Anger, is the steaming red on her face
refusal creates in an instance;
jealousy is foaming green
profusion of colors in motion
takes this dance for them to upward
and downward turns,
or a sudden dissolution---
an intense ****** in unison.
Even in darkness he  can see the
spasmodic ebbing waves
sleep is the banana plantation
where night wears translucent green
"nobody would see us here"
she whispers in his ears,
as if they are thieving ***,eyeing
the yellow banana she likes, to play with

Purple is the psychedelic color
smeared on horizon when
dreams repeatedly fly down
like night bats and happen
the way mind designs
we don't want to leave the scene
of the dream even when we know well
that the show for us is now over
we just want to hang around
like the dog,  in the place
it  got a juicy bone.

Yellow is the banana song
that's heard as wave after wave,
by the blind bat squadron
that roams with raw aggression,
for raids above the plantations
Unripe bananas show green fingers
to say "NO! we aren't ripe"
like coy underage virgins.

Then, they ripen, go yellow
some even bright red, inviting
who is blue here is the sky
and those bats who got
the bananas still raw green

Night decents on the banana land
as the white umbrella of sun
is snatched by the dark maiden.
Black is the bat's wing extending
and folding like lust, umbrella and the like.

He finds her shivering fingers like a serpent,
on the banana trunk slithering down,
as he dreams bats, banana, blue sky
and she slithering over him.

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.

The Milk-and-Water School
Alas! she would not hear my prayer!
Yet it were rash to tear my hair;
Disfigured, I should be less fair.

She was unwise, I may say blind;
Once she was lovingly inclined;
Some circumstance has changed her mind.

The Strong-Minded or Matter-of-Fact School
Well! so my offer was no go!
She might do worse, I told her so;
She was a fool to answer "No".

However, things are as they stood;
Nor would I have her if I could,
For there are plenty more as good.

The Spasmodic or German School
Firebrands and Daggers! hope hath fled!
To atoms dash the doubly dead!
My brain is fire--my heart is lead!

Her soul is flint, and what am I?
Scorch'd by her fierce, relentless eye,
Nothingness is my destiny!

Black Rook In Rainy Weather

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.

The Response*

Even while flashbulbs go out, every now and then, we all must gather our arms and legs in a heap of human kindling, to rap tap tap on the downstairs neighbors door- for a set of candles, perhaps a chance to go completely insane for one terse moment when the hyperbole of vowels *just don't matter anymore.

And speaking of the sordid state of griseous gull-like creatures. Ravenous ravens gnawing outside the window of the kitchen table. How boring life can become, for at the moment, when we are not biting our nails, playing dress up, or playing doctor- all *******. Or maybe even burying our heads in the looks of rooks or with our noses brimming over with the tops of books.

The tea we have set in the study awaits us, as we all have to drink our tea some time.

Just don't leave the lights on baby. Who needs lamps at full lux at high noon any who? You, Mrs. Sylvia Plath Hughes? Maybe you ought to buy a book of stamps- at the nearest Hobby Lobby, pack a paper bag with an apple and a 'sammich', and list formally your complaints.

We can't all waste our time narrating other people's lives in the third person.

"He ought to be home," said the old man, "without there's something amiss.
He only went to the Two-mile — he ought to be back by this.
He would ride the Reckless filly, he would have his wilful way;
And, here, he's not back at sundown — and what will his mother say?
"He was always his mother's idol, since ever his father died;
And there isn't a horse on the station that he isn't game to ride.
But that Reckless mare is vicious, and if once she gets away
He hasn't got strength to hold her — and what will his mother say?"

The old man walked to the sliprail, and peered up the dark'ning track,
And looked and longed for the rider that would never more come back;
And the mother came and clutched him, with sudden, spasmodic fright:
"What has become of my Willie? Why isn't he home tonight?"

Away in the gloomy ranges, at the foot of an ironbark,
The bonnie, winsome laddie was lying stiff and stark;
For the Reckless mare had smashed him against a leaning limb,
And his comely face was battered, and his merry eyes were dim.

And the thoroughbred chestnut filly, the saddle beneath her flanks,
Was away like fire through the ranges to join the wild mob's ranks;
And a broken-hearted woman and an old man worn and grey
Were searching all night in the ranges till the sunrise brought the day.

And the mother kept feebly calling, with a hope that would not die,
"Willie! where are you, Willie?" But how can the dead reply;
And hope died out with the daylight, and the darkness brought despair,
God pity the stricken mother, and answer the widow's prayer!

