I swallow smitten smoke
stomach the wake of verve ~
a corseted coherence
craving night’s clemency
while the sun sleeps
lips pressed to the searing chalice
intoxicated by silver essence ~
my fragile fragrance
You name my soul,
an enamored enchantress
the touch that craves not
a thousand thirsty eyes ~
misinterpreting inner magic
confusing compassionate
curves with consent carved
but I am not your temptress
nor am I a mystique
clothed in mists of memories
marooned in manipulation
I never ached to be the allure ~
bound to every burn
wading to savor my secrets
the intriguing incense
intricately kissing the cashmere air
the scent of the soul’s need
O spirit, guarding my light,
seek me as I am ~
an enigma, unfelt,
studying the silhouette
s i m m e r i n g
in crimson and copper
for the mirror
resembles threefold silence
wanting to be the destiny
not the dancing desire
dissolving into the drunken depths
of candle-lit dusk ~
your breathless incantation
a hypnotic haze
hand-woven into thin lace of love…
I am more than
your skies’ beholding ~
I am heaven’s eternal poetry
a pulse
no palm can possess...
The summer was lush with death,
it turned the hare into a twirling dervish,
the raccoon to a pantomime villain,
forced mice
to sing in the jaws of predators.
The woods are bare now,
trees rattle,
birds clatter twiggy wings,
briar tangles
in the bare throats of scarecrows.
October gourds glow, there serrated grins
reflected within the eyes
of late stalking cats.
Nocturnal winds sweep in,
bone corseted myths
ride upon the cracked racks
of desiccated lambs.
Petticoats hang from gristly limbs
much tattered by thorns.
By December, the skeletal woods
crunch inwards like roofless catacombs.
Reckless children are lost
in a leafless maze of fairytales.
Mothers tag the young
like puppy dogs, vaccinate them
against dismay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
reent edit
Whoever dreamed up 'calories' is no friend of mine
I hold him responsible for my corseted waistline
Without his cruel notions, I'd first slake my thirst
Then I'd explode in a burst of liverwurst
After a long walk
I transcribed myself into piano music.
All night a harpsichord
had been jangling nerves,
rattling the same baroque concerto
over and over again.
I count I-100, then start over
counting and walking,
a clockwork organ
self-winding, always
pushing a moment before it
as if time could be saved
for later use.
The morning is mellowing out.
multiple fugal states row
in and out of salty ponds,
see-through-gulls rest
on opaque waters.
A powder wigged accompanist
pinches snuff
rams it up both nostrils
turns to an invisible audience
bows, sneezes, then farts.
Tight corseted lungs flap loose,
reveal a forgotten voice in a ribcage,
sad songs come out of its catfish mouth,
then laughing monks arrive
to dine on tongue and saffron.
The keyboard is stuck in the middle
of a thought,
a thought so long
that it pants and coughs
trying to keep up with itself.
After a long walk
I lay down in the back row
of a concerto and wave weary hands
at the ceiling
conducting next words
from tissue thin scores
and unfinished endings.
RAVENous
Wickedly,
dressed in black satin,
corseted with passerine-ego —
she dares
the dawn to interrupt her feast,
afterall, SHE is the Queen!
beheading of the smallest of things,
the nibble of opportunity.
Vast is she, the moonlit sentinel,
fearsome in flight as her ebony cape
flaps open like the grim reaper — ripe,
as she lurks over the lintel.
He who tenders
money, braving twelve last straw dings
of the towering clock,
caterwauling about a nagging wife,
a no-good son.
No mercy
for the ungrateful,
she abandons berries and grains
for a heartier steal -
an alcoholic’s swansong.
7/7/2019
Intricately fragile, embracing her curves,
She silently breathes in this womb,
This womb where she is a prey to its wants,
Its black silken webbing costume,
That clenches her neck, runs down her back,
Is tattooed the length of her leg,
Where every small inch of her dark gothic body,
Is covered in this spider’s thread,
She’s at one with this life of widowed disguise,
Eyeliner, fishnets, boots, and nails,
Each covered in this rich exquisite black web,
Becoming her corseted black jail,
And she wakes up at three, the unlit in the dark,
To play and to stalk and to bite,
To walk in the black crisp air of your town,
Our black widow who walks in the night.
