Litkicks Message Board Archive

coitus series - procreation poems

Posted to Poetry

She is so hard to say

burden of expression
tethers tongue with words
she moves in motion
indescribably, absurdly
beautiful, really beautiful

new summer’s sun
calls through the rain
beach dreams
surf screams
sand scenes
in time with her slow walk

spring vernacular — cloud music
wind’s pervading bow
draws across the season’s strings
in haunting, moaning, melody
calling her
calling her arms to shelter

cars hiss slowly louder
outside the window
sleet slides them down road
fire roaring brightly
dancing shadows on her bedroom walls
damp leaves twirl & stroke the glass
outside, white blind light
chimes in the future with another day
struck dumb
I’m deafened
rendered senseless by her seasons

Adaptation of an oracle

Thought tumbled off cliff’s edge
down to a sunless sea
above, a roof of brick & steel
light cast from a blinking bulb
shimmered on the water’s coat
dancing on cerebral walls
the cavern measured forth a sound
words eddied ‘round its core
as dimmed shadows herald twilight
a great head reared glistening form
inflating parallel domain
from deep within its sparking pools
breathed forth a flaming fire
encased within a consciousness
beaten, moulded by a forge
until the spring dehydrates
& choice is made, imagined flesh
dresses countenance
— internal as air
— a grain of light
itches fontanel, relief to attain
as moments of being form rungs
to ascend from deep within
the air out there, beyond this sphere
whispers chastity & light.

Psalm of the new way

I have been struck down with the apathy of my age,
between great wars that never come, nor that I will ever see . . .

Everything is burnt or burning
not by real fire
I am standing
on something connected
to everywhere that is nowhere

Birds scream
wind buffs my shrinking head
my skin is plastic
salt-spray chaps
it’s almost 3D
but everything will always be TV to me

My broken compass
is directed
toward fibre-glass worlds
that never rot
that will now never decay

The name of months/seasons
seem archaic/mythological
my eyes regress/disillusioned
not aware as such
find it harder to make words
from shapes

I am one of those
bounced off the sharp walls
glasshouse green hybrid stones
don’t break anymore

Rain splashes
melting my eyes . . .


Truth imagined
truth seen
truth talked
is all lies
bouncing off heaven
in bitter-sweet refrain.

Evaporation occurs
before it comes back
to the ear
in the form
of blood-stained money . . .

Knees burst apart
in prayer
to objects far from grasp.

Truth is: hunger
Anything you want it to be . . .


You eclipse me & I have
stained the Sun with black love . . .

death from a bottle cools my ardour
for a while, until I see you again.

Damp distance bleached, then blackened
with shadows, flocks of shrill birds
screaming for my blood.
Bound hands swollen & sore
body, silently numbed.

You set fire to the straw
you stabbed around me,
now reddened, with my burning life.

In these blistered hours of insomnia
objects are like lead.
They are more & less than they are,
as if fewer of them would create a stillness like sleep
— if only to dream of you again . . .

Cushions beckon in the mirror
bed reflected in that fantasy land,
a round pool of hope.
I lay down praying for darkness
another snowflake melts
on her virgin eyelids.
We drink every breath of poisoned air:
she asleep, I awake . . .
The last star’s neon spark will be dissolved painlessly
morning will knock on the window, still
slow day will begin to stretch.
Sheep in the cold dawn of a stirring slaughterhouse.
This morning on motionless ground,
cold mountain air outside
across crisp cool valley — white snow,
blue mountains of decrepit glass dream dissolve
in this fresh green brocade.
In this ceremony.


Out into restless night
firmament spreading darkly
good shirt & shoes on
liquor licking back of neck

calm full moon illuminates
coming scene of storm
crisp cool breeze coagulates
blood of memory
past pumping in beyond

entrée neon groves of hell
or Eden, perverse
w/ phosphorescence
awake in a bleeding dream
monotone voices drone
punctuated by irregular scream

sections of throbbing sound
smashing glass & smacking shoes
on a hard night’s street, littered
w/ drunks, angels, priests & devils

flames dance, erode soul w/ heat
spine knocking to a mesmer-beat
shifting sands of light corrode
aspects of an eye’s intent
we leave the dance floor w/ regret
watch the mass of jumping fire
burn down from a distance

dawn drags back through town
as masque’s props extinguish
themselves, at the command
of circling birds — strung together
like cyclical swirling memories
— twisting adrift
in a grey humid morning sky.

Cemetery of the Century

dead car yard
creeps w/ silence
blood dries under fading light
insects whirr & burn brightly
steel pings as air chills
Alsatian’s breath
blurs night w/ mist
stirring on a greasy porch
a scrabble & a howl
from far off
then quiet
dark shapes stacked
against night
from behind a crumpled fender
bodies shift uncomfortably
white boned fingers
caress steering wheels
chalked craniums
vain in cracked rear-view
cars fill up
w/ cadavers
popping procreation sound
headlights & hallucinations
new paint jobs & stereos
slabs of beer & salutations
hoarse screams, curses
engines crank & turn
sound bursting forth
a beating heart
the sum of all parts
bangs a mantric drum
a reanimated den of machine death