Though far and wide they sought him, they found not where he fell;
For the ranges held him precious, and guarded their treasure well.
The wattle blooms above him, and the bluebells blow close by,
And the brown bees buzz the secret, and the wild birds sing reply.

But the mother pined and faded, and cried, and took no rest,
And rode each day to the ranges on her hopeless, weary quest.
Seeking her loved one ever, she faded and pined away,
But with strength of her great affection she still sought every day.

"I know that sooner or later I shall find my boy," she said.
But she came not home one evening, and they found her lying dead.
And stamped on the poor pale features, as the spirit homeward pass'd,
Was an angel smile of gladness — she had found the boy at last.

"How shall I be a poet?
How shall I write in rhyme?
You told me once the very wish
Partook of the sublime:
Then tell me how. Don't put me off
With your 'another time'."

The old man smiled to see him,
To hear his sudden sally;
He liked the lad to speak his mind
Enthusiastically,
And thought, "There's no hum-drum in him,
Nor any shilly-shally."

"And would you be a poet
Before you've been to school?
Ah well! I hardly thought you
So absolute a fool.
First learn to be spasmodic—
A very simple rule.

"For first you write a sentence,
And then you chop it small!
Then mix the bits, and sort them out
Just as they chance to fall:
The order of the phrases makes
No difference at all.

"Then, if you'd be impressive,
Remember what I say,
The abstract qualities begin
With capitals alway:
The True, the Good, the Beautiful,
These are the things that pay!

"Next, when you are describing
A shape, or sound, or tint,
Don't state the matter plainly,
But put it in a hint;
And learn to look at all things
With a sort of mental squint."

"For instance, if I wished, Sir,
Of mutton-pies to tell,
Should I say 'Dreams of fleecy flocks
Pent in a wheaten cell'?"
"Why, yes," the old man said: "that phrase
Would answer very well.

"Then, fourthly, there are epithets
That suit with any word—
As well as Harvey's Reading Sauce
With fish, or flesh, or bird—
Of these 'wild,' 'lonely,' 'weary,' 'strange,'
Are much to be preferred."

"And will it do, O will it do
To take them in a lump—
As 'the wild man went his weary way
To a strange and lonely pump'?"
"Nay, nay! You must not hastily
To such conclusions jump.

"Such epithets, like pepper,
Give zest to what you write,
And, if you strew them sparely,
They whet the appetite:
But if you lay them on too thick,
You spoil the matter quite!

"Last, as to the arrangement;
Your reader, you should show him,
Must take what information he
Can get, and look for no im-
mature disclosure of the drift
And purpose of your poem.

"Therefore, to test his patience—
How much he can endure—
Mention no places, names, nor dates,
And evermore be sure
Throughout the poem to be found
Consistently obscure.

"First fix upon the limit
To which it shall extend:
Then fill it up with 'padding',
(Beg some of any friend):
Your great sensation-stanza
You place towards the end.

Now try your hand, ere Fancy
Have lost its present glow—"
"And then," his grandson added,
"We'll publish it, you know:
Green cloth—gold-lettered at the back,
In duodecimo!"

Then proudly smiled the old man
To see the eager lad
Rush madly for his pen and ink
And for his blotting-pad—
But when he thought of publishing,
His face grew stern and sad.

Echoes of yesteryear’s
Blissful laughter
Fade away
As new profound
Sorrow blooms.
Disoriented in the murkiness
Of a wistful haze
Writhing in unending
Spasmodic aches

A new day is born
The mid-morning
Deceptive sunshine
Briefly kisses my skin
The sweet taste
Of what it means
To be human

The paralyzing
Feeling of unraveling
As the May icy winds whistle
Through the eucalyptus trees
Forbodes of calamity.

Wrestling with his conscience
Abstaining from verbal exchange
Regretting his words

Offended by obscenities
Forgetting his ticket

What is happening?
Obnoxious little men
Rallying in no mans land
Dire consequences
Spasmodic verbal abuse..

©  Hazel

You are the deep blue sea,
my red shimmering sun
   little
          by
               little
                       sinks deeper
                       a gasp,
                       a  silver shiver, exquisite

inside the dense waters
sun moves in sensuous pace
arousing hellacious passions, sea hides
makes her yell out
in thousand  voices of seagulls

Intense spasmodic waves
rise and fall transmitting euphoric notes
that dissolve in the gentle golden light
of a lone curious star, watching
without batting an eyelid.