orsets My Waist
In my corset I
Feel thin and lean
My waist is constricted
Without any pain
Down to a 22 from
A 26 inch waist
Inch by inch as I
am tightly laced
Around my body it
Is snug and warm
Squeezing firmly like
A silk stalking glove
It Defines the curves,
smoothes out lumps,
Especially if you have
Junk in your trunk
Reshaping my form
And reducing my waist
Creating an illusion of
the perfect barbie frame
I Walk proud and I
Stand tall this corset
I wear Is the cause
of it all
I glow with radiance
And sex appeal
causing not just men
but the girls to stare
So next time you see
A perfect ten stroll bye
you might find yourself
Staring because you are
mesmerized
if this happens don’t
hesitate to tell her she
looks good with a
Corseted waist
My girls are of my meraki
My little women plump and primped
Bulging curvy corseted crimped
They never fail to catch an eye
Painted pretty multi designed
For each the right beholder to find
Hourglass Figures compared to Buddhas
And Venus de Willendorf's form so potent
But my girls they're feminine flotant
As each is but a sculpted phallus
With gender bending folds beguiling
They do inevitably lend to smiling
17.12.12
Composed for Silent One's
"Meraki"
Plump-cheeked and bow-lipped, the stalwart mother sits reading,
corseted in her close-kept role, gathering the feminine
for like to like is drawn, a blossom-pressed, Alice sits lazing.
Straight-laced, as the time, the stripped couch holds her life's calling
falsely framed in pleated revere, smacking of each hidden sin
plump-cheeked and bow-lipped, the stalwart mother sits reading.
Her voice denies the rigid caste of ill thought mothering
a doll's denied its little mother's arms and long lost grin
for like to like is drawn, a blossom-pressed, Alice sits lazing.
All of nature calls to her but Mother seeks quiet's staging
as wilder spirits and untamed flowers wilt beneath her chin.
Plump-cheeked and bow-lipped, the stalwart mother sits reading
There'll be no romp, no rabbit chase, no rash beheading,
just Mother dear and only here within this room again.
Plump-cheeked and bow-lipped, the stalwart mother sits reading
for like to like is drawn, a blossom-pressed, Alice sits lazing.
Painting Alice in Wonderland by George Dunlap Leslie
The redwood forest has been caged,
corseted its skirt hemmed
Who would think there'd come an age
when trees where kept enclosed
And so I cry and so it goes.
as we bid good bye to all of those.
Seeing nature is now all the rage
even stars have dimmed
Dominion over nature's stage
has killed many winged.
And so I cry and so it goes.
as we bid good bye to all of those.
Man has devoured fish, fowl and sage
ravenous and blighted
And so in truth we can't assuage
our hunger once cited.
And so I cry and so it goes.
as we bid good bye to all of those.
The sky where ghostly bird do fly
depth where ghost fish swim
The forest where the trees all die
Man's been the death of them.
*Meant to be a song.
The faintness of flight overwhelms me
boxed in caged, corseted, in a cattle car of the air
pristine bells and whistles cajole the herd
as the breath is cycled and recycled through the
bellows of plasticine and metal
germs jumping from orifice to orifice
knees crushing bosoms braced for the portent
the potential
the promise
of the fall.
Faintness elicits only minor response
from the tenders who un-tenderly steer the crowd
small moans garner memories of the mallet falls..
but fail to unseat the kindness
so needed..sought
watery eyes wave
and the floor seems the only safety
and still the settlers stay settled in their complacency..
neither rising to gift an aged woman with their perch
or commenting as she hits the floor
ah the joys of twenty first century flight
in the belly of Virgin America.
Faint recognition;
ambiance, for hire,
this job is precarious,
but can she steal the show?
Holding the position;
mistress of high wire,
toes point nefarious,
to the sweating mob below.
Concentration mesmerizing;
every eye transfixed,
tickets funded by the dream
on the back of the artiste'.
And beautiful is sighing,
"Let 'em have their kicks-"
she picks up the balance beam,
silencing the beast.
This is holy treason;
lost in deep translation,
corseted travesty,
compelled by safety net.
Furtively she blows a kiss;
to conquer hesitation,
winks, knowing gravity
hasn't eaten yet.
Corseted like a buxom women
in deathly white with orbs ripe.
Pierced with stem of male delight,
a Vampiric presence in the patch
albino pumpkin in lamplight
grub laced fright.
Pupilless eye
of ghoul’s night.
A little girl’s heart, wrapped in sweet tarts,
And pressed with messages of love
And belonging.
BE MINE. FRIENDS FOREVER. I LOVE YOU.
Wrapped in chenille,
Sleeping in a pink and powder blue room.
Chestnut hair spread, silken, upon white sheets.
Encircled by dancing maidens in corseted gowns.
Woman’s work surrounds her.
Spools of thread, ribbon, and tape measures;
Even in slumber her soul’s directed by the desires of others.
Days filled with sunlight, and apple blossoms, on a stage of pine needles,
In a forest of dreams... dreams of family, babies dreaming of babies.
Dolls, play with dolls. Barbie faces the Troll king,
And in her heart of hearts the troll always wins.
Three pedal pushers, pushed past,
mom, daughter, grand
icons of fashions.
Forms formed by the dictates of passion.
Hair cropped, brows plucked,
rural New England’s answer to
Dolly Parton.
Scooped necked and corseted
varying little from teen-queen to matriarch;
only the wrinkles told the tale.
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