Hot&sticky evenings, when sweat sticks like honey,
And conversation buzzes like a graceful dragonfly,
5 minutes alone at a bus stand,
Number 73, not my bus not my care.
Everyone’s got a story,
Even the perfumed ugliness beside me,
Why do you bother?
Sigh. She sighs her waitress sigh,
And takes off her clunky, worn shoes.
Blink.
Butterfly-in-rain like eyes:
"But I don’t want to!"
Whine, whine, tug at the shirt.
Her shirt, she’s young,
Maybe she’s the sister.
I cross my legs.
Oh, Mr. Armani poster man,
Dare I ask: do you look at everyone that way?
Fire in the eyes, liquid passion for sale?
Are you for sale too?
Yawn.
Lady with grocery bags, two and three,
Aged, old woman with musty green groceries,
And a pocketbook bag filled with funny smells.
Like decades of faded pictures and mothball cologne,
Chuckle.
Mr. Hip-hop, yo, yo! With the Budweiser shirt,
Fourteen years of high-flying—
Racing that frog on crack.
How fast will you go budweiser frog, must you win each time?
Look away.
Spectacular strange or ugly…
Hot&sticky evenings,
5 minutes at a bus stand,
Conversation buzzing, like a dragonfly,
Coming home from somewhere,
Or going somewhere not so particular,
When sweat sticks like honey…
One, Two, Three seconds, flash flood emotion,
Everyone’s got a story…
And number 73 flies by.
____________________________________________________________
"Rain on rain on rain"
i'm a man on the mind in my moon.
i can fly and scream and cry,
and the passion from my heart is into the nothingness released,
into the everythingness released. concave fears, my fear is concave.
a monster under my bed.
i jibberish speak, with nonsense in my skull. scarecrow, in the land of
oz.
i can fly and scream and cry, and the passion from my heart is never
asked.
i'm a man on the mind in my moon. a light and floaty, i can do anything,
mind on the moon.
to fly, i jump a mile and move an inch.
to scream, i open my throat, everything explodes but nothing is ever
heard.
to cry, to cry! is like rain on rain on rain. and so fucking dom-free i
am!
free to fly and scream and cry, with passion in my heart and freedom on
my moon.
i am the man on the mind in my moon,
but i will never be free.
Liquidfire thoughts
and from this tiny, aching, nagging corner of my head,
i can hear- at first a slight murmur- then frightening roar.-
intensifying in power and volume, tempo and rhythm, with each beat,
and suddenly! Erupting with such furious blood passion
as to arouse the deadest of all dead men.-
my thoughts, these wild, voluptuous, ornate thoughts,
awakened so abruptly from their slumber, conspire to break me.
with no rules to guide their terror, no laws to bind their action,
these thoughts thump and tear into each vulnerability in my chest,
devouring logic and rationale, questioning etiquette and emotion,
reigniting fears, deeply and delicately inlaid. Pulsate, Burning Liquidfire!
goodbye
the sick salt taste sticks in my mouth like sadness.
sawdust lines my throat and clumps together,
a thick ball on my voice box.
my muscles clamp up in infinite knots,
tears run, rush, rage running down my cheeks,
down my crushed red cherry lips, and into my tongue.
goodbye
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