Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

this is a stream
a dripping neurotic steam
of fissured consciousness,
a sauna of blaze-glazed
a tongue to suck the salt
from out the weeping pores

what substance has my ground?
lest with each gallop of militia time
I adroitly lay before the horse
a daunting hedge of distraction
an obstacle of subterfuge
to thwart the legion's course
set on pummeling me with memory
intangible abstraction
a Picasso vision haunting
in form of fractured discord,
your looming face

I dive for cover

and find my mind a swarthy skin
clothing multitudinous whores
and you the solo guest
within my brothel-
outside the bedroom window
the cloud-chaste sky is red-
affixed to each corner post,
my wrists and ankles,
bound and shackled by the cry
of your climactic soul's release,
my head skips my heart
like a scratched vinyl record
that's playing "let's get it on"...

what's become of purity?
perhaps this wicked state is more refined,
a luster of lusty gold
that clings to me
when I dip beneath its fire,
how wild the beating of frenzied wings
that disturbs the placid lake
of manmade convention and ordination,
I just want to cut the frozen reflection
with an infinity of ripples
and ride the rhythmic undulation
of carnal caress
and lose myself
in your sensuous high tide.