Saturday, October 22, 2011

Along an Avenue of White Elms in the Sun

yellowing at their tops,
how I would too
change for you,
in a glad wave
curl up
to your voice,
warm-dark oscillation,
my green edges
bending to yours.
I asked only for open eyes
before the night’s wild shards
brushed over.
And I see.
I see with my hands
reaching up
to touch dear limbs
ageless aging,
all beauty,

Monday, October 17, 2011

At the Club

Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in,
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endlesse matrimony make,
And let the roring Organs loudly play
                  --Edmund Spenser from “Epithalamion”

There is a certain feeling,
A visceral vibe,
You know it’s going to be a good night.
The DJ is spinning,
Spilling treasures ebullient onto the floor.
Crossing over Jordan,
No worries or dangers or cares
On that bright shore.
No poisonous pairs
Looking to wheel home a third.
The men are all clumped dark and far
Away, skulking at the bar.
The night, the dance, belongs to the girls.

Eyes kohled, hair hennaed.
Fantastic-lashed pastel petals glitter.
Grown-up schoolgirls
Catholic short-skirted.
Azerbaijani princesses girded
With black leather bras
And leopard poly skins.
Goth nurses twisted hair
Ghostly openly stare
Black and periwinkle wide.
High strapped booted tight
Atop heels of consequential height,
All are lost in essential delight.
Rose attar, neroli, clove,
Patchouli, musk,
The garden roars
Cinnamon, jasmine, sandalwood.

And all, we all are such touch whores,
Endorphin freaks demanding more
Wordless promises petting, praying:
You won’t hurt me, I know
You won’t hurt me.
Only comfort to cut the pain
Connect reassure another smother
Shyly asking with hands brushing
A shoulder smooth
A breast caress sweet
In Drum & Bass
House trance bump ass
Scratch vinyl slick.

But our romance ends
When the needle comes up.
The smoky remains,
A tremolo echo
That lives only here
At the club.


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Will we make it to the Ball?

We've been a bit delayed by some mending that needed tending.
   Got a bit of gin and tonic, though.  Hope to see you all soon!

Check out all the action here:

Sunday, October 2, 2011

The Distaff Side

You come on
aflame and rolling
through a room,
from slack-hips
to paint-blistering fingertips.
A flickering St. Christopher
blazes high above
your breasts.
My lip catches the crest
and drags across,
running the length
of your shoulder,
unsealing that envelope,
pulling smolder~~
An ash-borne crumbling acrobat,
glancing off
fawn-brushed thighs,
threading silk slung
pink crinkle crinoline loops.
Speckled marble balustrades melt
under the weight of sighs.
Waxwings beat aflutter
and down-dive.
Flywheels shudder
off singing sinews’
sympathetic cries.
Satellites luminous
and expire,
Shunted down dusk alleys
of defunct desire.


come, charming spoon,
so thin & elegant,
silver thrilling,
cold and brimming
with sea cockles
from warm plush
cream and green
bits of moss
scrubbed clean.
and butterfly
do we then
their shells
that wing
our lips
who then is the pussycat
who then is the owl


On your way home,
on the wooded,
hidden path
to your door,
where flagstones jut,
you told me,
in that careless mess,
where that rod of re-bar
sprouts menacingly
for no reason,
you saw the sudden yellow
of an aspen leaf
in the last light,

in your breathless,
in your silence,
that golden

I knew.