I'm nearly catatonic.
My eyes shift spasmodic in their sockets.
They're closed, and it's far too quiet
for the racket ripping my inner eardrums.
Reliving the sound of grim acceptance.
Slack faced,in the blackness.
"I guess this is it".
I said it then. And I say it now.
  Didn't make a terrible difference,did it?
Gifted quesarito wrappers are
halfheartedly crumpled in the floor.
I was dead, I died, I'm dead once more.

Last thing I remember, was that drastic times called for drastic measures
She was out of town
He was out of order
The amalgamation of ***** little secrets and the insecurities I picked at
Which put me between Scylla and Charybdis
Urging me to make Hobson's choice
Tie up loose ends
Went to the bazaar
To pick up an ambigram of the word "Psalms"
And mirror image of the word "Proverbs"
Buyer beware
We speak in  strange slanguage here
So get on with it
Share sugar
Sniff out your own kind
Only time can tell
Tell time to hold up
Bank on tomorrow
On Eastern/ Pacific/ Mountain time
Local and global
Try to save face
Not aimed at any anyone specific
If you're wearing the shoe, you must fit it
Overbearing
I'm painted as a neer do well
  
     -Tommy Johnson

Die at the mouth,
live at the eyes...
nominal head
downed.
Action Painted
by misfiring
nerves...whose
spasmodic dance
choreographs
days...on...end.

You think you’re hard ‘cause you threw me in a cold cell?
You think you’re cold ‘cause you giving me the hard sell?
You’ve shown your cards and this game is getting old.
Hell, you just mad ‘cause I’m ******* wit’ your cartel!

Huddle up, cover up.
I’ll call your mother up.
Ask her if she’s proud of her son
Then we’ll snuggle up.
Make another little pig squeal; hit the double-up.
Pack a bowl, lean back and we bubble up.

Another day in the life of a citizen.
Getting chased down by the pigs
‘cause we dissing ‘em.
Wool in your eyes?
That’s their lies.
Don’t be missing ‘em.
Always spoke the words of the truth,
Now I’m spitting ‘em
and I don’t need no introduction.
Please, no interruptions.
Quiet down! We’re here to talk about corruption.
You’ll make a copy, right?
Free for reproduction.
These ******* think that nobody can touch them:

Shouting HANDS UP!
Yeah I see ‘em on the clock.
‘cause your time’s running out.
Tick, tick tock.
You want a witch hunt?
Put me in the dock
And we’ll see who’s the ***** when
You’re ******* on my ****!

‘cause I’m gonna rid your face
Of that smug little grin.
Convinced the world I’d lost it.
Oh! But I’m about to win.
So little pig, little pig, let me begin
‘cause like an anorexic hospital my patience wearing thin!
I said…

Prosecution full of lies and irrelevance
***** please! Don’t insult my intelligence.
You want respect? Well excuse my irreverence,
But a little birdie said you’re fabricating evidence!

Beneficent, benevolent.
Arresting your malevolence.
I’m shattering your elements.
Establishing a precedent.
My work may be inelegant.
My actions are unhesitant.
But when we gonna talk about this ******* elephant?

You know it’s tragic
How you cannot see the logic.
******* neurons are nomadic,
Your intelligence sporadic.
    Ugh!
You’re an infection, I’m the,
Antibiotic.
Sick enough to turn a man
******* spasmodic episodic.

Drink swill from your buckets
While you steal from our pockets.
Red pill. Better **** it cos you’re,
**** out of luck.

Deep-roots to your habits.
Blue suits to the Sabbat.
You’re Masonic yet moronic,
And you know I’ve ******* had it
With this *******!

Cos you’re full of ****.
Forked tongues set to stun with a full clip.
You’re just a bully and
I’m sick of all your school ****.
Law unto yourself
But I won’t let you enforce it,

‘cause I came to rescue an angel,
Heaven-sent,
and I can smell what kind of **** this is.
Yeah, it’s evident
You’ve been intimidating witnesses.
Like FGM.
You kidnapped Themis and Astraea
And circumcised their ******* – is

This a ******* joke?
Are you for real *******?
It’s the Devil you invoke.
What’s the deal *******?
This a dreadnought you provoked
And I’m steel *******!
Now it’s time you ******* spoke.
Take the wheel *******…

What, you got nothing to say,
And it’s too late to pray?
Justice coming your way,
Now truth has entered the fray.

