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One coffee in Two Hours
Entering the store, their eyes light up
Approaching the counter, they see the flyers and posters
Cradled under my arm, the anticipation in my eyes
The anticipation in their eyes
Dwindles with every step I take forward
Their hearts descend
Into wells of disappointment
As I left the café I heard muttered darkly;
‘One coffee in two hours’
Morning Star
When distressing whispers are heard
But no one else is around
All emotions gripped in frost
I stare up at that first love, faintly shrouded
I need to squint, only viewing a blurred edge
Who and what could she be now?
A wild hair-dress, a tangled silvery ecosystem
Orphan birds travel to nibble and breed in?
The syntax around her filled with a strange spilled speech
Reminiscent of her beloved Greek, having long forgotten English
Love Talk
Listen to the view
Inspiration was a gift but the course it set was folded between billowing clouds, and from a distance his crime was to say nothing.
But his heart was made of the finest ingredients, and from a distance it seems to say ‘untitled’
Women by that age reach that difficult threshold, when a man’s life obviously becomes filled with important professional criteria and their blind misguided findings of teenage love have worn off for the need of pure results.
I have your portrait next to me so i’m always sleeping by you, whether you like it or not.
What then? Just the simple wish that men drop everything in their lives and return to the teenage puppy-following, the heart-shaped eyes blindly skipping through the flower fields; oh if only things would stay that way forever?
Wild the were but just as the sun goes behind a cloud so their time was received.
My proud daughter
And while I’ve signed over to say, i’m your indiscriminate fan; your indiscriminate head shrunk to the size of your inconceivable hate begs for
It springs from a red glow above the tree line; like a witch-hunt rummaging beyond the town; flames licking the college doors
Indistinguishable pain to come
Suddenly touched the morning air
At the release of my headphones
left hanging from my neck
The wind whistled over those shallow pools
remnants of my morning shower
An enlightening sensation followed
lifting my last steps onboard the scaffold.
Indistinguishable pain to come
the temperature and texture of wind against water
flesh gently painted with the ripples of the pulse
Rapidly submerged, by an angry crowd
Indiscreet Songs
(Abstract of Nature)
(Conspiracies Extinguished)
When the sun reaches the amplitude of noon, lighting solemnly waves from above like the fixture on a basement ceiling, above the window line, and only then do eyes open for the first time, feeling bruised.
Some day, the sun will come back to fight us and it will be our worst enemy, when a violent end stops only happening to a friend of a friend.
Who won the war, mind or body to create such a forsaken feeling upon waking; the feeling of having being dead for nine hours then awoken by something they didn’t
No fear for Death; must be as natural as life. To survive the process before taking that first breath, is to accept Death’s quick taking.
Sex Poem #46
'... the light of love was in your eyes'
Ruffled beyond recognition in a Berlin hotel room,
my words, the whittled desk lamp tells me
have become so boring, that they're not worth
five seconds to read.
I don't remember arriving home but must have
been wary of the smell. After some unsteady removal
that night (your clothes never wholly discarded)
we kissed by the light of your laptop,
we danced to the narration of South Park
Common, that the sensitivity to so much flesh calls
for little light. I caught what l could
when a bright snowfield touched the screen.
Your ample breasts wore a youthful pout,
the skeleton protruded, exploring
where any lie could hide
Your teeth looked on in wonder, a tiny glow giving them eyes.
The Empire State Building looked on from afar.
Your petite frame wrapped in sheet's teaching
inspired such miracles and a yearn for protection.
The heart tumbled and lust exhaled,
above the call of a cathedral organ.
Just as we'd kissed in parks before, l reached
into the hall of your throat, chasing an ominous tail
of pleasure l couldn't call by name. Pushing myself
deep inside you, a desperate attempt to make
two ends meet repeated with every second.
My left hand wrapped around your right wrist
while my right curled like a python
biting your ass with enough vigor to leave
it's dental records the following day,
recounting every thrust of the attack.
Your clitoris was witness
to the engine of blood flow,
teasing a row of pins
jeweled with teeth
#46 reprise
A tempting offer,
I can see my circumstances now.
Chained to the turning arm of a winch,
pushing all day and night alongside a donkey
following suit.
A bucket hangs from my neck
catching precious blood and tears falling
in the effort to grind corn, the desperation
to keep my Visa buoyant.
From time to time you pass
the creaking slots in the timber
my ceiling, your flooring.
Guests know of no workshop below,
only the wondrous refined flour, famous for
it's shade of bright coral
due to the master's blood spilling toil
Could l be sponsored to operate this grisly machine?
Could l return to the Jane Hotel on Thursday evenings
to party with my fellow 'flour monkeys'?
This silent monologue raises it's finger gently to your lips.
Please don't worry, i'll always be at your mercy.
If ploughing is my duty, l will attend
to my 'cash-in-hand' job for as long
and with all the vigor you demand
My experience so far
sewing that fresh field with seeds
begs to be hired overtime.
Before the harvest floats
down the inside of your thigh
for the final time this night abides.
- Jim S
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