I’ve tumbled through this world on the power of desire
Felt the draw of man and mankind alike
In limbs, eyes, ideas, and jointed selves
In limbo sandwiched, green and blue.
A dive and journey, islands passing
of flora, fauna, foreign and possessed.
Tourist of bodies and of lives
coversational, musical, and corporeal.
Of changes in charge, attraction and repellence
Forcefully projected from the pole —
still only once in gravity’s isolation.
I’ve stumbled through this world on the whims of desire
Drunk to distraction with half-clothed power
and half-naked need.
lying flat on cold, welcoming cement
listening to motors, eyes closed in pleasure
trotting, cantering, counting in my mind
muscles under me, smooth leather between,
cerebellum knows and remembers those familiar moves
one, two, one, two, one, two
rhythm and pace and jump, steady, take ahold, change
on the rail, through the course, control and partnership
breathing smoke and forgetting the source
combustion between my fingers alone
one, two, one, two
oh, my abandoned Sunrise.
childhood dreams alive and well inside
aged, preserved, bored
outside, another cigarette friend among the masses
takes my hand, if not my interest
A new sensation of able
Tight smiles and sizing up
Whiskey catalyst to a human reaction
hands on skin seizing, searching
and flowers tossed in the name of lust.
What a sucky day
I have far too much to do
I just want to sleep.
tree weighed down with snow
forms an arch across my path
I blow smoke through it.
strolling toward the past with my future on my back
the constant in my mouth
thick, fresh snow covering the dark with a fine layer of light
literally, at least.
cigarette smoking on the rusted old steel of a firebalcony
a frigid end to a warm full running working thoughtless knowledgefull day
sweating beer in mind not hand
watching cold souls trudging home laden with spreadsheets and future
soon, soon, soon, later.
refreshing wind too much for my pages, not for me this year
smoking with a vengeance, time wasted and wanted
lightheaded and awed by the space around, the distances between
unwise time spent away from formulas and notebooks
cold and dark and full of lovely Ginsberg
holding my breath to stop the seconds
as they tick by, ignoring.
In an effort to smoke less and write more, a new resolution to write something for each cigarette I smoke. It may be a line, a haiku, a paragraph, a poem, a story, a chapter — all I want are words strung together. Adeptly or not.
Et ça commence.
