Bruised

I will break you,
Beastly thing
Your wild, arcing back in spasms
My bit between your teeth,
Abrading lips, taught and curled
Slick with salt,
And sickly sweet
Ejaculating steamy breaths,
Exquisite wisps,
And hateful spittle
Of a hostile tongue
Pressing pink against leather seams

And my fist balled at your nape
Hot against your silken mane
Bound up in bridle thongs
My arm set firm
Into your torquing spine
Its elbow gently bruising that dimple
Just above your quivering croupe

Then with a crop
To tease, I trace your lines in arabesques
From your reddened knees
Across your sweaty flanks
And circle that puckered place
Above your frothing lips -
That jerking pot fit firm
With a swollen shaft of leather
Inset with gems -
Bidding you to beg a bruise
To seek my settlement of your score
That weeping nether orchid
Larruped with flat smacks
That smart like kindling

I will break you, yes,
You wild thing,
You hateful beast
Longing to be broken from behind
Crying tears from eyes
And lips between thighs
And steamy breaths
Wet with pleasure

I will pierce you
On your knees
Once you’ve prayed your hateful prayer
And begged in twitches,
Seeped in sweat
And bucked against my will

Once you’ve proven
With tears and teeth
That you’ll die without me

I will break you.

Aubade

Lover, why do you come here?

I can tell you that I love your mouth
And you will use it somehow to slake my own thirsts.
You clasp it to me, drink me in, bite me bloody.
You allow me to pass my parcel through it
And fill you to my own satisfaction.

Oh, thank Madame.
She plants the Seed and waters the soil
With the Cyprian sea.

As She deserves my Grace
You, Flower, deserve my love.

Lover, why me?

Because I cannot suffer a breath
Without you in it.
Everything in you knows me,
Calls in answer to my deepest questions.
You taste as wine
And are as intoxicating.

Oh, thank Madame.
She ages me with care,
Rolling me slowly for richness
Bringing me to the table at the precise moment
You will enjoy me most.

And as She deserves my Grace
You, delicious Liquor, are to be tasted daily.

Madame says day is breaking
And there is the matter of the bill.

Pray, tell Madame she will see my money soon.
I must have you again before day breaks us.

Lover, you are Greedy.

And Gluttonous to excess.
I enjoy the Feast you have set before me.
Spread it again so I may have a morsel before I go.

Oh, thank Madame.
She prepares me so I can set the Feast

To Madame, to my Flower and to my return.

Now bring your finger to my cheek and steal a tear
For day, I fear, has broken my heart.

that moment when self and sun split

have the youth always been
an animated death of flailing limbs
waiting to be resurrected by maturity -
that moment when self and sun split,
revealing in the rend
an unusual sophistication.
discrimination,
able to parse thoughts with thougtfulness
becoming aware of an other
close in context to one’s own skin -
another set of legitimately valuable complications?

A Burlesque Night Before Christmas

(wrote this in 2004)

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse

Our stockings were taut
And our bottoms were bare
In hopes that an audience
Soon would be there

–

The footlights were lit
And us girls were all preened
And poured into our outfits
Oh what a scene!

Spit-black on my eyes
Lips red with carmine
The feel of marabou feathers
Against my behind

–

But despite all our vanity
We frowned at the clock
Who’s hands seemed to crawl
And whose face seemed to mock

For the seats were all empty
And we took not the stage
And my girlfriends and I
Thought we’d die of old age

–

When all of the sudden
I heard such a clatter
So I peeked from the wings
To see what was the matter

When what to my wondering
Eyes did appear?
But a jolly old fat man
With a bag full of gear

–

His look was familiar
And it gave it me great pause
As he said, “Cold you spare
A quick show for me, Claus?”

He looked at me, smiled,
And then said with a cough,
“I’ve got a bag full of goodies
For you to take it all off!”

–

So I said, “What the Hell? -
Show me some love!”
He produced a gold bracelet
And I took off my gloves

–

His bag full of trinkets
Was big as a house
I said, “Whatcha got in there
To trade for my blouse?”

He pulled out a necklace
So shiny it hurt
I hung it on my neck
And slipped out of my shirt.

–

He said, “now there darling
I believe I’ve a ring.
It’s yours for the taking off
Of your stockings.”

–

With the ring on my finger
My silks hit the floor
But jolly St Nicholas
Seemed to want more

He rooted ’round in his bag
Then with a “Hurrah!”
He handed me earrings
And said, “How ’bout the bra?”

–

The earrings were ruby
And looked oh so tasty
So I acquiesced and
And flashed glittering pasties..

–

I cannot explain how
Despite the chill
I stirred on the inside
At this holiday thrill

As I sit wearing only
My riches I see
For this jolly old elf
I’d have done it for free.

–

So I’ve told you the story
And shown you the sight
Merry Christmas to all
And to all a good night.

