Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Katyonak thrill (farewell my muse)

A glare in her stare
Wakes me up from my bed
A stare free to care
Thinking about everything she had said

A scent of her skin
Remains behind in the air
A vein stretched to my chin
A temptation pending to dare

Her subtle flirtation
Turns to a rapid anticipation
A touch of her flesh
A yearn a desire afresh

A finger in the snow
A caress on her body
A patience for her flow
A chance to hear her melody

Cold bed warm thoughts
Her face is changing
Brown eyes engulfing
Slender weight inviting

A comfortable gesture
A hug to remember
As the daylight rises
With her aura surprises

Sunday, March 11, 2018

A poe aime

The title is Philip’s suggestion
That is what makes it a contraption
A surge or a possible explosion
Ideas & thoughts in profusion

In a cast of many apparitions
We see the darkness & his sister madness
Bodies of cats eyes nine lives
Hang across his sky of boldness

In endless screams for Lenore or Madeline
Our houses squeak our nerves are fine
Rage & hidden desire calls for lust
On this snowy night we reclaim or bust

His dreams within our dreams slumber
They fester in our brains & cumber
A reality copies from the imagination
A psychosis comes from its stimulation

Small things of a Poe aime
His spirit a rampart for viable commitment
Ligea or ellenora knock his heaven’s door
His red death will remain for ever more!

Saturday, February 3, 2018

A Forgotten Gift

Belonging seeks assistance
Refusing loneliness convictus
Escaping future thoughts restricted
Arrested by past memories conflicted
Turning self-loathing a present resistance
Harassed by nature succumbed by time
Extinguished all in one flush of respiration

Saturday, January 13, 2018

caught in the well

It cannot sleep
Too much thinking
In the dark corridors
Of a misguided complicity
A direction that wavers a still hand
Like a falling maple leaf in the promised land

A stroke in secret
A flame in denial
The shadows stretch their long arms
And water the fields of desperation
Pink tahini yellow or brown
Tall short skinny or stubby
No one is satisfied with our skin
if blood remains the same to begin

Dopamine amphetamine margarine
Dosage of venom grease your eyes
Hope magic and miracles
Are wishes nowhere to be found
When the bones ache as temperature falls
And age is a race against expectation
Expiration date labeled on the inside
Of the vessel waiting to sail off
Into the mist of our bearing forefathers

Midnight dry-eyed drowsy drops
Down a sink hole unable to slow down
Autistic sheets are not dumb
If they hold the spirit to talk
And expose the sanity of my walls
as they hang fragments savored in moments
of colors framed in patterns unfettered  
in a void controlled only by chances

when the music stops
salutations to the sun commence
with its rays waking up the bare trees
a harmony of early light it caresses
gentle whispers that cuddle beside you
with a sweet voice that slumbers within
to drown your fear
of never waking up

if blood remains the same

Monday, December 11, 2017

Late Knéfé

The chest is exhausted from the sativa suit he wore the other night. A body in fatigue avec slow breath. Alcohol blood stains the kidney stones purple. A bacterial infection also comes from stardust. Fester Saturday seems quite holy. A brother fills up a cup of jasmine only to smoke another ghost sensibly. Flushed in sugar syrup sesame cheese. A brunch considered occasional. Far from the notion of home the whistle blows jazzy trumpet rhythm mellow. Reebok rubber stains the parquet of autumn. A familiar taste of haagendazs chocolate fuels hope. She takes off her robe gracefully in early November until chills prick the tender pink skin of a winter approaching.


Monday, November 13, 2017

the visitor

They call it planetary
It is utterly ordinary
Posthumans or replicants
Does it matter?

French talk blade runner
Sci-fi noir or a dystopia
on this cold October midday?
An exhausted shadow
Lurks in his inner langue

Le nuage moderne
Ces’t une image cosmique
Sans forme et sans periode
Une etoile fillante en plein air
Elle coupe le ciel docile
Avec la force d’amour
Qui provoque la vie ou le vide
Je ne sais quoi

Ces choses sentimentales
Ils construisent un espace de rien
Mais encore des images qui hantent

Et qui traversent le temps sublime

ZS 31-10-17

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Dove White

A final reminder of your smell
lies in what remains of this bar of soap
that has melted time and passion
into its soft mediterranean skin

A stimulating incense triggers
this infusion of jojoba kisses
A token of its moist & careless seduction
steams these bathroom walls once inhibited
Now nostalgic
to its washed away existence

A final reminder of your smile
lies in what remains of this bit of soap
that has scrubbed off lies & deceit
while it has nourished your appetite
for squander & wanderlust

a transient reminder a bubble                          a wet reminiscence