A waterfall of dark hair,frames her face - focusingeyes that grace you,a gift when they find you,to burn through your lies,the untruths you sell(mostly to yourself,the hell of twisted introspection) The lips, curve - paint the air,an artist framing you.Your tremble as she measures,her whispersweighted with her foreign tongue,pronouncementssighsand the sudden soundsof surrender Her face, … Continue reading Her face
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
like a cat... lithe limbed, long torsoed, strutting across my path, that glance... and I am caught up in your scent, musk, your nails like claws now digging into skin, bloody gashes along my back... fierce bites - half-moons rising along my shoulders, my breath in yours, backs arching... screams in alleyways, bedrooms boardrooms... you … Continue reading A Rapture
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.
the forests curved path your warm breath mixing with mine kiss in dappled light
I am contained by spit and bailing wire, the old go-cart knocked together from peach crates, roller skates, an old wooden skate affixed with bent nails to peach-stained slats. Rocking down hills, round hairpin turns, skipping cracks and gaps. Memory. Bailing wire and gum, glue, thoughts of you. Cocksure and unafraid. Rickety with memory, bound by … Continue reading I Am a Rocking Child, Rolling