I am hungry
and it is reflected
in the contours
of every inch
                  of skin
every cell a-flutter
tiny wings and heartbeats
activated within
right down to
the ribosomes and
kidney-shaped
mitochondria
right up through epidermis
woven as threads
of softness penetrating
your inner hard, dark parts
causing them
to melt into
                my light
I am craving
to feel your
absolute heart's
raging core
my aching flesh burning,
my heart, wrapped in
a love
              so pure
My need to be
devoured surfaces
in smoothness,
at a glance
You feel it acutely,
no room for doubt
or subtle chance
               I am ravenous
for muscle-worked arms
(arms that could easily
try to break)
to be supremely
gentle as you part
my thighs like the ocean
and sacredly partake
the slickness of your tongue
in my feminine grace
the stains of my love
drenching
                your noble face
your eyes on mine
as I sharply breathe
         need to hold your
head stroke your
           hair know that for me              
the king takes off that
garland of gold
breaking free of
all symbols of status
the only real treasure
the queen who
gives to him,
and who he now pleasures
     and I let myself be consumed
with the reverence
of a psalm
my love pouring into you
healing your hurts,
               like a balm
in this private landscape
we are the most
ferocious of tender
estuaries
in an eternal vista
in this hour of somewhere,
the sea hauls us in
like ancient creatures,
     bringing the fossils
back to life
in lustrous foam
as they
         inch their way
into the spirals
    that we
feel we could
call
     home‎

Show in contented rest
bringing ghosts
company wished greenly
how did you know?

Bleeding on too long
they had to be cut down
from hooks and ropes
in order of feeding.

Liars causing problems
complicated sacrament
with slickness
under blackberry briars.

Safe from hawks
stay in Juicyland
where it's prickly
free from ****.

This song triples guessed
foxy playing hard
around leafy bush
only snake does not miss.

Dance my badger spirit
agile amongst complexity
ward off and wander.
Kangaroo mouse prance.

Survival in stickers
only seasonal escape.
Where to hide from
next your sly rival?

Bacon
Grease
Unpleasant slickness
Oil
Flith
A ***** feeling that you're overwhelmed by so you just want to get into a shower and scrub your skin raw
The one time my sisters and I played in mud and were covered in gritty goop
Losing the handle to the outside faucet
Cold icy water
Jumping into a creek and getting soaked
Cold water and cramping up, drowning
The ocean's waves pulling me under
Fear of drowning and ocean water forced down my throat
Salty water and the taste of the sea
Salt
Bacon

Combat....

though morbid in nature, there is a sense of beauty....

for example -
the bullet and it's chamber
the slickness of steel, and the power of the trigger
which together correlates the symphony of motion
from the time the trigger is pulled, to the
daunting escape of a bullet, and then finally to the ******* of it's victim.....

Quite morbid... yet hauntingly beautiful.....

Then come's the bullets quintessential cohorts

The Chemical and The Armored Car (a Tank)

The brutal barrage of steel cartage
crashing into unstable masonry
then the soothing smog of golden mustard gas...

The echoed shrieks, the violent shakes,
the ****** eyes and mucus filled noses
whose violent episodes finally conclude
when the eyes of death stare back at them...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

The finally... how can we forget the noble foot soldier?
his footsteps, silent to the earth....

out of the hysteria and chaos
two men, two weapons, and a whirlwind of emotion  
nationalistic pride, paranoid fear, and  scattered  tranquility...

A sign, as is to say....
"I don't want to fight, but I have to..."

Which all correlates in the ****** of the bayonet
a twinkle of blood, and then finally the gentle weeps...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

The days have blended into a poetic haze
of mismatched syllables, hanging participles
accented with a hint of discourage.
My purpose use to be therapeutic.

Each rhyme I wrote was a comma in my run-on sentences.
And for awhile, I could breathe. Each breath became less wheezy, uneven and strained.
After I gathered enough air, I dared to speak.
Me? How could I even have the audacity to think!?

