Elergy II

Give it up, boy, expecting
that deep blue heat
to finally incandesce.
This isn’t Florida
and you lack the kindling
to be starting any fires
at this chill stage.

And what?  are you
still
waiting for that fine white radiance
to appear?
Really, now, there aren’t even
any sparks here
this far down the Costa del Viejo.

You’d better forget the fever, too.
You know you’re too old
to be getting that
rip-your-guts-out-tear-your-heart-to-shreds
-howling-at-the-moon
flu
and even if you do it’s apt
to kill you
not make you pant with passion.

So face up to it, son
there’s no 100-megaton fucking in your future;
no bombs, no rockets
not even a .22 caliber flesh wound.
From here on in
no more dancing on the waves without a board
no more body-surfing the tsunami
but
also
no more spinning
helpless and breathless and dying
in the undertow.

And aren’t you just
a littlebit
relieved?

Splash
 

It drops almost silently to the floor
Those crimson droplets of sweet desire
Splash Splash
It splatters accross the wall
Sliding down again to hit the floor
Tiny pools begin to form
And leak into the worn out groves in the linoleum
Drip
Like rain it falls from the celing
Showering on the floor
Drip Drip
It oozes off the counter landing on the morning newspaper
Soaking through the pages open to sports
The t.v.'s soft blue glow
Tainted be the drying blood plastered to the screen
A brown wooden chair with an antique like flowered cushion
Tipped over on the now red carpet
One leg snapped off
Its body cringing at each droplet that falls onto it
From the drooling fan above
A tattered yellow dress streched out accross the lenoleum
Two skinny, dirty, battered legs sticking out the bottom
A mishapen arm twisted across her back
Tangeled, blood soaked hair covering the smashed up face
Sharing pools of blood with the worn out grooves in the floor
A dented piece of crimson wood by her side
A warm gun laying beside the t.v.
Still clapsed gently by a work worn hand
Body sprawled over the carpet
Precious liquid still oozing from his head
Glassy eyes gazing out
At the disturbance he caused

Who baked this roll?
 

I have been writing more now than I Ever
had before.     I see the images and the
people, the desire and the destroying beyond
their lifelines, and my fingers can't go on
long enough to put them all down.    I am on
fire ice.   I'm between.    And I want to circle
and circle until it's okay to land.

What do you want from me?

I need 5 thousand dollars.

             You're kidding.

I am Not kissing your ass, I am not kidding
you.   I'm naked here.

What do you need

   This is the way it is.      My power company
thinks it owns me. Now     to make up for this
indiscretion   because notice I haven't said I've
been Selling more, just that it's going a lot
easier

Yeah.

So anyway, I keep sending them poems and
sometimes a one-page story on typing paper,
to the power.    Once I got a threatening letter.

But what can they do beyond what they're
promising.

Exactly.

They take away your power, they really Do. Who
writes on manual typewriters with ink and shit anymore?

Right.

    I don't have five thousand dollars.    The only
thing I can think    is       try turning a light off
once in a while.

What do you mean?

            Well, I mean, my own never goes much
above   maybe, 80 bucks. That's in the dead of
summer, when I'm dripping.

      I don't know how to work all these light
switches.

What are you saying?

What are You saying?

All I'm saying is    maybe you should try turning
the ceiling fan off     and closing the freezer, and
the ice box.   I've been to your place, guy.

          Do you think that'll help?

    Well, it might start reducing it by a couple
thousand dollars.     How's your screenplay coming?

My mouse ate it.    I clicked and dragged the wrong
thing.    I don't have it anymore.

    Tough shit.               What about that play?

Two girls, 17, for parts said they'd sleep with me if I could
ever get it up. That's about as far as I've gotten.    I'm
writing poetry now.            I sent 34 pgs to this one
zine. I'm waiting to hear.        They don't pay. But they
promised me a copy        if they accept.

That's good.

Yeah.

   How big's the zine?

Couple pages.

She Takes

Ahh....she's a young blushing bride
An island of love
                in vast oceans of tears
Riding the plunger, suck back innocence
Then racing with vileness
                of rushing red waves to the brain
A hopeless transfusion.......
Notorious in its ever revolving yen

Sulfur singes nostrils
As smoking spent matches
                riddle smooth flowered air
Not repentance, nor care
                keep another paltry face
                from lost zombied nights
As the lady in white steals the day

Innocent Voyeur

The old man glances
through his window.
Through slats awry
in seduction’s haste,
candlelight strobes
on sweat-glistened bodies.
He watches, transfixed,
images through the blinds,
eyes too frozen to obey:
(Turn your head!
Go to bed!)
Two bodies
loving unaware
of images
through the blinds.
He watches, aroused,
passion rising
in two rooms now.
A goddess
bent over a sofa,
Adonis behind
in the flickering light.
A conqueror,
a conquest.
Memories
of his own lust
rekindle and burn
in his elderly mind
and he cries.
Bittersweet images
through the blinds,
and he cries.