This kiss, then.Now and then, forgotten. This rain washing, time.Remembered in echoing moments.This lost, mad, wild haired king, moans - winds low-bellied, deep in brush.A crucified stag.The madman nailed and hung himselfagainagainandagainNebuchadnezzar growling, trapped in brambles, hanging, engorged, wild eyed.Ready. Resigned.Willing.
King Ram, a brideless exile, stalked by shades in the silent wood.Set, to rip a godinto 14 perfect pieces, reverentlywithin the Minotaur’s gates.Hot bull’s breathupon a shoulder, the burning teeth and limbs entwining.Now lifting an acacia lance, bodies unformed and reforming.Bull’s lusty urges, birthing onethe gift received, the life unfolding.The life unfolded, failing.The heated kiss, … Continue reading Fourteen
The broadened view, an owl winging This… life. coasting shadow dark dappling a whitened meadow. Echo across cold earth, time, your voice… This reminder… this sudden kiss "Always. You know this."
The first kiss,and you as a conductor, your fingers pulling at mine,onto the train and into the night,curving over mountains, through tunnels Steam turning electric,currents passing through me, burning and blindingyour fingers curled in mine,a journey without end
Sometimes, when I am flying through the sky, I watch a shadow of my ship dragging across the backs of a scudding cloud. I am my body lain along you, the curls and whips of white: your back, curving and drifting with me. shadows of my nails drawing up along your skin, tracing through your curving, … Continue reading Stratocumulus
My name is an ending, surname, derived from the Latin "Martinus". (A gift from a father lost, failing beneath my powerless hands). I am dedicated to war not poetry no not that, not some clinking at keys, rather, clinking at bullets, slotting them into clips, ready for their magazines, not 'zines, not some dumb rags, covered … Continue reading Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
Am I alone in obsessing over the fate of Astrolabe? -Martin Burns
Your nails still refuse to drag along my skin. Snow leopard. You... Your nails retracted, tongue curled, folded. Padding away into a mountains dark crevices. Where I, kokburu player, goat tosser extraordinaire, mad skier across Tuvan skies, lasso in hand and elk before me... am still not allowed to pursue. My rope whipping out, unanswered, quivering, inept.
So, riffing off Stay, a poem I wrote back in autumn. Curious what you think. I'm trying to work through some things... what love is all about, which is a rather large topic, how do we identify when we're in that state. Is it physical, can you love that which destroys you - is that … Continue reading Stay: Audio
Almost got to touch you, tonight. Caracal... you purr. Cat. Nails. Some light scratch. Tail slipping through grass. Almost got to touch you.