Literature was before us,
Sex is between us,
New York is around us.
Take this essay,
those poems,
these blank pages
to know your new home
and love it like me,
New New Yorker.
To ooze and writhe,
I between your legs,
eyes between poetry.
To explore the
anything and everything of
your thoughs, your life, your All.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
New New Yorker
New New York Yorker:
Hold your own sweet coast
sunkissed hissings before kissing
wakes you from dreaming of home.
And once awake, see humdrum
rainfall clouds call to say
"Stay in and sleep; know these
streets beneath later." You will.
You'll see them then in the sunrise
glow of streetlamps glisten listening
to your flat state fast pace and telling
you to jump and twirl and crack the flat
with ecstasies and yawps of Here! Now!
The subtlest glamor you've known.
So many arms reaching So high.
Your Manhattan. Your skyline. Your Home.
Hold your own sweet coast
sunkissed hissings before kissing
wakes you from dreaming of home.
And once awake, see humdrum
rainfall clouds call to say
"Stay in and sleep; know these
streets beneath later." You will.
You'll see them then in the sunrise
glow of streetlamps glisten listening
to your flat state fast pace and telling
you to jump and twirl and crack the flat
with ecstasies and yawps of Here! Now!
The subtlest glamor you've known.
So many arms reaching So high.
Your Manhattan. Your skyline. Your Home.
A. S. II
We walked out of Union
Square Park where we had
solidified our Us from a
muck to a mold, am ambivalence
thick with question to a concrete
asserted; irrational, selfish, temeritous.
Swooning smoothing soothing wooing
glances and gapes mouths moist ahhing
in bedsheet laughter in coy epigrams
in kisses more delicate than those I gave
my first love. But this is lust.
"I'm so wet" she wrote a block away
cabbed. I read it there aired and
smiled confidence, anticipation
from her subtley stroked pubis stoked
by my backhand while waiting.
And I too rode home saturated in this
present that decision her Her.
Pleated once with hesitation and now
a girl unfurled in a Haley decision
that will work our nerves and needs
overtime with our greatest will.
Square Park where we had
solidified our Us from a
muck to a mold, am ambivalence
thick with question to a concrete
asserted; irrational, selfish, temeritous.
Swooning smoothing soothing wooing
glances and gapes mouths moist ahhing
in bedsheet laughter in coy epigrams
in kisses more delicate than those I gave
my first love. But this is lust.
"I'm so wet" she wrote a block away
cabbed. I read it there aired and
smiled confidence, anticipation
from her subtley stroked pubis stoked
by my backhand while waiting.
And I too rode home saturated in this
present that decision her Her.
Pleated once with hesitation and now
a girl unfurled in a Haley decision
that will work our nerves and needs
overtime with our greatest will.
A.S. I
You listened to my wise
gibberish without question,
and nodded adoringly as we
discussed how you fell against
your will into normalcy.
Calmed your spirits. Hushed your tones.
And I suppose that quiet Quiet
broke the reservations you had
with fidelity into learning
the science of sin. With a cool me.
Because in the foggy gloss
of "Casablanca's" chromatic darkness
your eyes became snapshots of
Ilsa's, flashglances subliminal under
twentyfourframespersecond. But
they were there, glazed in the tremble
of our chemistryecstasy, a curious smile
whipping episodically in my periphery.
And then your fingers became spiders
and I delighted in the leggy caress
expressed unexpected. Wanted.
Desired. From Day One.
And your Daddy Long Legs
grew into biting Tarantulas hungry,
seizing my stillness, my wary thighs,
in the midst of its meditation:
Who are you and why me? What is this?
Should I respond? Sit statuesque?
Stand, stand against? But then my
hand snaked into your lap, a jaw opened
to grip you and say "I know. Me too.
But you must be patient."
The drizzly midtown midnight
mist did not deter discussion of
anticipations and bodies to come.
gibberish without question,
and nodded adoringly as we
discussed how you fell against
your will into normalcy.
Calmed your spirits. Hushed your tones.
And I suppose that quiet Quiet
broke the reservations you had
with fidelity into learning
the science of sin. With a cool me.
Because in the foggy gloss
of "Casablanca's" chromatic darkness
your eyes became snapshots of
Ilsa's, flashglances subliminal under
twentyfourframespersecond. But
they were there, glazed in the tremble
of our chemistryecstasy, a curious smile
whipping episodically in my periphery.
And then your fingers became spiders
and I delighted in the leggy caress
expressed unexpected. Wanted.
Desired. From Day One.
And your Daddy Long Legs
grew into biting Tarantulas hungry,
seizing my stillness, my wary thighs,
in the midst of its meditation:
Who are you and why me? What is this?
Should I respond? Sit statuesque?
Stand, stand against? But then my
hand snaked into your lap, a jaw opened
to grip you and say "I know. Me too.
But you must be patient."
The drizzly midtown midnight
mist did not deter discussion of
anticipations and bodies to come.
Gingkos Grandfathers Old
On Gingkos grandfathers old
hang the chimes of spring,
the breathy rasp of chartreuse
fans clapping, citronsweet leaves
leaving the tree pulled, to chew on.
That juice tells me how young I am.
That juice tells me how young I am
___to be so human.
That juice tells me how large I am
___to've done so much in so little.
That juice tells me how small I am
___to've tasted no more wisdom than
___a branch in my so much in so little.
That juice tells me how small I am.
That juice tells me how small I am.
Chin up your scrawny majesty
but you can't know--won't know--
until my handpat rocks your
silverback and my humanity
turns to your soil, your soul.
hang the chimes of spring,
the breathy rasp of chartreuse
fans clapping, citronsweet leaves
leaving the tree pulled, to chew on.
That juice tells me how young I am.
That juice tells me how young I am
___to be so human.
That juice tells me how large I am
___to've done so much in so little.
That juice tells me how small I am
___to've tasted no more wisdom than
___a branch in my so much in so little.
That juice tells me how small I am.
That juice tells me how small I am.
Chin up your scrawny majesty
but you can't know--won't know--
until my handpat rocks your
silverback and my humanity
turns to your soil, your soul.
Firework II
Brilliant and adoring, your soaring
illumination of a boosting Me,
eyes at me pouncing all smiles.
In the elated awe of an infatuation
fascination, I see Me liked, maybe loved,
for a moment.
But the sky strikes high and too far
you reach you reached you fell
and faded into a crackling static dither
and smoke fade silence fading fast,
fading falling from your luminescent impression
to a quiet resistance.
And I don't know where to
go or what to do with you,
Firework.
You were so fun and lovely
until you abrupt--
and gone without reason or
___goodbye.
illumination of a boosting Me,
eyes at me pouncing all smiles.
In the elated awe of an infatuation
fascination, I see Me liked, maybe loved,
for a moment.
But the sky strikes high and too far
you reach you reached you fell
and faded into a crackling static dither
and smoke fade silence fading fast,
fading falling from your luminescent impression
to a quiet resistance.
And I don't know where to
go or what to do with you,
Firework.
You were so fun and lovely
until you abrupt--
and gone without reason or
___goodbye.
Firework I
Don't be a goddamn Firework,
a spout of soaring brilliance
adoring me as I adore you
only
to fade instantaneously; to
crackle into a standing hide
behind
_________silence.
Even the smoke says "goodbye."
a spout of soaring brilliance
adoring me as I adore you
only
to fade instantaneously; to
crackle into a standing hide
behind
_________silence.
Even the smoke says "goodbye."
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