To my disbelief, my words didn't fall on deaf ears.
The anxiety, shame, depression and fear woven
into every poem made me familiar in the minds of strangers.
These strangers made me feel human.

With quickness that's comparable to the slickness of a parable
I was ****** from a catapult into the essence of prose.
However, the latency between the beginning of my literary journey
and the discovery of my gift for poetry was afflicting my sensibility.

I succumbed to the bullying from hyperboles
and the taunting of iambic pentameter.
At times I was afraid to talk to neighbors
for fear of narrative structure overhearing.  

Now, I am wandering in a fog
though the hills of unpublished work,
echoed only by the crunch of "not good enough" beneath my feet.
This was therapeutic.  Now I use it to influence my movements.

Ya Know I've Heard It Said By Older Heads...
COMPETITION Is Part of Human STRENGTH... !!!

That's TRUE I Guess But Now Detect...
Competitions NOW Have Got DEFECTS... !!!
And DON'T Give Wealth To Humanity's Health... !!!

I'm Older Now So See Just How...
Competitions... DROWN...
Because of CLOWNS...
Now CLAIMING Crowns... !?!

As If They're... KINGS... ?!?
When They're Just.............
COMPETING... WEAKLINGS... !!!!!

Like Heads NOW Kicking Lyrics...
That LACK The Depth And Slickness...
In Verse BIG VIRGE Be Bringing... !!!

My Poems Leave Heads RINGING... !!!
Because My Words Keep STINGING... !!!
Like Cobras That Be... SPITTING... !!!

In The Faces of FAKES Who Just Can't Take...
STRONG BRANDS of SHARP Wordplay... !!!!!!

They QUICKLY Run For Cover...
When They DISCOVER The Rocks I'm Under... !!!

Cos' My Venom EXTENDS...
... PROBLEMS For Them... !!!!!

Because My Chem'... HITS Ventricles...
And Blends To FEND Like Tentacles... !!!!!

That STING These Kids Like JELLYFISH... !!!!!
A... " Man o War "... For SURE... !!!!
When I HIT Shores Competitors ROAR...

"Okay Big Virge, No More, NO MORE !"......

Or Like DURAN... "No Mas No Mas !"

When I Start To PEPPER...
Their Head Like... LEONARD...
Cos' I'm The... Sugar Ray...
Wordplay... HEAVYWEIGHT... !!!!!!!!

TOO HEAVY To Be Found...
On... ANY Dub Plate... !!!!!!!

My Competition Dissipates......................... ..............
And Disintegrates Because They're AFRAID...
of The Kind of Wordplay I Choose To DISPLAY...
... That DESTROYS These FAKES... !!!!!

Competition They CLAIM...
To Want... ALL DAY... !!!

Til' I STAKE My Claim...
To Enter... CENTRE STAGE... !!!
And HIT LAME BRAINS...
With My... MIND SPRAY... !!!!!

I DAMAGE These FOOLS...
Just Like... " JERU "...

Compete With... WHO... ?!?
I'm The Doctor... WHOSE...
Competitive Words Have BIGGER BOOTS...
Than... COMPETITIVE JERKS...
Whose Verse... Lacks Worth... !!!

COMPETITIVE Dudes...
Who Were Born To LOSE... !!!!!!

I Compete With... ME...
NOT GLORY Hunting Freaks... !!!

Because...

EVERY TIME I Rhyme Alphabet Letters...
I'm Trying To BETTER My Form of VENDETTA...
To STAND For... MORE...
Than THESE WHORISH Trend Setters... !!!

I'm A VERBAL GO GETTER...
NEVER Late But... FOREVER... !!!

A Man Whose VIEWS...
COMPETE To... CONSUME...
VOLUMES In Rooms...
Who CHOOSE To REFUSE...

WORDPLAY I USE...
I'm A Bit... " CONFUSED "... ???

When It Seems They CHOOSE...
To BELIEVE It's... COOL...
When These FOOLS Exude...
SO MUCH... ATTITUDE...
About... " How They DEFEAT ! "...

