456
Mon, 2 Apr 2007 at 11:20pm
When we were orphans
we swam in a brook,
bubble, babble; roil.
One midnight we swam,
you, me, and the current,
sweeping our feet from under us.
Cracks formed in the orphanage walls
we watched; naked but clothed
in water, shaded by moonlight,
mesmerized by those walls,
breaking and solid.
We ate an egg each
the next day, I gave you half
of mine; the swim exhausted you.
I said I had dreams
after the water had risen
from my skin; I clutched
you while we swam,
hands sliding over you but not
touching. That was the rule
the orphanage had given us.
But I felt skin, dulcet, moist,
it would have been delicate, if not
for the orphan crammed within.
We were still orphans,
but we were soothed.
We rose with the next
day’s sun as two
orphans
at midnight, swimming.
Three others like this.
457
Mon, 2 Apr 2007 at 11:22pm
In Nepal, the summit.
Goats bleat; car-horn cry
at white, ice ridden faces.
Four faces, cold as ocean spray
pause to lay a ladder,
sandpaper voices
guttural.
The mountain stands,
soft snow and jagged
ice; the blade edge of
a sword, wrapped in silk.
The peak laughs always,
muffled faces and oxygen masks,
they try to sing
a tune of success.
In Nepal, the summit.
No eyes watch
the climbers below,
but their feet rattle,
so it knows
where they are.
The height, a lock.
Closed.
Six others like this.
535
Tue, 17 Apr 2007 at 02:32pm
The lights outside bloom,
red orange, orange flowers,
concentration gradient, gradient colour,
blue jeans.
The trees inside bloom,
hillside green, green plantae,
scaled light, light spectrum,
purple contacts.
The pride inside dies,
bottle brown, brown leaves,
light reflected, reflected mirror,
orange bloom.
539
Tue, 17 Apr 2007 at 06:01pm
I haven’t seen you in
four weeks, a month of
sick and nausea, blurry eyes
and split-bone headaches.
I wish that could have been
me, starved of a warm touch
of food, you should not
have to wait for nourishment.
Taste of human desire and
dulcet skin.
You tell me that you do
not mind; over the phone
meals and their eagerly eaten
“I love you.”
I tell you that you do,
not need more than two
more weeks of a nothing
but the skin and bone of
an empty lover’s rib cage.
You’re still nauseated, blame
on anemia so nobody knows
about your simply
barren tongue; desire, taste
of human skin.
One other likes this.
540
Tue, 17 Apr 2007 at 06:03pm
[i]: The first girl: June 7th, 2006
I am hardly paying attention
her unsanded wooden talk—
one sided anyway—
makes my ears numb
and quickly sedated.
She’s unfinished product
a guitar I brought home,
word by word, how I want
to fix it, blow me off
to yell about how awesome
your day was not.
What cracked us apart?
Minus the one sided (wooden)
conversation, faults obvious
broken strings and a cracked
body support.
[ii]: The second woman: August 17th, 2006
You are tasting
human desire, to see
you coil on the couch
is cliché but romantically
satisfying.
Taste, intermingling lips,
hands curled on hips, “I love
you,” palm muted whisper,
not acoustic, but roar
from an amplifier.
I fixed this guitar
even though
it wasn’t broken.
Two others like this.
541
Tue, 17 Apr 2007 at 06:06pm
You’re stuck in
my Roman orgy of
ecstasy and “oh dium!”
Your back,
Roman archum over
the floor, rise to
rapture and
I beckon you with a
wink, electric nudge and
a bite on the ear,
draw you to my
luxury. Pulvinum,
soft pillows under
your curvature.
I’ll be there;
barn’s hay loft
the summer villa,
corolla of laurels
at ease on my hair.
Two others like this.
542
Tue, 17 Apr 2007 at 06:07pm
“Fuck off,” not even
to my face, white receiver
in my hand and ear. We
thought it would be simple,
transparent,
but now fogged after a
few too many joints.
Not always the case
we whispered, barely two
months ago, three words,
(I love you)
meant more than a hit
that’s what you said
but I never guessed
that you lied.
Thirty dollars turned
from green bills to
dimebagged B.C. green,
paper to leaves,
leaves to ash,
(were we nothing but,)
a few curls of smoke.
Eight others like this.