So I’m passing the mic
‘cause we gonna indict.
Focus the limelight.

******* be ammonite!

Jesus was a liar and Ghandi was a fuccboi.

Prophets hate themselves the most.

Try to be pure light and you will never be.

You are not a single drop of ***** in an ocean of ****.
You are an ocean of **** in a single drop. Don't tell me that's not ******* beautiful.

You came from sacks of fat floating around in primordial goop.
Don't tell me that's not ******* beautiful.

You are 99% vacuous void but that 1% still makes you visible to me.
Tell me that's ******* disgusting.

I used to think I was all love and light and that was it.
Everything else was shame.
Everything else was to blame.
Everything else was also me.

I am mostly nothing and mostly darkness.
Don't tell me that's not ******* beautiful.

That despite being a walking maelstrom of empty space and spasmodic dance,
I am a ******* universe expanding in all directions simultaneously.

The only reason you can see the stars in the sky is because of all the emptiness.

The only reason you can look into my eyes is because of the little bit of life that shines through my pupils.

The only reason you can hold me in your arms is because the trillions and trillions of quanta that hold me together hate themselves and love each other because they all know that they hate themselves.

It's because they're entangled in a hot mess of spaghetti, sauce, and melted cheese.
Like a functioning dysfunctional family, we are trying our best and we all hate ourselves but we are trying love each other anyway.
Because we feel it.

Vacuous void. Chaotic dance.
Mostly nothing and a little bit of everything.

I was afraid.
Terrified, even
paralyzed
with fear.
But that’s all
gone now.
Like a vapor
scattered
on the breeze.

Happiness
traces back
to only one,
for me.
She’s so
beautiful
and strong,
and her hair
is soft and red
like a fox’s.

Oh how
I love her.
Beyond words.

More than
every contour
of every leaf
on a forest,
fall yellow
like an oil
painting.

More than
the sudden
spasmodic
fits of gentle
laughter
that make my
entire upper
body vibrate
like one huge
drumhead.

More even
than the
hidden,
distant stars,
sparkling
imperceptibly
through the
misty clouds.

She makes
my arms twitch
with excitement,
my body aching
to embrace
her and hold on.
With her head
on my shoulder
this world really
does seem so
much brighter.

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Haunted in my flagrant dreams,
    awake on hallow'd ground
you watch me breath
        as I seek you out
cold spirits taunted past
           spasmodic verses chant
hollow insides afraid to sleep
  your  sanctification renders me
                  uncomfortably conscious
numb within breath's shallow inhale
       undone in the nothingness of rhyme
   fearing truth's brutal reality
     bewailing in grief's heartfelt desire
pull me up to new sight'd heights
   in your wayward plight's surrender
       save me from this cruel humanness

I ran away and started a new journey
Caught myself in a peculiar story.
Been to different places and found myself startled
Obscured, grotesque, melancholic, and bleakly mottled.

Meeting different people, but never got the chance to stay
Mind fickle and heart let astray.
But then, I understand now how it feels
Of these surrounding silent hills.

All those stirred up feelings gave me nostalgia
But aren't you in spasmodic sequence of amnesia?
Alas, reality throws me up in all that regression;
It teared up my obsession.

Then there goes a series of flashbacks;
It occured to you all of the setbacks.
And oh, I remember a certain old man,
Told me a something about a plan.

With conviction, he said, "Maktub, it is written;
Those who can see and listen,
One's fate has been predestined
To those who is good and sinned."

"Young one, it is about time for you,
Know all that is true
And seek to discern for your true happiness.
"Well, I say "That's intense!"

Then as I pondered on this old man's wisdom,
****, that old geezer is just random.
But what he said did make sense,
If BMW is better than Mercedes-Benz.

Though it may seem easy for him to say it,
My mind went into a frog's "ribbit!"
How vague is it to listen to such hearsay;
The horses neigh and the hearsayers, nay.

Life is giving me much more farce
Though the sarcasm is all so scarce.
Oh, I give up cause it's better to be at home
With my friend Gary the gnome.

Now I know it's better to return
Than travel further the world that is too stern.
It's all but you I see is missing
In a picturesque abode with me, kissing.

