Reflections on a sunday afternoon

sapphire billowing presence
pushing up against this space
freedom through confinement
curves, fit, exact placement

if only incidents were puzzle piece
snap-able
Derrida’s distance … inescapable
palpable

inhale- confine
exhale- desert me

my brown hair is beginning to devour me
forehead is gone, next – my eyes
will that make me blind?
I see too much anyways

perhaps a little ignorance
a little less discussion
a little too much thought

my bamboo axis of salvation hanging
always hopeful

where is God on this Sunday
is He the hair-
the air pushing my curtain?
or the words

perhaps the perspiration beneath my arms
…maybe not

perhaps he is in the capital letters
the words forgotten, or inappropriate
the abandoned words, the censured words

lets liberate within this

heavy arms, waste away until midnight
I’m only thinking
and feeling

Bubbles, blankets and dies

crescent dimples with deep guttural bumps
examining your piece of pale landscape
encircled, encaptured
safe, not controlled
or owned by force
but given on shaky grounds

careful

on the door, brushing the counter
legs making hoops and loops
pulling me down with you
bubbles, blankets and dies

my red goatee, thick spiked hair
reaching for cover~ embarrassed
you completely composed and handsome
freshly cleansed, renewed
dark pink shells curled

can never appreciate green
mountains that kill
to end an era that still needs a proper beginning

water filled sponge pillows

bad advice handed under streetlights
where girls are impregnated
in a sweating hall, far from here
you are dancing