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Saw this girl in her cellular world.
She’s got
polyphonic
gin & tonic
dual sonic
embryonic
skills.
She’s letting down passes
with her cokerimmed glasses.
From the boys at her side
with inflateable eyes.
And their lovebones
honed to kill.I’m Kid Cancer
don’t know how to romance her.
Won’t get any answers
from my latenight shopping for sleep.
So I’m
a wrapped up cone
low dialtone
monochrone
twilightzone.
Don’t have any tricks
that can boost her kicks.
I’ll just let her wolf
feed on my sheep.Now she’s out on the prowl,
sporting a growl.
Suited for the best of times.
She’s flying by
on her convertible sky.
Fantazise
mesmerise
furtilise.
Young boys dreams.
Revisited teens.
Hungry for a piece
of her lines.Well, I’ll leave her be.
She’s not for me.
The crippled
hasn’t got the speed.
I’m heading home.
The essence of alone.
But with a wonderfull
brain to feed.You come back to haunt me
Like some unfinished business
Duking it out to the bitter end
For my reverence becomes its attire
Knocked out on the third round
Sleepy and hearing the bell
The first opponent’s fist up
Clamour by the referee
Stirs the gong as well…Loto
Life’s a riot, isn’t it?
back tracked in double meaning
fisticuffs hurl fire
at five finger discount fucks
Is that what they call it now?
Crude enjoyment
For the card-carrying member
tantamount to an act
holding onto a bluff
hammering breatheless matter in
An ace of spades, hiddenTrêve
Sitting on a park bench
Unaware of the stench
The waft of its wretched fomentation.
I, sitting quietly, reading my book
The woman sitting next to me
Giving it a good look
She is a Mussulman woman from Iran
She asks if I mind
If she eats her lunch here
Then offers me some
Which I know is a custom
I cannot refuse, yet refuse gently.An older woman came
and sat between us
struck up a conversation
with the woman sitting next to me
the older woman spoke first
she said: " I am here from New York, on vacation,
Montreal is such a nice city…
Where are you from?"
The Mussulman woman replied:
"I am here from Iran
I have moved to Toronto with my husband
whom is studying at the University
but he beats me so I ran, and now I am here.
I want to find a room and go to the University
on my own–seperate or get a divorce
yet, I cannot go back to Iran, my home,
because it wouldn’t be taken in good light, this flight…"
The woman from New York said:
"I understand you very much, my ex-husband
was the same, beat me too, so I left him, what else could I do?"
"Yes, would you like some food?"
"Oh, no, thank you."
"Please…"
"No, thank you."
"No, it is very good, you will see…"
"No, that’s fine."I had taken the time
to listen to their conversation carefully
dining on each morsel, meanwhile,
only my reading being disturbed
softly and suddenly
which could have been taken back
anytime.
Then, a month or so later, in the aftermath
clearly understanding the importance of this fact
The imprint left of that particular day:
This gift.Hey You!
Mind my ghost
It is a terrible host
Exclaiming, zealous, she boasts
Exits through windows
Leaves doors agape
Listens rapturously
To rapacious escapades
Where humanoid hands
Feed the intrepid
Forlorn and decrepit;
Or might she be asleep
On the rocks of your eyes
Waiting on them like sheep?La Fermeture Éclaire
À genoux devant
Ta fermeture éclaire
Ton pousse poussoir
Pesant sur la gachette
Chaque brindille
Sème la pagaille
Remuant un récit du calvaire
Lorsqu’un morceau
S’effond sur le rocailleSome fine poems, priss!
Thanks dB, for the thread and compliments. Half-Man, another good verse–deepsludge, also, in the works…
Driving Under The Influence
I am not afraid of the deep
I am afraid of you
Leaving me
"Well, life goes on, girl…"
I’m tired of it going on
Without me
I should have dealt with this long ago
Instead I kept on going–go, go, go…
Thinking, not knowing, whether
Things would get any better
But I can’t take back
What I knew all along
Whether it’s me who’s all wrong
Or just the occasionDon’t touch the moon!
Don’t damage its beauty
But you always intend
To pollute the sacrificial
Buy the morning
Ends in gunfire salute
That which commences its entrance
And leaves muddy boot prints
All over the stained floor
Which door do we use
To say: "No More!?"
Or to circumvent this insanity?Hey Half-Man,
I just finished reading a book that dwells a bit into Berryman’s poetry, it is entitled:"Beyond Consolation–death, sexuality, and the changing shapes of elegy–by Melissa F. Zeiger. Some of my poems were inspired by this reading. Do you know of Codreiscu’s magazine: The Exquisite Corpse? (I’m being a bit morbid– aren’t I?) I like ending up in their rejection pile–It’s fun. Where is St_Robert’s lyrical poetry? More lyrics! Deep Sludge, your body paintaing is very nice.. O.K., back to therapy. Here’s a little triptych. Well…, maybe after supper.
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