There’s smoke and a stick of passionate relaxation
(how the two are one we’ll never know)
I like how the night feels
Cigarette wands and smoke bats
spiders crab scuttling the asphalt
round sun’s brew
drinking sweet moon liqueur.
Drunken never lights that sign conservative window closing
from the witch moon who embraces spectre clouds
grey glowing embers of dying tomorrows.
I hold ‘tween my fingers the wand that waves
the moon douses sun.
I like the night, the haze
inhale sedation exhale seduction.
(now snuff. The smoke
and fake philosophy.)
the smallest shiny bit, to tame a beastly mouth.
Bob up and down, dive search round
vanishing points neath the hazy turquoise
find the darkened smoothed out places
worn in the ebb – there the beast!
Bubbling groaning waves
(little bit, be brave!)
unfurling tendrils, tongues licking
beckon the small shiny bit
to a monster’s trove.
crusted in salt seaweed, razor-jaw
the deep is his and there you are –
how could a trinket tame a beast?
Let’s trace the constellation of your scars,
create a track of pitterpat footpads while whispering gigglesighs
in glittering, icy dust:
what we want
we are going to be.
Polaris — Thought
Energy of Qualilty
quake and quiver in that, those shadows broke and bent
to this orbit:
Venus in Capricorn, Cancer.
in the incisions of your stars
on their celestial path.
I’m a waitress, I say
And Sir looks at my chest. Loin
Cooked to your liking? Murmur
Handing over the steak.
Who doesn’t like meat?
The vegetarians, you say,
And vegans, I nod agreeing
Lesbians? Your date butts in.
And we laugh but I hate you.
I’m a poet, I whisper in insistent instants
And duck away.
I should flee in black-cape to my misty night.
But all I have is goodwill rags and grimy street-streaked light.
Trade this, tit
For chomp. tip
For a romp, as
with all things,
Am I right?
Now tell us of love, they say, from your lover’s one dictation and your dreams.
Does Freud apply to your childhood?
What school of thought?
Are you more Homer, or Virgil?
And we all sigh. Because those questions don’t matter,
only medium, rare, or well done?