Saturday, February 23, 2013

reel to real

red light never real but reimagined with a coital zest tape decks and bare breasts the beat she tattooed on my bare chest tasting the blood in her neck without bared teeth breaking flesh tape decks reel to real to real to reel too real careful baby careful she says lest this trip get too heavy already hot and heady hotboxing momma's chevy will she remember the leather disappear from the weather will she remember the vinyl will she remember the wax will she remember the dreambeat she tattooed on my back will she remember the vinyl will she remember the wax

Squad Cars.

(Crack rock cervical cancer fist fights nut lumps
squad cars bloodied brothers broken wood
bite mark birth mark)

she under blanket
she with coffee mug in long fingers
the coffee cools

(Booty calls squad cars
nose drugs sun rises
candle light first sight black out)

glowing afraid to dim
remembering to glow, remembering how
taking time

(Squad cars trash cans collar bones
broken bones broken hand broken plate broken wood
broken lamp broken table
broken chair broken
dry wall dry eyed head hung

ending tables what belonged to ghosts
no respect, no water)

dance floor dance bed
music roaring waving hands on hips
a clapping, a rejoicing
heavenly light beer foam
heady refraction

dance around the squad cars!
growing to glow to glowing to grow!
mend ye old broken bones!
break ye old habits
lest ye habits break thee!
O ye in need of a mending

No Ghosts.

No ghosts, but my wet clothes raving on the railing. We are dehydrated and starving, sucking madly at the rain like lonesome roots. I only want to pull your hair down to the sweating pavement so you can lick the thunder reflected in rolling puddles. No ghosts, there being no memory to sustain them, but we wield our horned imaginations like a dick in the hand, like a tit to the mouth, and we feign ghosts in our wake, dripping on our arms and sighing dreams from our locked chests. My fingers are tomahawks, my tongue a landslide, and I walk not with respect for the dead and their stones but with an embarrassed and self-conscious fear that a hearty misstep may uproot the crypt.

summer '12