Nymph

She has a beautiful villainous smile

I can see her in black

Even a grimace framed in her lips would be seductive

Teeth for biting

A pink lower lip

A gesture that forces a catch in the suitors throat

 

I am compelled by some force within me

Some nauseating need

To see her mouth pursed with disapproving amusement

Her chin recessed in supplication

Her cheeks flushed with passion

 

To feel her hands gliding across me

Smooth gestures easing my worried soul

Fingers trembling as if in a stream

Eyes fixed and screaming intentions

 

To draw her near

The sand meeting the ocean

Fall through my fingers

Let time forget us

I Want a Fire

Fire.

I want a fire.

I need something burning under me that doesn’t need kindling every goddam morning. I don’t need a friend nor any compatriot. I don’t need a role model or a parent figure to tell me how to live my life or what to do.

I need a drive that will force me into the icy water to stave off the pain of the burning, to let comfort only reach me when I am buried in extremes. I need a hunger or passion. A dedication. Some ever-present thought to keep me busy, some torment to keep my mouth wet. Some temptation so endearing that my mind can never stray from whatever accomplishment I put before it. I want to be a valuable person. Intrinsically so.

I want to be a powerful person. Intrinsically so. Stripped of all money all social contacts, everything that I lean upon I want to till stand strong. No matter if I am ugly, if I am weak, crippled by pain or by weapon. No matter if I am stupid or forgetful, wracked by doubt and plagued with indecision.

I want to be, and indeed I will be strong.

I want a fire.

I will not fall again.

This is the man I want to be.

One who overcomes his cowardice and backs down for nothing. I want to be fearless. I want to have an incredible pain threshold because my unsayable determination’s unwillingness to give into any will other than my own.

I want to have complete control of my functions always. To take everything in stride, to suffer no fools, to seek no council with blind men. I want to be a man that others would look up to did they not fear him.

I want to learn to love pain’s excesses. To see at all times the trial that it presents. I want most of all to be capable of surmounting this obstacle, and any other.

I want to be deformed by scars that are testament to my strength, to not be decorated by the trivial black lines of losers, but to have my life written on my skin. Not in some purposeful ritual, but to live a life that leaves its mark on my body, that takes its toll on my features. A life that hardens me.

I want a fire.

I want to be a hard man, not a clown, gibbering and smirking like a fool. I am a clown.

So how do I throw off my clownish persona? How do I discard what I am and pick up another? How do I keep a resolution in my mind and not fall back?

They tell me I simply must learn to fall well but I believe they have failed in instructing me how to stay on the horse, how to grip and strain. The more I fail the deeper the trench grows and the greater the struggle it is to get back up.

I am tired of getting back up.

I want to stand firm and never fall again.

LET them break my legs from under me and my will preserve me.

Even if I fall in body my spirit remaining.

I want such a indominable power to course through me that such is their description of me when I face my enemies, when I look them in the eyes.

Not mere courage, not mere virtue, but raw unbridled power.

I want a fire.

Priest

Archways hallowed

Dimly lit

From the confessional a quiet fit

Church assailed

Girl seeking shelter

From the hand of cards, God help her

Sins are spoken

Penance due

But absolutions don’t sing true

The alter christos

Blasphemous saint

His false words a soulful taint

A stolen place

An unearned roll

And on the flock it takes its toll

Fake his message

In foreign tongue

And from the pockets all coin wrung

Poem – Prisoner

I the prisoner.