EVERYBODY They Meet...
When It Comes To... FREESTIES'...
That They KICK Over Beats... !!!!!?!!!!!

They're QUICK To APPLAUD...
These... Lyrical FRAUDS... ?!?
Who COMPETE To Hear ROARS...
When They're... Treading The Boards... !!!

COMPETITIVE... Actors... !!!
Kind of Like An X Factor...
For... Wannabee Rappers...
Who … LACK The Bite...
of..... VELOCIRAPTORS...... !!!!!!!!

As For The... Gun Clappers...
They Take JOOK' Like SLAPPERS... !!!!!!

When... Like A SLACK Gangster...
They Get SHOT In The CRAPPER...
Cos' Their **** LOST It's HAMMER... !!!!!!

I Make These FOOLS... " S T T T TAMMER "... !!!!!
When I Utilise... GRAMMAR...
That HAMMERS Like BANNER... !!!

OKAY I Mean... THOR... !!!
COMPETING... Fa' SURE... !!!
When It Comes To A Cause...
WORTH... FIGHTING For... !!!!!

I COMPETE On... Spirit Levels...
That DISHEVEL These DEVILS... !!!
Who... CLEARLY Seem To REVEL...
In Being Given... MEDALS...
For NONSENSE That They PEDAL... !!!

Like PRIEST My HEAVY MENTAL...
Is How I... BURN And SETTLE...

Scores With... BROADS...
I Mean... GIRLS Of Course... !!!

Who... CLEARLY LIKE To See...
THESE Gangster Wannabes'...
COMPETING For Their *****... !!!!

NO MORE Do I CONCEDE... !!!
To PANDER To Their Schemes... !!!

My Competition FEEDS...
OFF MORE Than They Could Be... !!!!!!!!

My Competition NEEDS...
To Make A... BETTER ME... !!!!!

NOT To PROVE To... " Peeps' "...
That I'm BETTER Than Jay-Z... !?!?!

I'd RATHER Be... " The V "...
Whose VENDETTAS COMPETE...
AGAINST The... Powers That Be... !!!!

And FIND A... HIGHER Mission...
Than Being... SOLELY DRIVEN...
To Fighting For... A PITTANCE... ?!?

In PETTY.............

……. " COMPETITION " …….

Combat....

though morbid in nature, there is a sense of beauty....

for example -
the bullet and it's chamber
the slickness of steel, and the power of the trigger
which together correlates the symphony of motion
from the time the trigger is pulled, to the
daunting escape of a bullet, and then finally to the ******* of it's victim.....

Quite morbid... yet hauntingly beautiful.....

Then come's the bullets quintessential cohorts

The Chemical and The Armored Car (a Tank)

The brutal barrage of steel cartage
crashing into unstable masonry
then the soothing smog of golden mustard gas...

The echoed shrieks, the violent shakes,
the ****** eyes and mucus filled noses
whose violent episodes finally conclude
when the eyes of death stare back at them...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

The finally... how can we forget the noble foot soldier?
his footsteps, silent to the earth....

out of the hysteria and chaos
two men, two weapons, and a whirlwind of emotion  
nationalistic pride, paranoid fear, and  scattered  tranquility...

A sign, as is to say....
"I don't want to fight, but I have to..."

Which all correlates in the ****** of the bayonet
a twinkle of blood, and then finally the gentle weeps...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

we drank so deep from a bottle so thick
and you
looking through the slickness of this mirror
into
my eye

you tried so hard
to get me off
and I told you sweetest things
and what's best I told the truth I
told you what
is true

edge of the bed I had my pants down
around my thighs
and here you are
you are
a seventies rebellion
filling the room so thick so hot
like the stereo speakers yelling
"damaged by you
damaged by me
I'm confused
confused"

we're both speaking to doctors
speaking always better
to one another
but you wouldn't admit that
sooner to be farther
farther to be nearer
and nearer to hear better
my breath into your ear

my shirt was green darling
and your shirt was red
I gave it to you
and then you gave me head

an earth spilled you soft
onto meadows of grass
and arms lifted you up
with bottle neck glass
boiling deep foriegn squall
of aluminum shards,
hardened sweat celebrations
strewn over the yard
remember these nets
and this slickness of sands
is strange to you too
a strange set of hands
that pulls the sky from you
and forgets how to breathe
and stills a soft meadow
your mother's bereaved.

