perihelion

maybe today i can touch it

the sun

finally a little bit closer than

any other day this year

i just want to burn my finger

once

on something they tell me

i’m not capable of touching

nothing really feels different

the world

is already burning at a pace

we’re unable to keep up with

i want to break the rule and

stare, i want

to sacrifice my own sight

for a day of peaceful warmth

(image from the Solar Dynamics Observatory)

the pith

murk of

the well

chambered pith

of hell's stem

where i reside

keeper of sins,

feast of fruit for

the infernal spawn

as above

the unworthy

leak and decay

  towards me,

  into me

one by one

push

how close is close enough

before the barrier is broken

and the wall comes down

instance of a push towards

gratification from deprivation,

my own hand at my back

follow the garrulous persuasions

of internal storms that

refuse to subside quietly

take one more step, then

another, and if the broken

pieces get in the way,

jump over them

(altered, original image by Myrica Jones saatchiart.com)

scattered

as many days missing

as i’ve been alive

mentally i’m scattered

  a divergent home to

  folly-harems,

  monks and misers,

  carnival clowns,

  poets and dreamers

but they want to define me

casting nets in the fog trying

to catch, tag and track me

flashlights, their empty beams

searching an endless distance

in bits and pieces

and all around,

often the somber figure

seen or imagined

there i am

collecting myself

there i am

not

(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

( a poem for Chopin’s Spring Waltz )

floating and

sinking to

Chopin’s Spring Waltz

joy and sadness

in a minor key,

such a familiar

mix of moods

light as leaves

but falling as

heavy as the

broken branch

a mutual smile,

holding hands

that let go as

lovers walk away

come life,

come death...

there’s a need for both,

  joy and sadness

these are feelings

that break and mend

over

and over

and over again

black exertion

my woman is a 

slow touch from ecstasy

as i crawl all over her

and into

every crevice

(Image from blablaterama.blog4ever.com)

i rise to meet her

blooded, stout

halfway to a scream

with eyes bulging

red and

black exertion

(Image from culturacolecriva.com)

she breaks fierce and free

wet from hip to cunt

as i fall to taste

the sweetest lips

i’ve ever known

of heaven

Happy New Year to everyone, I will continue this blog after New Years , more nsfw erotic poetry posts coming also, Enjoy and be safe, and thank you as always for visiting this site

nameless poisons

the world didn’t need me today,

it was palpable upon waking

so i’m writing this to you

through a prism of despair

 ( this is not the way

   they advertised it to be )

where are you?

my nursery, nebula

the vastness of you

i no longer search for

i am aging,

spiral to elliptical

as nameless poisons

attack the bliss

and interruptions

steal the kisses

  of love

... where are you?

(my image)

4 N 24

axis, mine

around which

impulse must be subdued

propulsion against gravity

( anything away )

maintaining shallow orbit

in happy

peach skin horizon

gift tranquilizer,

serotonin

  hide in the darkness

  behind each blink

  before collapse,

  implosion

  the spirit core

  vindicated

(my image)

the Giver

live a little longer

let dying come slow

and never go down

by the river

the wind still reeks

of the blood that flows

the flowers all have

withered

i forget the names

there have been so many

that never came back

from the river

his, they scream

as their lives are taken

but he calls himself

  the Giver

eventually they come

spirits from the woods

their heads and limbs

in the river

their torsos rot

without a grave

mounds of flesh just

withered

on the longest nights

his laughter haunts

and we hide in this city

by the river

praying a little longer

that dying will come slow

and our lives are never taken

by the Giver

hibernation

through the door to

sit by the window,

leave the window to

travel through the mirror

( the passersby

  sense the mood inside

    they whisper

    without knowing

  rumors, apprehensions

  secrets like

  flags in the front yard

  waving in full sight

  but silent )

i delve into,

i challenge the immutable,

i suffer the change

and adapt, until i

leave the mirror

to look out the window,

then leave the window

to walk out the door

(image from erebussociety.tumblr.com)

except for 2

the scene

is black and white

all of its contents

the rain

the streetlight

the small flowers by

  the curb

the moon in the puddle

the bus stop

even his hand

  and her

cheek underneath

everything shaded

left and right from grey

all but

the freshest green of

his words

  i love you

and the

shiny-wet red of

her accepting

heart

lost and found

head in midnight’s

box of lost and found,

unsure of what i’m

even looking for

i want to wear

something old

to return that

lost feeling of youth

i want to read

an old love letter

to remember the

force of blushing

i want to find

something i’ve forgotten

so this heart can

again be surprised

my passwords have expired,

my keys don’t fit the locks

“... anymore” is becoming

too common a phrase

and this night just

keeps getting darker

(image altered from original)

all silence

all silence as one

like a pack of waiting wolves

encircling

useless negotiations

making them salivate

and getting me nowhere

i know the time is coming

  the pouncing upon

  the ripping to shreds

i’ve bled to their gnashing before

  they know my taste

  and they are hungry

(image from mirrorsinner on tumblr)