I’d burnt out of the city, the long hours, high pressure financial job; and the uptight, high strung, high maintenance girlfriend. I’d walked out and away from the mess that had been my life, and found this place, far from it all, where time slowed, almost crawled, where there were no expectations, no schedules, no rules. Life was lived minute-by-minute, never giving a thought to what had to be done tonight, tomorrow, or for that matter, ever

I’d flown in to the frenzied capital, rented a car, and made my way out of the beehive, towards the Caribbean coast, buying a map and following the road eastward, not knowing where I was going, or what I had in mind. I just wanted to get away, to be lost in the jungle.

I would know the place when i saw it. It would feel right, like rain on a warm afternoon. I reached the coast, drove south, stopping at every village and bar along the way. There were barely any tourist, not much to see, no white sandy beaches, no ancient ruins, just countless impoverished fishing villages and family run kitchens to feed the locals, the fishermen, and occasional daring tourists

Night was coming. I stopped at a village, found a kitchen by the shore, and ordered my usual, casado and una cerveza; my favorite. I asked the house mama for a room. She said they didn’t have rooms, only hammocks on the edge of the shore. I paid for the meal and a hammock. A girl took my hand and showed me to the hammock. The fisherman were already asleep in their hammocks, their boats shored, nets folded on the side, ready for their early morning foray into the turquoise sea.

I woke, gently, to the sun brightening in the sky. I sat up, feet hanging off the hammock barely touching the sand. I got up, walked to the kitchen and sat at a table in a make shift court yard, palm leaves shading me from the sun, swaying slowly to the warm sea breeze. The house mama brought me gallo pinto with cafe con leche. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

I got on the road, driving along the coast, to my left was an endless expanse of turquoise to the horizon, to my right, unbroken wall of jungle. I drove nonstop, till I got hungry and stopped at a village for gas and lunch. I walked into the trading post, and looked around. There were all sorts of supplies remote villagers and fisherman would need. On a whim, I bought a hammock, machete, water, canned goods, and beer, what I thought were all the essentials.

I pulled out my map. There were no towns along this section of the road, only the occasional village. I was going to find a stretch of beach, setup camp, and chill, gazing out to the horizon until the sun set.

I drove slow, checking out the beaches for a place to camp. The shore was a continuous, nondescript, pale brown, until i rounded a bend and the view opened up to a cove. Through the palms, I could see a black sand beach. Intrigued, I pulled the car to the side of the road, and hiked down to the beach.

It was surreal. A secluded cove, black sand, fallen trees in the surf, the bark worn away from the abrasive sanding, branches reaching into the sky as if pleading for help. It was beautiful and eerie. But underneath it, I had a sense of foreboding. I couldn't figure out why and let it go, as I had found my little piece of paradise.  

This was the spot I was looking for, far from the villages, secluded, isolated, unworldly. I unpacked my stuff, opened a beer, setup the hammock, and settled in, slowly, eventually, falling asleep.

I awoke at twilight. The temperature had cooled. If was comfortable, slightly balmy. The sun had set, the moon risen, hanging over the turquoise sea, casting a long reflection to the shore.

I looked out over the water, saw something, a shark, a dolphin, breaking the mirrored surface, probably hunting the shoals for food. I dismissed it, and thought twice about going for a swim.

I saw it again, this time close. I watched, curious, hoping to get a better view, when I saw a head, a human head, slowly bobbing up and down. I got out of my hammock, walked to the shore to get a closer look.

I looked out and saw eyes. The eyes of a woman looking intently back at me.  An uneasiness rose up inside of me. What was a lone woman doing in the water, in the evening, this far off the beaten path. She wasn’t thrashing, screaming, just bobbing in the water looking at me.

She disappeared under the water. I watched, waiting for her to reappear. Was she a scuba diver? She surfaced, this side of the break, half her head protruding from the water. I could see her hair, eyes, and nose. She wasn’t bobbing, but kneeling in the the water.

We stood there, looking at each other. I didn’t move, didn’t want to scare her away. She moved closer to shore. I got a better look at her. She had black hair, tanned skin, and big eyes, like those of a Japanese anime character. I blinked, not understanding or what to make of her eyes. I wanted to back away, get some distance between me and her, but I couldn't. I was frozen in place.  

She stood up, slowly, the water dripping down her hair, shoulders, chest. She was naked, tall, slim, with an hour glass figure and full, firm *******. She had the body of a goddess. She slowly walked up the beach, the full moon clearly visible behind her. I could see the rest of her, curved hips, long legs. She was a fantasy, walking out of my dreams into reality.