air-goggles clasped
eyeing up slickness
like a gull hangs over

bright airy gasps
brings arms up
feeling the tilt

toward water-sky
kicks up then down
to earth-pull push

I knelt at an altar of tumors and severed feet,
begged contorted constellations
and unfeeling particles
for a minuscule breath of your luminous brutality,
for the terrible knowing you impart through fever dreams of the flesh.

sweetheart
you came to me
laughing venomous tides of fury and revulsion

forcing your unyielding fingers
into my open mouth,
gone slack with involuntary music;
a baby bird, warbling frenzied, desperate songs,
imploring eternity
for a taste of forbidden worms.

you split the winking aperture
between my thighs with effortless disdain
ate my animal sounds with your
massive hands and the slickness of your sulfured tongue,
murmured of filth and carrion,
poured monstrous poetry into the holes in my head,

until alpha and omega erupted
through my corrupted cells;
miraculous fetters
engineered to hold
sparks of God's fire in captive isolation.

shattered and coiled
round the smallest of your fingers,
slave to the fluids
humming through this
heap of tallow and sinews,
a spent marionette
imperfectly rendered by relentless obedience to the stars.

The room around me is filled air that feels too tight like ***** hose when I’m on the very edge of going up a size.  You’re sprawled on the bed with the duvet scrunched under your face and between your knees.  Glasses rest by your alarm clock and I’ve woken up before it.  The hands are unreadable and I make another note to go to the optometrist sometime soon.  

I sit up and stare at you, the worry lines relaxed.  Twenties are when wrinkles start and sometimes I can see yours growing on me.  I see the sunlight drift over the planes of your face, touching your stubble and the patchwork skin you’ve worried on your lower lip; for a moment, I’m reminded of the last time my teeth caught on the slickness of your bottom lip and I smile.  The plywood box spring creeks under me and your eyelids flutter and I about face.  Somehow, sleeping with someone, being in love with someone, namely you, doesn’t give me the permission to drink in the naivety present in your morning rest.  Your arms around me in all the nights before didn’t excuse me from invading your space in the first moments of this day.

I stare out the window at a train passing by.  It’s better to stare at graffiti-clad cars I’ve seen a thousand times before in this railroad town than for you to see me watching.  You watch my frame fake interest in the engine outside and I feel the corners of your smile grasp the edges of my matching pajama set I picked out specifically for nights spent next to you.  I hear you call me cute and tell me good morning and I feel the blood rise to my cheeks as I realise you’ve been awake this entire time.

she’s only got one arm, but that doesn’t stop her
from playing the piano Tuesdays;
clever girl, she’s got a rig,
three extra pedals to hammer out lower chords,
right hand for the melody.

she thinks often, how convenient for her,
it was her right arm she’d kept,
else she’d have to reach across to play the treble
and that’d make it hardly worth it.

of course, there are some things
what she can’t play perfect, that 's always
frustrating, frustrating,
but it’s the sort of think you put up with
when you are one-armed
and play piano on Tuesdays.

today, as it happens, is Thursday,
a day when she usually (but does not always) dust the piano.

this Thursday she dusts,
though there is not a lot of dust
because she woke up yesterday thinking it was Thursday
and you know how it goes. still,
she runs her dusting wand across the top of the instrument,
over the keys and raises little clouds, to her satisfaction:
if the dust is in the air, then it’s not on the hammers, the cables,
no, only her fingers, five on the ivory.
depositing the duster in its appropriate space—
she is all about space
and all about appropriateness,
there is (she thinks) some of each
for everyone, even if they’re not symmetrical—
she sweeps her hand against its weight
then gasps.

against the familiar grain, cut across
the slickness of its heart-dark lacquer, she feels what was not there yesterday,

a fissure,

in the wood,

a crack.

disbelieving, she puts her eye to it, runs her second finger over, over,
a split down the middle
of the damper cover, wide as a split vein

and a millimeter deeper.

