Barnacle 6.13

a few poems in one, just spewed out in this lil window...

Dis one is for Nora.

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Livy took a seashell to her harder will and squeezed
it with all her might.

Honeymoon up against a stonewall whiskey burning behind his eye
her let her try
perpetually duped

Pleasure that these brainwaves sought found home at the
inside seam of her fake lace thighs
She directed the synapses
her body to his skull
fucking right all the wrongs, they set the world to their will.

Made all the white spots sparkle with filth - pride
raised up all the dirt that could not bear a bed
and gave it
theirs.

paper to pen
pussy to heart
prayers to breathing
breath to thunder
clap hands
slap arse
film all fears
edit the jeers
for papercuts on paper footsteps
soaked in loin and tending all the rivers at once

God in his drawers
the toilet soars
the beauty of everyday things.
Its sound is true,
the breath hard and tight.

The inability to remember none but naked things.

In the stone face of a watery death comes something to do on a Tuesday,
when no opera belts out a girl's name over her death bed,
for no other reason that she's bored with you.
Yes, you.

The lips grind with the stained stones that men have planted in their wake
taste the filth of all others in their years of trouble and conquest,
for reasons not to fulfill the things that play hard at them,
of shrill and crippled winos who bake their sundays into jelly
they shove hard and fast between their toes.

Governments never know how sweet you tasted when the dark turned into day.
Colors adrift, too long a battle to sacrifice your wits over, but
trouble yourself,
Do.

They just don't feel the same nerve endings that eat away at our dreams,
the endless gesticulations that no one sees but me.

It's forever in a dime, a dance hall in a day.