She walked up to me, stopped an arm’s length away. I looked into her eyes. They were big, beautiful, turquoise green, like the color of the sea behind her, even more unbelievable, were her pupils. They were vertical, like those of a cat.

Fear rose up in me. My gut told me to run. But another part of me was intrigued, worst, turned on, so I stayed, frozen in place. She had the beauty of a goddess, I was enthralled, I knew it. She knew it.  Her right hand slowly reached out to me, touching my cheek, gently. Her eyes looking into mine for a reaction. I was getting flushed. My heart raced. My breath fast, a mixture of fear and lust. She put her palm around the nap of my neck, pulled me slowly to her, tilting her head, and kissed me, softly, gently on the lips. I started kissing back, getting aroused. She put her arm across my small of my back and pulled me into her, my body pressed into hers. I could feel her softness, warmth, inviting, and comforting.

I put my hands on her hips, sliding down to cup her checks. She started to kiss me more aggressively, sliding her tongue in my mouth, ******* my lower lip into her mouth and biting down hard. I could feel the lust and passion in her kisses. I succumbed to her seduction.

She lowered me down gently on to the sand, straddling, kissing me ever more fervently. She started unbuttoning my shirt, then ripped it open. She slide off my shorts and mounted me, sliding down to bottom of the shaft, rocking back and forth, her hands pressed against my chest. Her moans were soft, spasmodic, as she tilted her head back. She increased the intensity of her rocking, her moans grew louder, more intense, more visceral.

Her beauty was intoxicating, her moans exciting, her every rock getting me closer, amplifying my arousal, till I came, convulsing in her arms, in ecstasy.

She rolled over, flipping me on top of her, making sure I was deep inside her, a slight smile of satisfaction on her lips.

She laid her head back onto the sand. I slide off and to her side her. She got up, looked me in the eyes, then started walking towards the water. I got up, chasing after her. She walked deeper into the surf. I followed.

When the water reached her waist, she dove in the an coming wave and disappeared. I expected her to surface, but she didn’t. I walked faster, then paddled, then dove after her. I swam out, beyond my footing, past the breakers. I treaded water looking for her. I swam out further, knowing the danger.

She reappeared, bobbing in the water, looking at me expressionless. Her eyes said everything, seducing me to her. I swam towards her, as she swam away, going further out to sea. The water got deeper, bluer, colder.

She stopped. I caught up to her. We floated looking at each other. She drifted into me. Kissed me. I put an arm around her waist and pressed her into me. I wanted her, to have her, forever. I knew she was magical, grasped that she was a mermaid. I didn’t care. I was oversensed, no longer thinking, just feeling. I wanted more of her.

We sank into the water, entwined, embracing, kissing. I couldn’t get enough. I needed air, but ignored it, preferring the euphoria of her body. The urgency to breath grew, becoming uncomfortable, then painful. I stopped kissing and let her go. She held on, tightening her arms around me. I pushed against her, trying to break free. My lungs caught fire, my mind panicked. I thrashed against her. Then all went black, my body relaxed. I went flaccid, as a peace came over me. She held on, as I convulsed, a final time, in her arms.

Short struggle to the floor, I sigh,
your wrenched fingers clamped
tightly around my pointed wrists
Your convex caps join thigh to shin
pressing mine through scorched earth
slowing seconds grab my breath
pushing further out, and drawing ever in.

Spasmodic jolts, kicks and flinches;
failed punches, rattled writhing, wriggling
under your smirking calm, this is
second nature. Third wind I strike again
with snake like prowess, your dead weight flipped
but inches. Obey or suffer, your knee rolls,
to my chest; laser precision, your other uncoils
on the blackened dirt, ash and soil.

Flat footed battering ram to my ribs
then throat, ever slower, ever heavier.
The pain goes, the knife enters:
over and over and under flesh
ripping, torn skin.

I pity not the wondering victim who trips
on my carcass. Face first, horrified glance
towards the sign that reads:
Beware trespassers, out here
nobody hears your screams.

Billions of years before humanity
Before Neanderthal fell on the scene
Before the big lush trees and falling greens
Before the protoplasm spasmodic things
The intermittent glowing growing proteins
Before there was darkness and empty space of potential
Before there was dense matter waiting to explode
Expanding mass waiting to flow
Ever outwards were stars would grow
What came before the big bang
Is what I would like to know?