i.
Lying naked empty bed, subspace chanting your name, more precisely imagined vision, your hard willingness slides deep into me, wanting to pull your hurt and sadness from you, your agonized courtship with the demon dark, some twisted sexual tonglen, wanting for you to release me. face down I wait, to read aloud to you my poem GREGORY & SON which you miraculously paraphrased/quoted to me in a bar the night our skin glancing/lingering first touched, man-hugs, public bond
Age of inspired spire of cock flesh, grip rockhard…to know somebody’d been paying attention to long distant rambling poetic spew, passed to you orally by first object of manly desire who took tumescent flirtatious scribblings and fed you, unbeknownest to me, you who seem to be in line to finally replace him, the decades long ache of not pulling his cocky radiance into my waiting ambush, he my unrequited object d’frustration
Replaced by coming attractions on fat screen IMAX dungeon of inexperience, my tortured sexual swan dive into reptilian eyeflash ecstatic swordfight, interventionist’s Erroll Flynnian devilish grin
And we’ve begun to meet twice weekly, unplanned, in a mouse-ridden neighborhood dive which I’ve stumbled toward/out of past year, when in town, gnawing a hole into her patience as she perhaps waits for something more concrete from me, some slick player’s move or direct con man statement she may be used to, something a tad more dramatic than my slippery usual barrage of sultry compliments and tongued flirtations damp with hesitant fear, instead
What I give her is a nightly handful of sweet gentle kisses, some nights more sexy than gentle, some nights the other and she accepts them from me, purrs back at this the fool for not asking more, reasons now lost over time and the back of my spine like an old ragged memory shakes around a vague twitch of regret’s passing stare.
There you sit. Four barstools away, poking lonely texts into your cell phone or on a night when still on the clock watching the door for ne’er do wells, wrap warm arms around my cold shoulders. These nights when I am more enterprising than most and peel my ancient countenance off the couch to suck up to the bar early enough to slip on a long and languorous buzz that sounds suspiciously like the scream of worn rubber on linoleum, pulling closer for a sniff at your despair instead of the quicker, cheaper one-hour cluster fuck last call closing time music over mind sizzle
When my lateness finds you quickly next to me fast probing me, machine gun questions seeking solace nourishment distraction for your pinned iris sponge of a vibrant mind squeezed nearly dry by your day’s tribulations
And me quick-drawing an answer from my holstered hipness like some swami fuck-up trying desperately to say the right things formulated jazz-like, spontaneous solos, scatting lessons diatribes assaults from years of playing Answer Man to lonely soon-to-be divorcees, teenaged angst cannons and friends mending hearts torn asunder by love, luck and bad decisions or more often yammering smoke up the ass of my own unresponsiveness
As usual, even in my personal black cloud hailstorm careen into this coiled moment, etching one decisively cruel season, death march confusion, shape-shift financial ruin over romantic disillusion, my face pock-marked by gravel stenciled spike heels, fate’s unseen uppercut to the gonads, fleeting heartfelt advice culled from a too vast reading list, a sexy and sagely celibate roomy’s own missives formed from the ether when she’s not dreaming backwards years of faded Kung Fu re-runs, David Carradine in a wheelchair, old, sexy, oogling her; through it all my dying father’s comic timing and seventeen broken hearts sail toward you from my gaping maw, compassionate and hopeful in the greasy neon sizzle of these vanishing evenings
when what should be happening is my corpulence against your strong, lithe frame in a dark, wooden corner, one hand pulling your smoke and beery mouth around to meet my mine, long musician’s fingers gripping stubble skin, tight smile over chiseled jaw and cheek, the other reaching down to feel your growing excitement beneath my lunging grip minutes before I take this willing man, hard and fast against the dingy bathroom wall.
ii.
ah, that fragile Pisces heart…unsure and in need of reassurance, no matter their strength, tenacity and resilience, no matter their knock-out punch gorgeousness, overflowing sexual bravado, they are just as confused as the rest of us if perhaps a bit more sensitive, a bit more inclined to turn on tail and walk away without a word, leaving us hangers-on hanging awaiting their crumpled affections
ah, the mystery behind their evasive tactical ease, moving in shadows, ruled by their emotions, by heart not head, word has it great in bed, oh yes my spirit guide tells me what I need to know and I want to know it all
ah, the history behind those aching eyes looking for solace and peace and simple pleasures, wanting all the love in the world, all the wild abandon, all the silly giggles, hearty laughs, mental challenges that always seem just beyond their grasp
ah, the hard-edges, stead-fast armor, lurch for the comforting pain that one is used to, for when basis of all emotion is either fear or love, fear seems the easiest to come across and the most ingrained in our beings, learned through years of practice, long days of being forced down on all fours, long nights of seeing our teary reflections mocking us from the pools of whatever choice of distraction we are tossing back, bred into us from birth by family, religion, societal misanthropic greed peddlers, insecure louts preaching division and hatred, posturing knee-jerk reactors drunk with false power and the insatiable desire to find themselves perched on some rickety pedestal of their own delusion, propping fragile egos on eggshell precipice
ah, when all any of us really need is a glancing smile, a kind gesture, some help with our emotional groceries, fingertips on the back of our still hand while in conversation, soft touch in the small of the back as we move together through a doorway, a few sly flirtatious moments, double-over laughter as stories and histories and dreams are shared, 4am greasy spoon breakfast sandwich soirees waited on by ex-model from Kurzakstan, still smiling on her 2nd ten-hour shift lanky tall knowing we envision her between us being served a dessert of an entirely different sort, love love love love love love, JL says, “Yes is the answer / and you know that for sure.”
ah, so we are to love our neighbor as we would love ourselves…hmmm, kinky…love your best friend, your butcher, your baker, your candlestick taker, love your dentist, your dementist, your broker, toker, incessant jokers spewing non-stop pun-logic, hippie-chick bartendress smiling wide hugging harder soul of a healer, love ladies taken who just need to dance loosen the belt hike up the pants, love the friends that you can trust with your life, with your secrets, love your dogs and your enemies and your cats and your competitors, love the guy cutting you off on the freeway for actually NOT smashing into you, practice love practice love practice love be ready for the curve ball, the slider, knuckleball, change-up, accept the off speed pitch
accept the ones who make us crazy, the ones who make us sad, accept the fact that we are lazy, accept the Right-Wing foaming dad, accept, accept, accept, accept, accept, accept the moment, accept that you're alive, accept that you will die, accept those extra pounds, accept we will not finish every thing we want to, that we will not sleep with everyone we desire, accept, accept, accept that life ain’t easy and suddenly it is
accept is the flip side of except
accept fear accept love
love conquers fear, accept gentle kindness embrace gentle kindness give out gentle kindness be gentle kindness
~ May 16-22, 2010, 2204A for TJA
