Bored in class I end up writing things. I’m not even sure if it’s poetry, but I’m fond of these ones, even if they’re awful.
There’s a burning in my head,
and a turning in my bed,
a churning, a whirling,
a visceral madness of flesh.
I feel this heat within me,
a fleeting need beneath me-
It’s bleeding, seething,
a hunger deep inside my Earth.
I want to feel you pressed,
dressed in silk, distressed, impressed,
pleasantly intense, a hand on my chest,
a universe in two souls.
And somehow here
beneath the light we
in velvet swaddled lie;
breathing lightly, held
‘gainst heaving breast and
howling to find our patience bare
midst naked trees and morning frost…
Bent as lovers when love is lost.
Do I fancy myself a writer? I ask,
as I nurse my airline wine,
and crunch my airline ice.
She comes for the trains.
The harmonic roar as they hurtle
along their rails;
The culminating and pillow-soft
as they reach their peak.
Pity about the truck.
I was really looking forward
to my wedding cake.
and held here safe
stifled, whole, and hungering.
A thing of grief, melancholy,
This a thing that’s holy,
A life, a time in liminal space.
She wore a
Calling crows, or ravens really,
I find myself confused by them, nearly
at the gallow’s gate where they hold court.
But then the corvids need a name
as therein lies their call to fame,
for a murder (or assassination?)
Here gathered for a short drop
and a sudden stop.
Marx looks like a man who
knew most people were stupid,
but laughed easily and
took great pleasure in intelligent
Holding words between our teeth…
Kiss me and we shall shake the universe.
Held halfway between all the nowhere places, hazy, blind and unknowing;
Faceless, like all things, neither here nor there
in time and space.
In flux, liminal, and lost.
I would devour you whole.
I would suck the sun from your lips.