Tuesday, May 29, 2007
when you begin to open up
to people you know nothing about.
Tell the man sitting next to you
eating alone at three in the afternoon in the park
in a pink shirt and houndstooth sport coat
about your ménage à trois.
Let the crustpunk throwing you glares
from across the coffee shop
how much you paid for gasoline last week
and how it makes you want to
buy a gun
and drive cross-country
robbing convenience stores and shooting road signs
with Woody Guthrie as your wingman,
flying on LSD, and
drinking to feel warm.
When a customer approaches you with a question
and begin to point out all the co-workers you would sleep with.
The more things in life you regret, the more you've tried.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
A good friend of mine tells me not to worry about my over-active sexual imagination.
“You’re a fine young man with a healthy libido," he tells me.
I find solace in his words when I can’t stop thinking about the girl in the train seat next to me naked. What does her skin feel like bare against mine? Or her breast on my back as she wraps her arms around me like wandering ivy?
People sometimes say my apartment is cold.
"Touch the walls. Do you feel that?” I ask.
“That’s plaster.” I tell them
No one really gets the joke.
After I shower and before I shave, I don’t prepare my razor because it’s been done while the showerhead ran steam to prepare my skin for the city-tap’s wake. The blade is heavy. My father picked it up for me on my twentieth birthday.
I sat naked in front of the cheap Target mirror that leaned up against the bedrooms east wall. Behind, a woman took control as she nursed an erection damn close to expulsion. Naked and watching, I never thought myself to be much of a voyeur. But considering the circumstance (a weeks worth of pent up morning woods), I permittied myself to gaze upon her pirouetting body as she wrapped two serpentine legs around my waist.
I shave with two blades that sing Gregorian verse as I drag them across my face. Seven sleek strokes. Save the throat’s apple for when it’s less slick. It’s rather slippery when wet and succumbs to cuts upon cuts due to hasty mistakes. I move up then to my right cheek, drawing it downward, but not too far without first rinsing in the sink.
Along the grain, two to three inches, water to rinse, shake off, repeat.
Before we undressed, I asked her if she’d lay on my back. She did and I got to getting her off. Before we came, she reminded me not to tell anyone.
“Our secret is safe.”
Thusly, my roommate was disappointed to hear that we didn’t go all the way. After all, semen only leaves stains on a stomach unlike what a bruise does to the pale white of a leg.
The upper lip is one of my favorite places to shave. The stubble is strong, allowing me indulge in the gap below my nostrils. Usually, I move clockwise across the face. Right to left, leaving the chin for last. I always cut myself right before the weekend. Apprehensive on Thursdays, waiting for a day’s worth of class to be done. I scraped my chin this Thursday. The cut wasn’t deep enough to bother, but the blood tasted great as I washed the white lather from my face.
She bit me on the arm and like a vulture, I circled imaginary lines onto the inside of her legs. She touched the tips of my fingers to every strand of her hair as I engrossed my nose in the comfort of her smooth sultry feminine scent.
Sometimes I forget her taste and then sometimes I wake up from a dream, satisfied with the thought of her long muscled embrace.
Warm water washes the blood away from my face as the taste of a foundry begins to displace a slight suggestion of crimson. Of Iron and tin melted down into one dark liquid.
"I taste outstanding," I think.
Naked and lovely, I think of all the things I can do with her breasts. So I touch and rub them, and long for a time when I can look back at this moment, telling myself that everything was okay. And with eyes closed, she moans. Trying not to think about the man who holds her genuine feelings.
I taste like a machine
For her, “What the fuck is wrong with me?” becomes the evening’s reoccurring phrase.
So we switch positions. She sits up and I'm upside down. While I'm looking at the scratched wooden floor, she stumbles, falling shoulder first into the nearby bedside wall.
“Oh god! that’s cold.”
Only this time, I don’t have to explain the joke.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Call in the Apaches
This country is hungry
For defacing sovereignty
And indigenous ancestry
Labeling war machines
With Native American majesty
Beckon the burning Tomahawks
Navigate Navaho infantry
Contact the Comanche fighter jet
And seek out Seminole ATVs.
Technology will scalp the enemy
Tradition razed their ranks
Terror leads our nation’s brave
Onto big and better things
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Blood from veins atop blue dead bodies.
Crime scenes investigate what the revolver forgot to say
Federal employees with pension plans mop
sidewalks clean. Their 401k as Kevlar against societal decay
Disease runs rampant in distant African cities
Man without boundaries looks to space for consoling,
Forgetting past and present whilst scientists study the destruction
of their planet. In unison they sing with voices drunk on public funding
“Why neglect one paradise when there’s enough time to wreck many?”
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
more than anything else i hate this feeling. this feeling of having an endpoint. suddenly every awkward moment i've had and every time i've questioned whether or not these are the people that i really want to be defining myself by are all coming back to bite me. maybe these things take time. maybe i'm stuck in the past. offwards and downwards?
i don't think i'll ever know for sure.
i'm hoping that, forty years from now, i'll look back on everything i've gone through and think that maybe i'll be thankful that things worked out in the way that they did. that maybe this is just a learning experience and that this is all for the "greater good" whatever the fuck that means. saying goodbye and meaning it is one of the most gut-wrenching things a person can do, and the idea that this really might be the last time i see a certain person completely throws me for a loop. i dont' want certain things to end. i want everyone to coexist and be happy but there's no way that can happen in an environment like this. i'm in need of a change of scenery when everything that i've grown accostomed to is so beautiful.
i dont' know what exactly kills me so much about this entire situation. maybe it's the fact that i feel like i'm metaphorically sitting on my hands while the entire world passes me by. that i'm stuck in the past. that i'm trapped in this mindset that was atmittedly great but obviously time to pass. that i feel like i'm going in so many directions all at once it's hard to know which one is the enlightened path and which one will lead to dissapointment.
i suppose everyone goes through something like this.
maybe i just thought it would never really happen to me.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
reflecting in the eyes of a hornet
with layers of iridescent color
that man's eye can only
begin to see.
There is a wide tree
with roots at the base that
burrow further into the ground
than any one man can dig.
There is a true love
that rises every morning
bright and alive
affectionate and caring
that ceases to shine only when
man's eyes are too heavy to appreciate