Dango

Hanging Low Fruit

My gun fully in its holster
women are the holy oil, breasts
brushing up against, and making me suffer
and turn and sway, I wish I could repeat
this action until death,this whisper of flesh,
light brush, a softness not meant for me--
hanging low fruit, a dance.

where his guitar led

They put it together by hand
then in the dim days of electronica
before they`d caught the country bug
it was a field of grass and daisies
it was a sunny California day
lorded over by a band a band that freaked
and denizens of apartments and suburbs
who came at once outlyers of some great
happening and explored together arms
finger painting the truth for a while,
adlibbed an extemporous response
to all the urges of hormone and synapse
exploding in seed clusters, like waves
that`s where his guitar and creaking voice led
they were pilgrims and buffetted on his notes
surfeited by a tide of pushing drums
surfed the waves of Balai` Hai until at last
finding an unravelling, the shore, wandered
picking up seashells, looking inside to the deep
smooth pink of the vulva, licking around the rim
and then in, to where his guitar led

then to the forest of orange wildflowers
cosmos and poppies in the Kasai seaside park
where we made a hollow with our bodies
and sank together in the late afternoon warmth.

firefly night

the view has never been better from the porch
my love, come and sit a while
as the fireflies do their crazy dance around the lawn
to a drone of crickets and cicada, and
an inside humming of the old fan doing its ancient
revolving, stirring up sweet humid air trick

get me a frosty mug, would you, put a few ice cubes
in it and let me savor a sharp coca cola kick,
tiny bubbles down parched throat, sit beside me
swaying, our legs barely touching they would
stick together like twins if they came any closer
and never come apart.

sex, and Sex

Strange to say, being one who not so
many moons ago would have been flat out
grateful for a kiss and a feel of bosomly warmth
Sounds jaded, yet there certainly is a distinction
between sex and Sex

One being within oneself and though enjoyable
not particularly life altering, the other
a joyous meeting of fluids which D.H. Lawrence
raved on and on about for years,
well I can`t say I wouldn`t if I found that
what I thought was the Ultimate
was halfway on the stage to a wider plateau on which
our aching bodies spooled out into eachother
the heavens hanging and unfolding from an embrace,
sunsets and mornings contained
and then let free to tremble the earth with their cries,
it would be good for me too.

the pious unite

Each piece falling slowly in place
internet intimacies are usurped
by shapes and pieces of the heart
the winter rain that blows against my window
and things that have come
front and center

At the core of it god is just crazy
about us single folks, she says
chewing the apple thoughtfully
making herself comfortable before me
touching

Oh he is, is he, and he is taking
his time then, my hand is guided by his voice
and moving like a beam of light
she gasps and shakes and opens.

Wildcatters Prayer

I want it all without having to pay with
sweat extracted from love`s grinding mill
Want the company of young ladies in their dozens
breasts and hips of varying sizes,
hair of acorn, chestnut, moss and dew,
eyes of fire, coal and emerald
dresses long and flowing,
or better, tight ass jeans

Oh lord let me have all these things which I can only
dream of on this scorched piece-of-shit earth,
divining rod quivering, my brow quivering
so far from the senoritas and Brownsville cantinas
let this one gush great fountains of rich black crude

I think of my mother, she in her wiry germanic way
broken, I think of Father who left a long time ago,
Ill take this sun lord and throw it at you, my shadow
larger than anything on this plain,
Where not even the ghosts of cowboys linger
fishing they are in the lakes and streams of Colorado
splashing in the cool clear water they dreamt of
as they passed this shit brown place.

your cast of mind

Almond eyes and
rainy toes
I cup the moss
as it flows
in rivers wide
that flood us deep
the world floats by
you seem to sleep.

I should never
could I ever
rock the boat that holds you snug
upon a sea
that tugs my heart
to follow stars
now north and south
yet casting outward
inward doubts
and drifting errant finds
some comfort in
your cast of mind.

existential

If I could I`d have been kinder, but you know I`ve finished last too many times, content to stand hidden behind my mother`s skirt. I`d take you in and tule you with patience and care, but I`ve lost the skills I once honed so carefully, preparing to burst out of that seed pod. Icicles have invaded my soul and made it suddenly barren, no secure pool to dip into but a stranger`s cold and clammy vision. Drips and drifts of snow trail wherever I walk and what I love turns to glassy ice. How can I go much further?

Your eyes are beautiful, cold and confrontational. I always walk on eggshells when I`m around, feeling my way to the safety of shadowed walls and tired smiles. What pleasures I take are sparse and uninviting. It`s my fault, my action, your reaction. How many days till reaction numbs and the spark is lost in this chilling flux?