Peace Negotiations

found on a cold night
in lieu of darkness
over a hexagonal glass of whiskey.
I took off a boot
we discussed Faisal,
fingers in the middle eastern pie
that make it the shattered mirror
of lost lives

living in this universal crowd
of masked faces
where to touch one is tantamount
to sacrilege, violating
caste purity–
how could I pick your face
from the anonymous mass
contravening this unspoken
border between each individual country.

Such craving throngs to crescendo,
the wrangle between autonomy and harmony,
hands wanting to cross boundaries
minorities within perimeters
pan-identity beyond frontiers
and the sanctity of the solitary.
You reach across your wall
to my foreign hand
on a cold night
in lieu of darkness
passports no longer needed.

Not Touching

last night i was up late. too late. when the morning came quickly, thoughts crowded like high school crushes. it’s been so long since i felt like that lightning…but i have been sharing my bed with someone who makes my vagina hot. The morning came too quickly and thoughts of guilt kept my shivers company. double titillation. double thoughts of double agents and my cunt must be hungrier than i thought. 

 

here i am, sharing your bed almost every night. two peas, used to the familiarity of rolling over next to the same log of human hair, skin, and excretions every night. i rolled next to mine for 5 years, you for 3. You sought marriage, i was afraid of it. but the same result came for both of us. we roll into our logged ruts. partners in kitchen cleaning. giving rides. i’ll be there for you, go to your doctors appointments, your court appearances, paying the cable. we eat together, clean together, pee together. There’s a comfort in there that is un-rut-like. I like it. Like leaning on a million year old boulder.

 

but is this how it should be? worried of returning to what felt like solitary slavery? but here, in this one, we can fuck for hours. but here, in this one, you hope to pee in as many butts as you have leg hairs. sometimes i think you want me for the gas i burn getting you from here to there. I will leave soon, oh don’t worry, i will be gone. and you will still be here. hoping for progeny with a lifestyle unfitting. i need to continue on. past this way station in the desert.

 

last night, i stayed up way too late. and when this morning came quickly i pressed send even faster so that he could see my smile behind my hand behind my tan-lined breasts. i looked at his manhood again. how exciting is the excitement of not touching. of the potential for touching. the thoughts of touching.  his promises of poetry and picture-taking make my thighs quiver. full of promises.

 

is forgetting this unforgettable way station a sin. perhaps judgement day is here. i judge myself with the tentative paw of a cautious kitty. you still make my vagina hot, but last night I stayed up way too late, not touching someone else. talking about not touching. smelling not touching. looking at photos of not touching. perhaps trying too hard is a sin. i can’t make you blush…although you send my cheeks flaming…and here i am blushing thinking of not touching.

Diversions

I took the sheep out to pasture today.
They rushed across the early-summer wisps of counterfeit desert grass
tails tucked.
witless.
teensy bell songs.
I was an advancing carnivore,
with other things to do.
swiveling sprinkler handles
adjusting doo-dads
switching switches
bringing swathes of sod to the sod-less
dust of high altitude juniper.

I stop mid-stride of my celestial chores
recalling my finger tracing
the line of forehead to chin.

I check the pond level,
ensure the pump survival.
I’ll need the pole spinning valves
working the primitive mechanics
of an aging artist’s hand-dug irrigation

I’m looking for your graying eyes
flashing blue in the leaden shallows
your chin jutting with perplexion
as you absent-mindedly place your hand
on the inside of my thigh
below my…

I just need to turn two off
and two on
and the pleasant hum of
machinery ejecting water–

the sound of me
when I hold down your hands
and sheets slung to the fringe
when I gasp at the astounding nature
of…

I’m looking for your greying eyes
flashing blue,
the quiver of my day
filled by your arrows

Reveries

Wake Up
comes the delayed call
shivering through oily swamp silt
eyes closed
sunlight, soft
sifted through a stained glass brown and blue.
I lick my lips,
moistness gathers a sweet sigh
-the mind gasps clenched pillows-
-the lungs inflate and deflate in exile-
tomorrow should be here today
but today,
hanging moss brushes my eyelids
lightly closed under a thin film of water and mud,
no need for breaths
my chest vacuums every impulse
until I’m crying at the lightning striking.
I want to feel your breath on my shoulder
I take an expedition into your eyes
and never return

Lust

 

 

fingers overlapping fingers 

cheek to cheek

you seem surprised to kiss me

your mouth waits like

a catfish under a hook

and your tongue squirms away

like a worm not adequately baited

but you still put your arm around me

I am too exhausted

and your delirium

prolongs the inevitably upcoming moment

intoxicated by ligneous, tobacco

smells of salts

cheek to forehead

cheek to chin

cheek to abdomen

I don’t mind smothering my larynx

if it means

throat full

pressure on the lipped gates to open

take a hand full of my ass

so I can lean close

to ligneous, tobacco, salts

fervent grasps

tugging geysers

until you cry out to me

you admire my pink and olive breasts

I encourage you

worship my fervent giving

and I lap up yours eagerly

sleep came last night

with a smell of salted spice

on my lips

and I was reluctant  to

wash my face this morning. 

Thoughts on Careers

Let’s make a career map
and hope to have a niche in the world
like a slender cactus shadow.
At least I understand letters
but I only write bad poetry
maybe you’ll sing with me,
take me out of loneliness to
the far side of the bitter apple,
taste of cider and sex
where at least I have one price
–although not too dear–
you’ll see I’m just like a cold cod fillet
empty eyes flopping
running out of air and purpose.
I try to run but only fuck
with a stick in my mouth
and my nose hanging
where’s a woman’s heart?
Which direction do you face
when the conductor kicks you to your knees
and you know your job is lost forever
we are the wanderers who fall from favor
to the music of jeers