All I’ve known is the yellow glow

Electric luminescence

Boards that crack and floor that creeks

Pain a constant presence

My cold damp cell

My living hell

No words express

I know none

My broken legs

The taste of eggs

A smiles just

An empty reaction

If I remembered someone

Other than my father grandfather

If there was another man alive in the

World I’d beg for salvation

I can’t stand living

But for some reason I refuse to die

I wax and wane a battered flame

Bereft by wind but still alive

But still alive no one’s coming

But still alive no one’s coming to save me

I’m big enough to wear chains

Despite the agony I grow

Al Du Ai

Near black grey and sulpter

Above the water

Circling carrion birds do cry

Ocean black in its depth

Carases the neck

The cliff face of al du ai

Here no waves crash

The only splash

The dip of the birds into sea

To pick at the body

Dressed in robes so gaudy

The man who sought to be me

I am the king of al du ai

And at my noble behest

The imposter wwas thrown from our mighty shore

People’ve been thrown for less

Poem – A Raging Cloud of Steel and Man

A raging cloud of steel and man

That rushed the valley shore

That once for all decided fate

And saved our land from war

They held proudly our good neighbors

They held up their pact

They did not abandon us

To be pillaged and sacked

I the king’s advisor

Humble noted I was wrong

That our alliance was not so foolish

That our bonds were in fact strong

At least I wish it were so

I prayed I’d find fault

That the king was right to take up arms

Of the neighboring nation’s cult

But on the valley shore

No steel or man did show

And we were torn asunder

The blood of our men did flow

A Collision With Fantasy

Through the forest speeds a motorcycle

One riding without wheels

An avalanche of bitter things

On its metal heels

A woman’s voice calls to me

It shakes the very world

I ignore it but see reality

Around me melt and swirl

The vivid image tainted by

Ugly urban grey

Fluorescent lighting dims the sun

In its sickly way

Yet again she calls me

The motor cycle dances

All the butterfly face me

With expression of surprise

I’m being asked a question

My teacher looking stern

I don’t know I don’t give a shit

I’m ejected from the class

I’ll do anything to escape that boring mass

Teeth are my Obsession

teeth

Teeth are my obsession really; the muse that takes shelter behind fleshy lips. Teeth are my life and livelihood. My every desperation and inner calling is answered by their glistening white snapping. Teeth are things to be treasured. Polished like precious stones and groomed like prized fur. They are magnificent, some say magical, and always deserving of awe. There was no formative incident that triggered so genuine an affection; it has been with me since I can remember.

I could be doing anything, petting the dog or playing with my little sister, and all activities would inevitably lead to exploring my periodontal predilections. I would find my fingers running across the canines of my whining companion, my fingernails clicking over her youthful molars, my mind distant and enraptured; then I would find a welt growing where my mother struck me for “going at it again.” As if this innocent curiosity was somehow dirty or erotic. I was but a child I did not think of such things! Yet I never felt the need to justify my interest, for who could deny the carnal majesty of the central incisor, or the coy beauty of bicuspids?

Being of less than average potential, my parents told me with teeth cruelly clapping with each loud decisive syllable, that dentistry was out of the question. That the education that the medical profession entailed would be quite impossible for me to accomplish.

I laughed in their faces.

I laughed with such mirth that I paraded my palatoglossal arch. With a force that sent saliva spiraling out before me in a dancing arc. I frothed with that incredible generosity born of absurdity. Within six years I had, despite my supposed lack of intelligence, defied every expectation. Brilliant they called me, but I never heard it, all that echoed in my mind were the grinding caresses and sharp compresses of my alabaster lovers.

I do love teeth.

Smile for me.

 

Poem – Today

Today I will do something else

Today predicts tomorrows health

Today belongs not to the past

I live this day for it flees fast

 

Nevermind the wasted hours

Nevermind the callow youth

Nevermind my dull routine

I’ll work now for rewards unseen

 

Today Ill try fix all mistakes

Today not time enough to do

 

Today is but the starting line

To take my dull life and make it fine

Rat Lick

The rat licks.

In that lick is meaning. In that swipe of the tongue it learns.

Lick the rat.

 

The rat tastes you.

It tastes your wet skin. Delights in the fear secreted through your sweat glands. Nurtures its young with the tongue in its devouring mouth.

Taste the rat.

 

The rat knows you.

Now mingling with its saliva is the truth. Your emotions distilled into chemical compounds. Your thoughts given form.

Know the rat.