downhill

The wind cheered,
The pavement parted,
The wheels stumbled,
The handles flexed,
But the tree protested.

The White Man Rapture

The Bible was probably mistaken, misread.
Alternate universe preachers might sermonize
Jesus will descend from acid rain, high as ozone
With a pack of cigars tucked in his collagen lips:
Primped like a pussy by mankind,
But ready to take one for the team… again.
He’ll swing his fully automatic piece like King Kong,
Raining death from the heavens, screaming
Are you ready to repent, bitches?
And all his little worshippers will run like watercolors

And I’ll turn to them, in hilarity, and ask,
You paid attention in Astrology, didn’t you?
The age of Pisces will end eventually
And I can’t wait for Aquarius to bust in.

Whispers

Will the wisps wisp when we wisp?
The wisps might wisp away if so.
Why then wisp when one wisp wisps?

Are oranges orange when we are wisps?
Or are ranges of oranges ranges of wisps?
Oh ranges of oranges, we won’t wisp without wisps.

Say, which way do the wisps wisp away to?
Perhaps to orange ranges of whispering rains?
Those ranges must be where they wisp, or
Else why would they whisper:

I’ll shimmer with you, shining, wishing;
Wisping with oranges in the rain.
I’ll whisper the secret of wisping to you;
That oranges and wisps are the same.

The Ripper

Her coarse skin sailed across my chest
And soaked my harborous lips.
Cold, quivering fingers, craving
Pastries of their own,
Crawl over my body, screaming
Yearning for a second death.

With my honest stare I pierced
Her sugar-coated eyes,
Grasped from deep within my shroud
A redeemer of the lost.
Then played Demeter on her crust
And made a waterfall of Sin.

I loosed the candy apples from
Beneath her tangled veins,
And savored sliced confections
Of her rich ambrosial skin.
Giggling, all while whispering:
You are free, my dear;
You are free in me.

My Arms Are Chains

My hands hold the days
Through the soft and harsh.
Nicked and scratched, though solid,
They’ve become one with steel;
With stone; with wood; with earth;
And flesh. They’ve held my blood,
They’ve nursed my crop.
Here, now, they even write my thoughts
And strum the chords on tuned guitar.
Sometimes I question
Their devotion, their desire.
All slaves revolt eventually.
When the chains break,
Perhaps one day
Our faces will be fingers.

Guitar

My tense strings
Jitter. I am
Eager to wail.

My body shivers
With each flicker of string
Instilling passion
Within watching eyes

Strangling my neck
His fingers crawl.
My voice tightens
And we serenade
And we whisper
And we sigh.

And, together, we bow.

Lilacs

She shifted;
I was absorbed.
She was a meadow;
I was too young.
The air carried goosebumps
Along her skin
Like delicate Lilacs.
Her lotus lips bloomed:
I want it hot.
The Lilacs attacked me
As I handled her coffee.