Sometimes in fleeting moments,
Usually after you’d been drinking,
And often during those quiet, dark nights
When we’d lye in bed together,
Hands tracing only absence
On one another’s skin,
You’d look at me in this sort of
Fantastical way.

For me, it was always sort of like
Looking out at the ocean
And thinking for a second that you’re seeing
Infinite blue,
Though it’s really just the color of the sky
Reflected.

Even then, in those transient instants
Of eyes meeting for a second too long,
I’d sometimes think just that I’d miss you
As the subject of my poems.

Then the ice storm came.

The slickness of the roads kept me from you
Days before the storm and days after it,
Such that the sharpie and permanence,
With which I once marked the potential for our love,
Is faded now too.

My heart is a million different places, pieces;
A million different people,
Subdivided like America
To its breaking point.

But I brought my pen in from the car today
And the ink is thawing now
Despite the fact that the next love poem it writes
Will be for someone else
(Which is okay-
I think I’m okay.)

I will find you when you come to me
Like in tales of men on white horses
Hidden in chain mail, wrapped in my ghosts
I lounge by secret still pools, brushing green grass with my hands
Feeling sensuous in my own skin
Feeling drafts lift my hair as I wrap myself over my knees
I will find you when you find me
Like in movies with lonely people
Hidden behind microwaved dinners, drowned in glasses of wine
I stir coffee cups languidly, tracing the round rims with my fingers
Feeling ground bean slickness on my skin
Feeling the apartment empty around me.

The slickness of a blade
pressing against a throat....
the cold steel meeting tender flesh
blood drips and a body tumbles

the taste.... the sight... the sound....
all quite euphoric.....

Ripped clothes, smashed items,
echo screams, and the raging fires that glow throughout the night

The beauty.... the savagery.... the destruction
all quite euphoric....

It's quiet at six
Before the slickness of the easy day comes out to lay..
..its traps.
And I wrapped up in a dufflecoat
Sail out on the street as if in a boat..
..gliding..sliding..riding the waves of snow.
I shall not slip
I have a grip on things

Winter brings me so much joy
Once..
..I didn't like the cold..preferred the warmer climes
How times change..how lines rearrange the face of man
And now..as happy as I am and can possibly be
Free to build..freed fulfilled.
I listen to the sound within the sound of six o-clock
The quiet knock..
Which..will one day arrive to tap upon this door
When silence is the more or less
And I confess..I listen very carefully..a bit of apprehension..see

Today is not that day and that lays easy on my mind.
So many things to search..to find
The glowing of my nose tells me the snow's still falling
Calling me to play..make hay...Another day..
And again it's six o-clock.

Every noise slithers 'cross
My ear drums with
The cool slickness of a
Sandpaper serpent
My skin pulled tight
'Cross my raw nerves
Nerves
Stretched stiff as a drum skin
Upon which beats this
Percussive tattoo of wild instinct
I clamp my eyes, vice-like
"Please let me wake"
But no
In this misty dream realm
I remain tethered, chained
Stuck in a sarcophagus
               of
Strangled Silence

Clear, gushing currents make their way through moss-
y boulders; frosts chilly fingers past broken shores.
My toes kiss dancing pebbles, where the water lusts
for land. Accosted by the water’s eager
pull, my feet explore the slickness. The cold
attacking pure white limbs as I extend
and press into the ebb. The river moves
to grab my shivering leg, threatening with
seductive ease to rip me past
the surface, into dark, aggressive depths.
Anchored only by tingling toes, I’ll fall
if tiring muscles fail. Breathing, standing,
I feel the aching rush of currents. Then a simple
slap from a passing trout condemns
me to the murk that’s crying past. Stop.
Endure the numbness. My body
deserves to drown, for letting curious limbs
betray. I dream one day, I’ll delve
past new and pulsing streams to
a shore with both legs firmly
planted, closed, and clean.