- of us

draw out the marrow

  belly of the bone

turning hollow and dry

last vestiges of renewal

  terminated mitosis

ebb and flow to empty

cue the sullen choir

  echo of the swaying dirge

soft eyes and reverberations

close the book of us

  lay this love to rest

release, as

  butterflies, memories

(Butterflies I by SeraphimStock on deviantart.com)

nightmare

stirred

in late night womb

umbilical venom

  tainted at the source

  of dream

burning within

spiraling fall

from red to black,

  the tarred heart

translucent prison

of body,

leak of fear -

the unsealed fontanelle

  where is my savior,

  the radiant hands

  that proffer salvation

begging for a beat,

the stillborn arrives

in a mess of birth

and mourning sun  

(image from mymodernmet.com)

empty corner

i gave him the only

dollar in my wallet

i can’t imagine the

corner being very

generous anymore

with most people

now going cashless

but he was new,

half-a-beard younger than

Sal with the brown pants

(that’s what Sal’s sign said,

 “hi i’m Sal

  with the brown pants

  can you please help”)

i saw him again today

but my wallet was empty,

the State salary has me

living tight and lean,

there’s not a lot of room

for extras

  but, i am rich

  in poems and silence

i wonder if he

writes at night,

scribbling sufferings

far worse than 

i’ve ever known

on scraps of cardboard

or those collected

dollars he

eventually must spend

i always thought

Sal’s sign was

concisely poetic,

11 words...

  a greeting

  a proper noun

  a description

  a cry for help

all invoking

a visceral response

i can’t imagine

being on this corner...

or any corner...

... oh man...

poetry is worthless...

i wish i had a dollar...

avoidance

(Written in April 2021, backdated posting)

voices hushed

lips sealed tight

 

miserably, love

succumbs to silence

its a familiar crash

after the high, 

so damn high that

the loss of oxygen

knocks you out,

knocks you back down

into the dirt where

you belong

I am tired

I am weary

I prefer now to

lie on my back and

watch love float by,

watch others rise and fall

enjoying their sunshine gaiety

enjoying their turbulent rainfall

basking here, drowning here

avoiding all of it

myself

north on US98

(Written in April 2021, backdated posting)

heading north on US98 just 

over the small Kissimmee bridge 

and around the first bend

there, in the heavy marsh grass,

is a single black cow looking

modestly sad for some reason

as it chews and stares and

stares and chews and stares

at nothing really, just chewing

continuing by on this two-lane 

country road with nothing but

time, I am lost in my own state

of sad staring, at nothing really,

just thinking about how this

might be the last day that I

ever hear from her again, and

its because “love is a beautiful,

wondrous thing (but) I play games

in my head to ruin it”... yup, the

truest poem/thought I ever wrote

while reflecting upon all of my

fuckups... so long ago written

but so eternally true ~

~ hours have gone by now, and

I can’t... I can’t let this happen, 

not again dammit, not again, so

I message her back, and I do it

again until she finally answers;

this incredible woman, this pure

angel heart of a woman, this

precious gift of a woman finally

responds and gives me the 

chance I needed; we talk, for

the first time we actually talk

and a new connection is made

and a new beginning is started

the next day, heading north on

US98 just over the small

Kissimmee bridge and around

the first bend there, in the

heavy marsh grass, is a single

black cow looking fairly happy

for some reason as it chews and 

stares, at nothing really, and I

too happily stare, I stare at all of

this growing country openness

all around me, and I feel an

overwhelming sense of promise

and hope for things I just

couldn’t see yesterday

“love IS

a beautiful, wondrous thing”

(My photo north on US98)

erase me

(Written in April 2021, backdated posting)

start here

where you are

in my tangled abyss

climb up and out

faster now, hurry

backpedal, retreat

I’m closing up

eyes eclipsed

self-apocalypse

take the common paths

follow familiar voices

join the happy cities

erase me

forget everything

its already over

start again

wherever you are,

start again

(Image from fravery.tumblr.com)