WITHOUT PROVISIONS

Obsessed with love
From opposite poles
You with your redemption of revenge
Running from tri-pronged words
Lovers in your wake,
Leaping into the arms of Brave New Girl,
My own lust for love’s Medusian forms
Disparate, but quite desperate
For any slight permutation
To the point of self-hypnosis
Confusion of what is
And what will never be.
Two delusionists procrastinating their way
Through long, lonely patches
Of sloth-like self-immolation and deception
Missing boats, points, shivering seminal connections
Hanging from the rafters around us
Hungry for a little heartbeat
And slipping past us on the wings
Of my indecision
And your books of rules.

So you seek
Without judging
Those beneath you
Those you can save
Those you can ache to understand
Hoping
In the race to walk away
That the very thing which attracts you
Will make them easier to leave.
The big boned, the old daddies,
The misfit, artistic, needy and dysfunctional
Who contribute
To your own self-worth
Add texture and drama and inspiration and obstacle
To your daily grind
Some sense of being needed
Some sense of being flawed enough
To allow you to shine.

I seek the illusive beauty
The perfect smile
Round, young ass of a teen
On a full-grown, genius guruette
Someone I can worship
Bend over.
Walking dictionary goddesses
Wanting nothing more than to live their lives to fill my head
My bed
My waking moments with discovery
Sinful fire-breathing naughtiness
Accepting my genuflection
With my dominant stare,
Physical largess matching
Serve for serve
My passionate heart
My servitude
And enveloping embrace
With my self-flagellating doubt.
Iron filaments gather around me
Pulled with me toward the magnetic sphere
Of those not ready
To trust their own ability to love,
Pulled t’ward those damaged by
Fathers, boyfriends
Con men and hypocrites
All unable to hold tightly to their responsibilities
Express their love for anything but their own myopic screeds
Or those who take the first train out of Daddyville
By choice or fate
Leaving their sad, little girls to wonder why
Sitting on steps each night
Waiting for his big hands to sweep them up;
Impaled on the bitterness of cheating lovers
Harsh and ignorant men
Their own spiritless souls seeking
More than is willing to be given
Brothers gone on with life
Boyfriends greedy with lust
Girlfriends neck deep in temptation
Misunderstanding
Insecurity and
All of those mismatched,
Mistakes
Discarded moments
Miscalculated
Maligned
Possibilities
Tossed into the flames
Fear
Laziness
The drive for the perfect
Beast
Love’s precarious reputation
Holding the match.

And there we sit
Needing and wanting
What we cannot accept
What we will not fully give--
Everything.
There are those of us
Who cannot handle the torturous
Self-exposure
Seeking the restitution of revenge
Conscious and unconscious gaming
Positioning
Manipulations
The outward blaming
Replacing the outpouring of love’s unbridled
Flow
And all of us ego-driven
To the brink of self-delusion.

So the thoughtful of us
Hunker down in our solitude
Rolling an emotional fatty
A phalanx of equations, probabilities, deceptions and epiphanies
Around in our heads
Before we touch a match to it
Inhaling its smokescreen with hope
A candy drop you cannot resist biting into too soon.
We fail to be godlike
Use timing as our alibi
Being misunderstood as our cloak
Our cover.
We stand alone
Surrounded by God’s love
The universal bliss of our very existence as proof
Ignored in the cannonball leap
Looking for that big splash
Courting the deep end.
Just not damn sure.
Just wanting more.
Just needing
Our arms
Around the elusive
One
Forever
Loved.

~ for Miss Mary, 1/4/09 Big Bear City

JNREAJKGALKJRBDV

I am so fucking exhilarated, frustrated, discombobulated I can’t tell you. I feel like I keep walking into walls that bend when my face hits them and I look at the imprint and the face staring back is yours. I want to touch, kiss, caress, spank, whip, suck, eat, bite, watch, smell, wax, hold, lick, fuck, rim, rape, cum on, piss on, tie up, fondle, surprise, kidnap, pinch, worship, spoil…YOU and be touched, kissed, caressed, spanked, whipped, sucked, eaten, bitten, waxed, held, licked, fucked, rimmed, raped, cum’d upon, pissed on, tied up, fondled, surprised, kidnapped, pinched, worshipped, spoiled…BY YOU. I want to sit across from you naked and not say a word until we both jump out of our skin and into a bucket next to the bed where our genetic slipstream coagulates into something not even I could resist on a tortilla.