The Salon des Filles Nues

a legacy left
with pages gripped in hands

a vulnerable knot of naked girls;
ministering angels, engaging

meting morphemes
with narcotic nuance

attracting educible addicts
seducing them in pulses

the Cyprian sea floods its banks
from a spate of sudden showers

this luxuriant lavement
soothing the shallow

in depths

masterpiece

I’ve painted a masterpiece with you as a color
In long, loving strokes
Beautifully tangled, beguiling lines
Limning out your perfect pink
And blending it with thumbs against another shade
Shaping moving portraits
Fully head above unsteady heels
In love, in ways, with my creation
Puffed proud and released, slacked,
Ready as I am to unveil you – it -
The masterpiece -
in sapphic shades
Upon a hungry world

But – and this is my anger -
One ungrateful color, in some sentient -
no – incendiary – insane – moment
Regrettably sought to shutter it from every eye
Shamefully refusing my right
To her own shades
Causing me to hate them -
Hide them -
From a useless world

A world left then
With a hunger
The size and shape of which is you
By a lunatic -
For it is indeed a lunatic that steals art from eyes

So my masterpiece atrophies in darkness
And I fear I’ll never utter it again

My favorite pink, the only one that matters,
Has sharpened, then,
Soured to share itself again with other colors
Afraid to blend with thumbs
And let me drag it across eyes in my own ways
Refusing the chance to be betrayed again

Instead she should stir, angry as well,
And offer herself to sooth my regret
And leap from my mind to brush -
Dance, grapple, bite, blend -
Across a canvas
With brand new hues,
Colors closer to her Current
Ones that will not refuse my right to their shades

So my masterpiece will display in brilliant light
And pierce for me the fear that I’ll never utter it again…

faithless

Chicago, my wife
New Orleans, my lover
The miles between, the pathetic stretch
Pangs of pleasure that wring the heart
Letting the blood
Leaking ghosts from gaunt faces
Seizing me with the shame
That I cannot share them, one with other

Chicago, sexual,
Beautiful,
Strong
Not afraid to get dirty
To strike at me in smirks
Proud and affable
With chips set squarely on broad shoulders

New Orleans, visceral,
Thick,
Vulgar
With hellish stares
Stabbing at my ribs in lustful blows
Proud, ineffable
A self aware serpent with alluring curves

Chicago,
Majestic,
Organized,
Obvious
A proud lioness that stalks in daylight

New Orleans,
Rattled,
Deceitful,
Unclear
A sheep-suited wolf dependent on night

Chicago, my bride
New Orleans, my addiction
The miles between, the protection I need
The salve between seductions
The healing between destructions
The shame that seizes me
For daring to devour them both at once

fortuna

oh fortunes
we have found you
as in a garden
arrayed

displayed
in brusque stalks
hazed in vapor
bathed in summery dew

oh happiness
we have found you here
as you reach for us
blind

rimed,
your clumsy mouths
slavering to be taken
and bathed by ours

and so, in clouds we bow
and take you in
ending you in torpor
swallowing your sweet drink
as we take our leave
and leave you uncivil
but not ungracious

Goblets (an Affair of Breasts and Wine)

dressed only to hips in half gowns
silken shifts that brush the floor
but cling to bottoms
and caress curls at little pastoral patches,
or nibble at perfect pastries,
delicate delicacies -
hidden parcels with moistened clefts,
the perfumed cradles of token keys
on long pearled chains that brush the floor
but cling to belts
that rest on half-gowned hips

our sisters hold in hands a glass
cast from her breast
unique, its arcing bell -
an umbilicate analogue
of a darling hillock -
each satisfied with wine,
the satin tears of rent figs
and vintages trampled with pointed toes
pregnant with piquant notes
sung in spicy strains

bless them,
they don’t want to their level heads
and so they breathe the wine
and roll the stuff with fingers
that want to plunge with pleasure deeply into clefts

yet they wait with wanting smiles
and exchange instead complexly coded niceties
as if this may be any common affair
but paint dozens of bare breasts with glancing brushes

then as the aristocratic angel in charge of this immodesty
sets to mete delicious revolution
and slides a fragile finger beneath her own skirt
to pluck a key on a long pearled chain
from the soft embrace of its chamber
wrought iron gates are wrung from minds
and decorum fades in cravings
sung in tears from rent figs
with piquant notes on spicy strains

dozens of keys now expelled from baptismal pools
pulled to the kiss of lips on long pearled chains
and dropped then from fingers in laconic clinks
checked by nectars to rest

each glass is raised to replenish mouths,
to decant its tears past fig-parched lips
dispensing chemicals into hearts,
past wills,
like keys,
past walls -
dispensing with decency, dovetailing wit and intellect
with virtuous vice -
unlocking approvals and pulling manacles from wrists
and striking wine-soaked tongues on wine-soaked tongues
and peeling half-gowns from hips
and clutching at clefts
and leveling level heads

A Night of Ancient and Deathless Rapture

gather savages
tuxedoed fiends
dandied apologies for artists
and raise your glass

gather angels
in mawkish costumes
prepare your hidden parcels
and raise your glass

now we sing to Ganz’s Apollo
into a night meant for drunkeness
and brace ourselves for naked chases
and fill our glass again

gather poet
in gold flecked robes
weild your lyre in Her darling name
and tilt your glass

gather unsober saints
and brave the chill
with swollen pride and pants
and tilt your glass

now we hear Her elegant renata
and laud with heavy paws in bursts
and right ourselves for taking chances
and fill our glass again

gather beasties
pompous daubers
fling Her veils into the night
and chill her chiseled skin

gather larrikins
take hold of angels
haughty daughters
and pull them from their dresses

now we sing and drink and fuck
into a night meant for drunkeness
and right ourselves for grappling asses
and fill our glass again