Bad news here-
and I have to let it settle and
diffuse
sprinkle it over the surface of my shield
like salt.
lest the slickness not melt
on the bumpy road to their
Path and force a crash.

What I hear...
I can feel it-
want to let sink into my heart- but
To be their defender... must hide my eyes,
avoid their wounds.
Lest I faint, fall, falter.

So instead I send it
to heaven
Courage, Strength, Hope

Hope someone up there can...

is listening...

/ˈvis(ə)rəl/

vis

—as if you could twist out your arm,
hand clawed,

wailing pagan poetry with the clinically insane
who have feigned recovery to get out &
proclaim it an escape, as if you could leap
away from already being gone.

•

(ə)

mattress on the living room floor.

rhinestone. ashtray. loose eyelash.

—as if you might lick the slickness of your
image in the bathroom mirror & instead,
taste the texture of flesh.

•

rəl

—as if you could feel the weight of gravity
spin, mouth open now: tin. blister. wool.

wrist-bone; book page. charcoal briquette.

clavicle; over burner coil. burnout velvet.

jawbone; wooden oar. dollar bill.

earlobe; baby’s breath. jingle bell.

You're a mean one
Mr. *****
You really are an eel
You're as affable as cancer
And your laughter doesn't stick
Mr *****
*****
You're a two bit phony
One trick pony with...
Little to no *** appeal!

You're a shyster
Mr. *****
Your mark's a hallow roll
Your game is pulling wires
Framing "liars" is your goal
Mr *****
*****
You have all the elusive fleeting of a
twice repeating
CEO board meeting!

You're a sly one
Mr. *****
You have silver on your teeth
You have all the slender slickness
Characteristics of deceit
Mr *****
*****!!!

Given the choice between you and cancer it may take me a while to answer but I think that I would rather take my chances with the....
TERMINAL LIFESTYLE!!!!!!

Heard you’ve enticed fortune
All I see is that you’re much too
Engrossed on where to go now
Revelry magnetizing night into day
from your soul, telling me only a queen
could be enthralled by theses things

going absurdly like already history, croon it
going lightening like my record collection, blessed

Hiway right into daylight, wander bold to a million’d direction
Coolness leaning on a bookshelf, precious dawn lingering all around
Everybody awes to you, my ridiculous, strangely pure, strangely pure

The same gilded sun of western dreams
It shines so copper and lone for kinds as us.
Lord grant me ancient desires was on your mind.
How’d I know, well in how you live in bliss
Easily dismiss, with looking up wondering eyes

Halls here are devoted to paradise with richly intricate walls
Much like you, said it’s a journey if you’re aware
Be sagacious, take me real far, match box says welcome to LA
Queen of the roadhouse, windows inviting wild wind
Getting ahead of the dawn, we’ve long since started.

Heard you’ve always liked those
With eyes gleaming wild
Man, they say you’re outrageous
Yeah, beautiful, mysterious – reveling finds you
It’s free and lush music, my direction,
Don’t fear welcome to deathlessness

going absurdly like already history, croon it
going lightening like my record collection, blessed

Hiway into evening, writing verse as if you breathed it
Slickness on a sleek car, precious desert lingering around
Everybody loves you, vulgarly more, strangely pure, strangely pure

The lovely joys from the beginning of time
Sweet song of the blues when sung so soothes
Lord grant me endless endeavors was on your mind
Setting your sleep aside, driving in neon haze, closed eyes
Then you say, get up sunny wondering eyelashes

Glittering like a lagoon, isn’t it – jump in too!
Are you mad, like a wild cobra, pretty but I know you’ve power
I mean, they see you laughing, striking, phrases of genius
Adored with mystery like divine sudden messages
But loving the fun, dreaming of flying near the sun, arrows sent first