Thursday, September 27, 2012

Mazes




















Often she wakes up
with this intensity
says things like


"I want you inside me
on top of me
in back of me
on a couch
on the floor
in the woods."

I say

"like a poet
like an animal
at inappropriate times
in inappropriate places
in illegal ways
I want to breathe you in
before I taste you like prey."

She says
"Successfully turned off.
Thank you. That was perfect.
I have to get up and workout.
No time."

That was always the risk
If I navigated the maze
successfully we could both
be released from life's
pressures and stresses
but if I even touched
the energized walls
it meant death to her arousal
a twisted feeling
inside me

There were those days
when we arrived
quite by accident I think
the less I said
the more she imagined
Eyeronikally the more
we both felt.

I just have this
overwhelming need
to find it on an
intellectual level
spiritual level
animal level
Trifecta
I guess we all
have our searches


Friday, September 21, 2012

37th Shade of Inksanity





Did you ever try to detox yourself
from a lover who became an addiction
while you weren't fully paying attention

Did you try to say no to them
Asking yourself how did this happen again
How do I repeatedly attract this

Right now my brain is hurting
Hurting from wondering why you can't be found
Why time after time our Fridays go this way
Why it even took more than once for me to realize

Do I have a learning disability
Do I enjoy breaking my heart open
Or do I like to bleed to feed my vampire quill

This must be the definiton of insanity
Torture out a poem like a masochist
allowing myself to be pushed to the breaking point

Only then reaching for the next hand
It is definitely a sickness
I'm completely submissive to a muse

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Rhyme Scene Investigation

 
 
 
This is not my pen there is blood in it not my own its clearly seen places I've never been
opened eyes, hearts lit flames warmed bodies
scratched surfaces
ended innocence
 
Sit here for a while you will see it stand up on its own move without my hand to the drums of a long dead band surely this is not my pen