It is like having the best Halloween outfit EVER and it pours rain, you have a cold, there’s a crime wave in your neighborhood and you aren’t allowed to trick OR treat or even go outside until next year when your outfit probably won’t fit you anymore.

BUT…I’m being calm…I’m accepting…meditating on my current moment…patient…enjoying the view from here…trying ever so hard not to stare at you, drooling like the dawg-boy I am…but when I do, I see me, but with better tits and much less hair…trying so incredibly hard to keep these enamored fantasies at bay, so close I can taste them but as distant as lightning flashing over the desert 30 miles away...trying to figure that it could be worse…I could be 3000 miles away sitting, cock in hand, wondering and dreaming…but perhaps that’s easier…trying to ignore the clock that ticks louder with each passing moment and thinking…'was life always this fucking ridiculous?'

Anyone ever put a piece of chocolate under your nose, touched it to your lips and then popped it into their mouth with a sly snicker…maybe even gave you a little kiss after slowly swirling that melting, heavenly ooze across their tongue and swallowing it down? And though you smell it, taste it, you want more...you wish you could’ve swallowed it whole when you had the chance.

Not envy, or jealousy of that piece of chocolate or that tongue…no, sheer unadulterated desire. And me, I luxuriate in the idea that each moment and conversation and thought of you is part of the process of discovery…your tongue in my ear, trying to break thru and suck on some succulent piece my mind; my fingers inside you, trying to reach up into your heart and feel its pulse racing in time with my own; our skin damp together trying to find out what makes these so like-minded souls, so fucking connected and unreachable at the same time. Just like our own selves are to us, touchable but just out of reach. We, who think we are closer than most in knowing ourselves, knowing who we really are and then, reflected in each other, we see radiant, sometimes enlightening, sometimes jarring bits, shards, and mirrored reflections of ourselves and want to know more.

You once said, “I think with you and I it would always just be about sex.” If that’s true, then I’ve fallen through some other kind of dream where words are colors and sounds taste blue and in that parallel universe all is explainable and all answers are mine to give. Oops. No deal. And at times I think, "Did I come 3000 miles to know less than I did before? To find freedom and temptation and impatience are all just the saw blade carving pieces out of the same jigsaw puzzle of daily existence or did I come out here just to get kinky or are they both slippery funhouse mirror versions of the same thing? Is the tenuous nature of our every waking moment just that simply defined? And perhaps the crapshoot of life is just that--a pre-destined, random slideshow over which there is no control, no rhyme, reason or rational, experiential explanation and an exceedingly incongruous but teasingly seductive soundtrack. “It ain’t why, why, why…it just is” or is it?

I see you on a high dive on the verge of a back flip into a BIG new pool of life and I see that the pool is indeed deep enough, enticing and warm enough and shimmering enough to seduce your desire for the unknown, for the challenge, for the adventure and I just hope you are a strong swimmer for the pool is an impetuous and tempting dream with a strong current. And as you spring up, soar into the air, suspended momentarily in the space between upward motion and downward plunge I want nothing so much as to be that water that envelopes you, that you pierce with your flailing sense of direction, but perhaps I am only destined to be the hot, bronzed lifeguard, package hanging left with one eye on the life preserver and the other on the edge of the pool just beyond which the wavering image of the arrow of your body flashes by…

Goodnight, my sweet muse.

~for Miss Mary, late night letter, written and sent 3:57am. July 11, 2008

MISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY

Mistress Mary quite contrary / How does my hard-on grow?
Quite, handily thank you / as your smile does show.

~

And she is indeed, quite contrary. But then again, aren’t we all?