Under Foot.

Temper-treated,

pressed ‘n pleated,

predisposed and superseded,

diagnosed,

poorly heeded,

over-psychiatrically,

pre-treated,

super-imposed,

pin-up prose,

cake-layer completed,

centrally distributed,

locally re-heated,

self-stimulated,

pseudo-violated,

over-chewed,

nearly spewed,

swallowed up,

oh Hell –

regurgitated,

won’t sit well,

if stacked up to,

the tried and true,

another epic fail,

shoddily fabricated,

horizontally situated,

systematically nauseated,

linguistically free,

tongue in cheek,

verbally inebriated,

an atrocity,

a featherless Crane,

singed into the brain,

of the Herring,

a forsaken queen,

been busy,

out bone-collecting,

well beyond her means,

never satiated,

by her plundering,

blindly placated,

by the obsolete,

of the broken-spirited,

broken down,

rotted through,

to an army paraded,

beneath the sole of my shoe.

The Plank.

You, so manly
present to me
a charming mystery,
cyber-spatially,
but maybe,
tell me…
your well-versed hands,
can they find me,
and touch me?
Can that buccaneer,
pirate this booty?
Can your glasses shade,
this blazing heat?
Can your man stand up,
to your poetry?
our secret affair
of which you’re not aware,
surprise!
do you follow me?

Jeg ber dere.

Jeg ber dere …
If I had you alone for a while
I guarantee
I could make you smile –
A broad, wide grin
that’d stretch for miles…
You’d be my daddy,
I’d be your love child;
Under the covers
a universe so wild,
believing and seeing –
the other side
of the coin –
tender loin,
my need –
overrides;
beg and moan
pump and groan
til the tears come
to my eyes;
A stroke and you’re in,
Now the pleasure
begins,
You take away from me –
only to
give back in full,
again.
jeg ber dere…
Suction from
puckered lips
pressure from you
finertips,
deep inside,
now – HOLD
recognize…
take it back again,
I beg of you
“Sugar, please?…”
You decide then
to let me
finally win;
you get me
to heights I’ve never been;
Please? Come back in…
I’ve left the
knob unlocked,
my door’s wide open
and I’m pleading too
jeg ber dere…jeg ber dere
Aye, you’re mine;
touch down
on the stars
in my skies
lick your own sweat
from my forehead
every night;
jeg ber dere
please do this right
I’ve taken to
the likes of flight
underneath
the Victory Wreath,
that you wear
in your full right.
Don’t hang me here
on the old clothesline
with all the things
that have worn
away with time;
too much sunshine –
too much open space,
jeg ber dere
I don’t belong
in that forgotten place.