Notes About The Poem

Walls

those days, hung over, soul full and war torn             rolled in dreams green notes burning 
no saving grace parachutes falling                              we wrote strange music messages parked                           alone                                                                            noiseless gliders 
on labyrinthine pages                                                  flying high on magic carpets, jazz and blue sex
carrying our lives far far away                                      we orchestrated gauche schemes smoking out
eyeballs deep in pages where we wasted alone          ripe magis deep plumb mouths reading                                  
waltzing through zipped purple poetic corridors        with all the other absent poets staring vacantly                                                                        like strange pearls planted painting stories 
writing, writing, writing speaking to the invisible        open mouthed, silent and unkissed 
all those days                                                               all those years writing away, waiting, 
waiting,                                                                         waiting
with nowhere spectacular to go,                                  we were unplucked mandolin strings 
caught up in ourselves, we were strung garlands        and strange ghazals, blistering poesies                                                         
where we cast shallow shore smiles                             in fair-weather waves
waterboarding all our fears away                                 fearlessly surfing whirlpools
dipping sensual northstar pointing fingers                  into the tepid remains of desire's vortex
we smiled sometimes when we remembered              horizontal lines we played 
moist mislaid positions                                                 we forgot to fan the flaming naked bodies 
in the akashic of all biblical things                                lit with bad matches, we said our prayers 
sometimes, our tongues were sharp cupid arrows       painting rosey cruxes over the liminal scales
of fiery dragons ippitsuryu the velvet brushing           of the alligator lips of slow tall cowboys                 
between the forest fire of warm chaps                         pounding our lifeless limbs rising blitzkriegs            wanton and waterboarding all our fears away             barefoot we walk our lowly highwires of mind
against warm skin sages the green velveteens            inmates hustling the art of truth or dare 
burning in those brushfire days well lit                        acrid thoughts travel to our throat and stick
in that silent pharynx                                                    singing empty hollow songs 
screaming like a ghost                                                 haunting others
                                                                                     in our bloody poetic corridors 

                                                            
                                                       on every wall 
                                                            
                                                          we found
                                                          we wrote

                                               we pressed our hot wet minds
                                                       into the glass screen
                                                        melting each other 

                                                                  present, 
                                                                     here

                                                                       a
                                                              solitary warning

                                                                 revolutionary, 
                                                          a slick virtual French kiss

                                                               the wall dissolves
                                                          the enveloped is pushed.






                                                                        
                                                           Candide Diderot. ‘26

musepoetrynarrative

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