Unrealities and realities
grind together in mortar’s mouth,
spilling, pulverizing, volatile perfumes—
succumbing scents of citrus, crushed copper,
musks of bruised lightning,
threshing thunderous throbs.
Instability incarnate sings her reveling wails,
fragrances of something
Beyond Name.
I guide existences into black curve,
severing them against sharp, obsidian walls,
letting them rupture—letting them bleed
—syrups and statics—
messy marrows of forgotten equations.
Their shapelessness mutable,
pliant pages to pulp in the plunge
of the merciless pestle.
How many combinations will one
blend and crucify—
to crush, to coax, into coherence?
Rasps of bone bend against sanguine salts,
sheens of opulent oil merge with ember embryo—
iron filings licked into life by tempests reigned.
Anything of matter becomes
moisture—mass—mold—
hunger pooling at my basin’s heart,
seething for impending strike,
for sudden and unforgiving
birth.
Categories:
musks, change, conflict, creation, feelings,
Form: Free verse
*Image of Elon Musk & Brut by Wiki & Unilever.
The Musks
Homonyms, closeness or likeness,
name or smell, be all there,
creates vanishing impetus,
Twit byes and scents to air.
Brut (cologne) was by Faberge,
Joe Namath modeled them,
Brit's Unilever owns today,
autistic Musk use--'um.
Kicked-up raw earth lingers...consorts
just when a mug pivots,
trigger the hounds and all their sorts,
unfeeling and vicious.
Commercial Brut Musk spray wear's off,
sure and forward sashays.
Refine defines, sign-wavers scoff,
Blue Origin tweet praise.
Like Men in Black bruises those teased,
bypass pedos and smile,
a wound-up car humming was eased,
brute Musk in Space-X style.
2023 January 15
*7th Place*
MUSK
~~Anthony Biaanco: Judged 2023 February 04
*RZ & HMS.
Categories:
musks, imagery,
Form: Rhyme
Who put Lubella in the wych elm?
Wrangled roots and writhing barks,
Little blue shoes and fine black strands.
Was it the witch or the wych?
A flash of red, simmering musks,
An era of tragedy thriving.
A flesh tinged with a subtle darkness,
Hardened with resolve.
Blackened tongues convey sickened truths.
Convenient stretches of white lace
draped across a tarnished stone statue.
Which statue?
Bella is stuck in the wych’s elm,
A broken connection coated in useless filth.
A promise given to none who truly want it,
Yet gifted freely to those undeserving.
Fragile gloves and mangled dresses,
Crystal skies reflecting grey plumes.
Who’s tattered hearts inflicted a wych’s misery?
Fate’s subtle creaks or Mother’s wicked tears;
A concentration of grief or a dispersal of faith?
How did Bella end up in the Wych’s Elm?
Who put Lubella in the Wych’s elm?
Categories:
musks, allusion, angst, betrayal, corruption,
Form: Free verse
The scrape of tooth
on my bottom lip
as she pulls
her kiss
milisecs
away
agonise
the wait
...oh the wait
My breath deliberately
taken
Skin that tastes the flesh beneath
Muscles undulate
in untrained ways
Truths become elusive
Masquerading as the senses
Death slouches from the rooms corner
But pauses in politeness
Or watching
whose to know
Those moments space
is give and taken
Those spluttered grunts
and mewing purrs
A giggled snarl
words from banned books ripped
Skin pierced backs
as nails pull in unison
Rythmed beasts
Agonyistically unstatic
Run the gaunlet raw
Hold my gaze
with unkempt fire
let me kiss
your slipping breath
Oneness held
in tempered moments
For the devil to replay
Echoed musks the room
Ripping hearts
pulls breast
breath takes breath
Its roaring whimpered
in the cavern
of our
intertwined and wined
stems
Staring at the stars dancing
in the mirrors
of her sleeping sweat
Categories:
musks, poetry,
Form: Free verse