Been.

Been feeling rather

like I’ve been,

tossed out with the trash again,

been hearing laughter

inside my brain,

for getting played like a slot machine,

been taking refuge

in a jackal’s den,

naked, with a so-called gentleman,

been driven into

the wall again,

petal to the metal into the median,

been feeling nothing

but pure obscurity,

a vague and insecure uncertainty,

been here wondering

ponderously,

imprisoned by my own duplicity,

been tapping constantly

on the keys ‘til my fingers bleed,

to dispel the hurt I’ll feel inevitably,

been like, yeah – well, maybe,

I’ve been shafted again,

 sour, that out-dated milk carton,

been eating candy,

vainly, to try and sweeten,

the taste of my faith going quickly rotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Been.

Been feeling rather

like I’ve been,

tossed out with the trash again,

been hearing laughter

inside my brain,

for getting played like a slot machine,

been taking refuge

in a jackal’s den,

naked, with a so-called gentleman,

been driven into

the wall again,

petal to the metal into the median,

been feeling nothing

but pure obscurity,

a vague and insecure uncertainty,

been here wondering

ponderously,

imprisoned by my own duplicity,

been tapping constantly

on the keys ‘til my fingers bleed,

to dispel the hurt I’ll feel inevitably,

been like, yeah – well, maybe,

I’ve been shafted again,

 sour, that out-dated milk carton,

been eating candy,

vainly, to try and sweeten,

the taste of my faith going quickly rotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Threadbare.

In the weaving of the fabric,

that has been sewn by magic,

stitched by an unseen thread,

that strings from my heart,

to the thoughts in your head.

has gradually wound,

its way tightly around,

Any word written down,

infused into shades of dark red,

It’s a thing that’s profound,

that will never be dead,

It’s the basic compound,

On which forever’s been found,

And forever wildly bounds,

in hurried steps ahead,

of this weaving thread,

you bet we’ll chase it down,

it’s a distant sense,

in the past tense,

of being led around,

See the liters that I’ve bled,

See the patchwork on my neck,

It’s alright”, somehow,

that’s what they said,

You’ve been mended now”,

as I’m sifting through debris,

you showed up to stare at me,

as I rummage through the wreck,

not mockingly,

but longingly,

distinguished and correct,

your mind spun silently,

trying to throw a line to me,

to get me to connect,

and the threaded weave,

spun invisibly,

and I think you know the rest.

 

Padlocked.

You thought I wasn’t listening,

that your sentiment was lost on me,

you convinced yourself eventually,

that an evil lingered, baring teeth…

Didn’t you write mind blowing poetry?

And used for your muse, a snapshot of me?

Then my mind was confused immediately,

the flip to the switch that turns you on to me…

In no way did I anticipate,

To be smitten by you, for Chrissake,

to be bitten into, til my body shakes,

and left alone in an expanding space…

It’s a cosmically powered vacuum,

sucking the poetry away from we, two,

stealing the essence left that I cling to,

revealing rebellious dissent in high volume…

until the shine of the sun again forces ahead,

the steps of my feet through your head,

the lines in my cheeks as you blush me dark red,

your dreams are ever padlocked in a box under my bed.

Cinder Blocks.

I want sit at the hearth of your manhood,

and stoke the fire to dangerous heights,

stir at its white-hot cinder blocks,

fuel the embers of its dark corners,

you burn like fire,

in my heart – in my mind,

in my skin – a temperature rise,

emblazoned, emboldened,

a singe at the touch that’s so very right

beheld by the highest of the high,

as well as the beggars of the night,

you’re made up of the stuff,

that speaks directly to my concubine,

not a nano-second passes by me,

without warmth of a cosmic heat,

like a fire burning steadily,

slurping out my poetry,

like a vampire of pure lovability,

like a conflagration of flames,

dirty words and silly pet names,

I want to make you see,

tell me, do you see?

Is it “you”, or “me”, or is it “we”?

 

 

 

 

Bubble Bath.

I thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;

So I paraded around sporting bitchy tits ‘n ass…

I wrapped myself up in your freshly washed towel;

telling myself I was glad that you were gone now…

Silly me; you actually never had gone anywhere at all;

I found you standing quietly with your mouth opened in awe …

Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;

Swallowed whole – from all you know; desire you’ve never felt…

And when you see my red-ruby pouting start to pucker,

and sense how my insides tense;  you sexy mother-fucker…

Lick me clean of my tears – salted by such childish fears;

strike a match against the fuse between the filthy and the pure…

tonight I stroke your hidden side – that displaced face you always hide;

Allow me to perfect your view of how a good girl will abide…

you stood there, your hands wringing with intensity;

shirtless and hungry like a pre-meditative beast,

I was yours bendable expendable – that’s right,  wrapped up tight;

And you were yourself – an animal, ever-ready to bite…

the time became a sucking noise from the drain,

you manhandled my body and I hijacked your brain;

I’m glad you never left while I was in the bubble bath;

it’s sad to think about it now after so much time has passed.

.

 

Bourbon-Smooth.

Halt; I stop, I stand, and I think,

of the ability you harbor, so secretly,

to demolish walls built up around me,

the Bourbon-smooth tickle of Mystery;

 

As you know, I feel your flow,

winding tightly to and fro,

with each and every breath, it grows,

until it permeates through to my soul;

 

With you, comes a sizzling sound,

it’s like you carry seismic energy around,

when you speak, I hear no other sound,

the missing element to the true compound;

 

And, as the time slips by us each day,

against the joke of existence we spend separately,

just know that nobody else makes me behave,

like the dumbass that you seem to cultivate.