What is Time if not a Heavy Burden?
Time is wonton soup,
And that tall boy you stole last night
Is still inside your trunk.
Cigarette smoke and sunscreen air
Perfume the burning grass.
When all is placed on greenfly's wing
He tumbles forward - brash.
Cool pursuit, and time lapse too,
Persist the stagnant air
Of summertime and sweet plum wine,
Cocoons, a golden snare.
Black lace panties disarray
I want to know your plans,
From shallow noon till dusty dusk
With warm and calloused hands.
What is Lust if not a Critical Approach to Life?
Lust, with warm and calloused hands,
You haunt my night and spare my day,
Not really what I had planned.
Dried leftover rice scattered round,
Half an hour until dawn.
Star-glaring, mighty muffled sound,
The river Styx unto a fawn.
Lips that burn with absence,
Absinthe out of reach.
Wind-up toys like naked crescents,
A melancholic speech.
What help is flowered language
With ennui on you on me?
Origami boxes, filled with sage -
What is groaning – if not poetry?
What is Intelligence if not a Funny Face?
Groaning is but poetry
Intelligible garbles sewn together
Into universes - She stands
Making faces in the mirror
Like Bukowski in a fogged up tray.
A lighthouse, posed exterior,
Terrifying beacon of an hourless day.
Eras lie behind her eyes
Reflecting that pupil-smile stare.
Teeth glued and mouth stitched shut
Oysters woven through her hair.
She knows the lot, or just enough
Enough to make it clear
That sanity has lots its sense,
It has no business here.
What is Life if not Chinese Takeout?
It has no business here!
That salty ochre, pallet-chorus,
Clear plastic red dotted sachet!
Your lust for condiments freaks me out,
Buddha-girl, eat your meal.
Time won't run out so quickly
Nor your intelligence nor your zeal.
Pursed lips slurp a bowl of noodles,
I think of your warm hands
And banks of rivers, and cigarette quivers
Ashes falling to black sand.
Happy as a clam in an oyster's shell
Life is one fell swoop.
Give me the keys, you doe-eyed girl,
For time is wonton soup.