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not_art_not_war
12 August 2014 @ 12:35 am
Naked, At Last

Ask me, love
how to share the adrenal gaps
between the dull and grey gray sheen
of another unsettled carolina dawn

the orbits of flesh,
electron battles of matter
and its limits;

they can not keep us apart,
and they do not decide our fate

our end is as our passing,
colors unseeded
and scents blooming in late summer
and the wet-velvet glide
of your lips alive

the slow curls of smoke at first morning,
twined like us,
floating towards the low clouds.
 
 
not_art_not_war
06 July 2014 @ 07:56 pm
Night Neighbors

To watch her nurture!
the clean, wasteless pouring of love
into a palm full of young life,
as much a marvel now as the first time
she set a kitten in my hand,
tiny and fragile as a coal-black snowflake

Textbook magic, the cyclic dance
of long silk legs and polished aluminum arms,
a pure whirl of vigor as dark and blistering shadows flash,
pedal-speed through the boulevards

Swirls of uncertain color bloom
where she steps
frowning at over-ripe squash,
weakened in summers ragged breath
or washing bowls for the paw and fur set,
trailed by small noises of want and need

And when those marble shoulders fall,
soft, fearful glass of a broken wind chime
casting fitful glances towards wind and walk
she is, by turns,
doe eyed
and hawk eyed,
two full table spoons of light and thirst-set hope

Yes, still a marvel of palm-soft passion and
sour blackberry love;
free to the weak or a life in need,
all of us, in our time.
 
 
not_art_not_war
19 March 2014 @ 11:18 pm
The Flat

Sleepless crawls,
paw by paw as he slinks through
narrow halls in the hesitant architecture
of the last century.

Detached shadows and heartsick
dry tongue,
I wait for dream-drunk winds.

Rolling, boiling in the february fever,
the snow runs diamond-hard as
quiet sinks, slinks.

A cat, head cocked sidewards in question,
peers from the thin-cracked door
to her room.

-----

Barren Offspring

Baleful, duck-footed children splashing ink,
my hands slow when noticed.

First line, second line,
they leave tiny prints
as they drip across
the page

Like dad caught them teasing
the neighbor's dog
across the fence, they
look up at me, bashful
and doe-eyed;
who, us?

Even as the ink runs
and pools at their feet.

So it begins, young whimsey
and old guilt under the
nails as the words wind
out.

-----

Bell

There's a loose sound
when she frowns, a half-
sheared joint separating by
degrees as the corners of
her small mouth fall. Long
in the neck, lines worn
but alive as light runs
water over the throat
and shoulder,
nape
and navel.
 
 
not_art_not_war
27 February 2014 @ 03:40 am
Daily Placement

Those big doe eyes,
how do I blind them?

two long pale thighs,
when might I ply them?

small patient lies,
do you think they breathe clean?

I'd just like your warm
smirk-small breath to be torn

in a wet moment of trust,
star-cracked steam as the door closed.
 
 
not_art_not_war
27 February 2014 @ 03:25 am
Lot 3B

Knuckles still burn from the day's
effort, hot oil and
flecks of someone's prized
weekend toy.

veins hot where metal touched,
fever-sick like the flush in my fingertips
when your knee wandered, again and again..

like the sparks bouncing off my grey-iron cheek,
do they burn probability?
the chance of chance, over and over?

cooling from steel hot touch,
I reach for your neck,
while you wander into the night with my scarf,
frozen as I brush your ear

feeling embers,
again.
 
 
not_art_not_war
18 September 2013 @ 12:10 am
Lunar Drunk

Like two spoonfulls of
dark moonlight;
she struck into the room like
a piece of terrestrial day,
perfectly normal;
perfectly orbiting
the space
between me
and her
and ordinary time

the small kingdom
of thursday,
friday,
lucid summer cycles in the late
august light,
peddling towards the next good time.

-----

Dakota Weights

Flat endless sickness
as the first fever
waits to break;
the last thousand miles
turns into a sleek sandy waiting game



patience; a virtue
I forgot when the Mississippi
went dry
and the dregs of wind-blown Iowa
were just yesterday's grit
between borrowed sheets



I have one thousand
one hundred and
sixty six
miles to finish,
each waiting patiently in snow-abandoned plains
for me to cross once more,
spitting oil and someone's borrowed cheer

persuing dad's then
and my now;

a twice-copied chapter
in a long-lost book of bad poetry
 
 
not_art_not_war
13 March 2013 @ 09:52 pm
A Portait of Marthe, The Restless
(for Nabokov)

Moving like a piece of marble on
a stone floor, she draws near
me & my guard, all the weight
of a lead horse,
with none of the smell.

Lips like a keyhole,
leaking loose truths
about who,
and when,
and home many times

and the sounds he made
her make,

is this not hell enough?
mold-rife prison of the crippled
imagination,
are you insufficient, alone?

of teaching me the error
of my ways or,
rather, the error of
her ways?



A swan with a limp neck
makes no flight home.

and so she floats sweetly in
a pool of easily extracted affection

"I did it again today," he
wrote that
she said,
pressing one tiny stretch
of flesh against
another.

And how am I to sleep,
accused and insufficient
as she sluts gently with
the friends of my family and
my own slick companions?

Waves of unwound lust broken on
shores of honey-sweet wet infidelity on
the sheets I bought her in Tangiers?
I toss and weep sleeting sweat
on my neighbors couch, as her
mouth burns holes in my
pillow cases with the gifts
of her sex,

even as an unwanted hand drifts
weakly past my knee.
 
 
not_art_not_war
13 March 2013 @ 09:36 pm
A Frightening Line

her hand on my shoulder
lake a perched hawk,

you dress like my mother
and you glare like my
sister,
but I went you to throw
me off the porch like my
half brother,
and remind me what I do
and don't love about my family

choked on your scent
and chewed like a whole
tobacco leaf
in your past-eating grin

-----

Cheap Thrills

Touch my neck lke you know me,
but you don't on this airplane
twentyfive thousand feet to fall
filled with expanding oxygen,
I wanted to see you look through
too much eyeliner and see not
a cheap fuck a chewable flesh
string not a wet scream of the
unexpected not free nothing free
ever not at all,
I just wanted the nails nails
nails at the neck to leave four
thin white trails on the
dermis to sing softly the tale
of sweet want and need and
can't-won't have.
 
 
not_art_not_war
13 March 2013 @ 09:14 pm
Coasting

A hint of roadtrip smile
is enough to set me running
to the coast,
drunk on the baywatch dreams
of washed out movie posters
and leering carnival colors

light exploding from the apex
of the rust-wound ferris wheel
lands like arrows in the sand,
kicking claymores like cans
along the powdered iron shore

will this be our first mercury kiss,
in a soft rain of brown glass fragments?

is our motel room filled
with the piss and spit of the
bully pouring from the tv,
another after school special?

My eyes drift past your face
to a different pair of necked thighs
framed by tin panties and
tall steel thighsocks.

and it's flight again,
running from the over-oxidized
coast on rag-wrapped wings

to some other hot wet smile
stolen like a cheap pocket knife
from your red, red mouth.
 
 
not_art_not_war
13 March 2013 @ 08:46 pm
Buring Metal

Waking up with oil in the
lungs,

a little whisp of distillate
that snuck into my sleep
won't kill me.

Rugged tires spinning at the
apex, every left
and right
is a dead man's curve
to the uninitiated.

But to break the thin plexi shell
and run on the hot ragged
edge of speed,

that is why we strap hides
to flesh

and set ancients burning in our
tailpipes.