He stakes my arms to the wall, with binding hands.
I feel his desire through the strength of his grip, he
presses against me and I can’t move. I meet his eyes.
He smiles. I smile.
We kiss to form a scabrous, common bond.
I feel bound up in him and we remain, as such,
too long, too rude, too rough - and free for all to see.
It’s enough to draw curious eyes and jealous sighs.
We stop for air, to reestablish equillibria.
Our immediacy is too giddy - we’re too flushed
for words - the libidinous overtures of dirty birds.
It’s just a kiss, or two - too few - measure them by
pleasures blush - but now, we to the dance floor rush
to join the crush - YES, fun is enough.
I love you
with a taste that does not come
from the mouth...
With a smell that does not come
from the body,
with wonder that it is not
seen with the vision.
I love you
In touches that do not
feel touching,
thoughts that do not
remain in thoughts, but
in deliriums ...
I love you when it weaves me
a magnificent texture,
that snatches ... something that occurs to me
When I find life in that thing
the poets, the dreamers
lovers call
love... !
On Reading Akhmatova
by
Rick Folker
Kansas City, MO
...delighted in deliriums,
In singing about tombs.
I distributed misfortunes…
… But I am not allowed to forget
The taste of the tears of yesterday.
- Anna Akhmatova
“The Last One”
Awake in my darkened room
Another nightmare of doom
Entombed in this nothingness
Life has become a series of shades
Passing by my window on a heavy
August night - Friends long dead
Whisper,
“Hey man, you should have bowed
Out gracefully … we did”.
Survivor's guilt covers me
like a shroud
Their deaths leave me hollowed;
Dessicated like late autumn leaves
...
The stifling heat is burying me beneath
My last gasps of relevance, remembrance,
And sanity,
I live; they sleep.
I in this lonely room,
they in the distance
Of their deep
Now the pathos of age and dead end paths
Beckon me; those former friends
Those shades I flee
Against my earnest, ardent screams
Escape my desperate silent plea
for dignity, forgetfulness, and
longevity
I shall not dream again tonight
I hope; I pray
Of those I loved;
Of those I lost to AIDS
Any bereavement
Needs a shoulder to lean its head on
I sing of you
Rosencrantz
Good friend of Hamlet the hero
To you he poured out his ravings and deliriums
You tried to keep his mind safe
To lead him back to his quiet, warm life
From the whirlpool of the nightmare
Where his father's ghost had drawn him
Can a world succeed without you?
I sing of you
Rosencrantz
Good friend and foundation of heroes
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