August 25, 2008
August 24, 2008
Aquarius (January 20 - February 18)
Stick around..it only can get better!:)
August 23, 2008
..think of "Stealing Jane."
jus' sayin,' kids..:)
August 19, 2008
August 15, 2008
August 13, 2008
August 10, 2008
(maybe, years) for him to digest every nuance of her.
There was, in her manner, so much he'd only half-see;
taking her in fully, but, not completely.
His tongue played lightly over her belly;
traversing the smooth island of her abdomen,
and the fine, Andalusian, curves of her buttocks.
The Language of Love doesn't shout,
with frustrated incomprehension, he’d said to her;
whispering in the dark ..
..as, her head tipped back, and she lifted herself;
raising her hips from the bed.
after I'd fully gathered her language,
(her inflections, her Spanish-Spanglish prosody)
a paired intimacy would be realized, incorporated;
yes, the sex, the fucking, the "making love," and, "the humpty-hump," became, all of a piece.
Our own, timeless, motion, ..
a moving forward.]
Each night, in his exile,
(counting his blessings, along with the coins in each pocket)
the poet found a new voice, with her~~
in her, New words, emerged, as they did,
from the Old World.
"The body in love", she replied, ~~[in, all coyness]~~
"fills itself with each stolen moment. Time's heartbeat, changes each word, each breath. It's a universal thing, love.
Love is, just that...to me,...
...To me, your cock speaks volumes of Poetic Love.
(Don't laugh, it's true!) Volumes and Volumes.
Don't believe, then. I should spank you, my poet; however, my mouth is ravenous and, at the moment, you're too present;
like, some banner, unfurled, above the town square."
[How he ever escaped his Homeland,
more alive than dead,
would forever be a mystery:
Fate, threw him across the ocean;
while, further back, tanks rolled into his Country
and bulldozers destroyed his home;
his words, clutched in his hands;
a carrying case of papers and phony documents;
the rushed agitation of pulling clothes from hangers and drawers,...
...strewn about the room, on the bed;
chairs, tossed about,
lying like four-footed animals, about the room;
broken dishes, pulled from cabinets, and flung onto the floor;
his sister, in a nightshirt, crying in a half-lit corner of the sitting-room
and bent over, clutching her stomach, with a bloodied hand;
a raised voice, a hand slap, a head turned to pulp;
and, Time flows backward,
with a shot fired, and a leap in the dark...
...His possessions, hastily given flight.
His ankle, twists, and cracks, as he makes contact with the pavement;
and, the sound of his pain, muffled by the sirens,
the sirens...the screams, and gunshot.]
He speaks her language now;
his own, seems like dust in his mouth.
[The woman who saved him, appearing on the docks, a vision:
With mourning and compassion and light and love, (as, his family, slowly, departs);..
..scattered now, and, aligned with the four points of the compass; destination, unknown. He feels too old, to be so young.]
Now, as she takes him, whole,
into her mouth, his head turns toward the window
.. the windowpane.
He is engulfed, and smiling.
A soft breeze,
sways the gauze curtain:
...a second revision.
August 9, 2008
 Listen, my love, and I'll tell you a story
 Which leans on a lamp-post, or basks in Town Square
 Never to know pains, or the sorrows, some share.
 We'll cast ourselves Character's
 In Play's yet to write
 No thoughts interrupted
 Or, curses, in sight..
 As long as you're with me,
 To grin at my jokes;
 To enter a comment, that's quickly revoked----
 I'll tell you a Story,
 A story so true,
 The only One hearing the Story
[1 ] Is you.
August 8, 2008
~is it Safe? lol!