feet can’t wait to squirt

Biding time for the right sunset

ENDOSKELETON

ENDOSKELETON

Sinister thoughts fill the cranium

Seeping, coursing, flooding, overflowing

Sending convulsive sensations down the spine

Those uneasy metacarpals, itching…

To send a calculated one to the jugular

to fossilize  this meaninglessness.

The burden on the tarsals

Mocked by the weight on the soul

The soul stole from the sole in whole

And took far beyond physical

The grim reapers’ bountiful harvest

Hanging indoors from a beam – limp.

The phalanges that cradled… no rocked

Slowly, gently in  rhythm with agony

Then stopped.

Releasing the deadly pill to induce still-ness;

The crumbling down of life processes

That began long ago with the endoskeleton