(part I)
I hadn’t brought my axe with me
But the dog started to growl
At the stranger huddling there
Back turned to me,
I stood there a while
So he wouldn’t get startled
Which didn’t work too well,
He jumped a foot in the air
When the dog barked at his back
Turning around quickly
With an evil look in his snarl
But I still feel I may have mistook evil
For hunger the man had.
No, it is not thy cause
It is exactly thy momentum
Of this beating heart
That fluctuates between
Hunger and pain
Life and death
Wet and dry
These contrasts to live indeed!
That keep flowing forth
Such delicate evolutions
Of thy soul and mind
And push me, ever more.
These confessions of a dreamer
Leave me circling previous thoughts
With bold, easily identified colors
To indicate folly, where folly’s due.
It’s senseless to caress with timid eyes,
Without hunger biting down doors
And scratching the back of a ravenous beast.
I awake with my fingers gnarled around
Phallic dreams eloping with dense heat
Coiling into my dangerous heart,
Poised and set to pounce
These streets call this name out loud,
A lovers hand we walk in time.
Browns and pigeons and fixies that
Catch our cycling hearts alight.
A beggar shall be at once alarmed
At how quickly we pass him by,
And all the same we run into
The slowest walker of the three.
Hunger bites at opportune,
The journey’s point and now the stop,
Coffee beans and toasted triangles
A hunger fed and to be led.
There’s sun here,
Beaming into my leftover sex eyes.
Wet ground pushing through
My grandmothers heirloom blanket
Floral – diamonds for my pleasure,
Tranquil.
A lover’s legs wrap beyond consciousness,
Creasing my hunger
And playing games with children
Learning how to catch Frisbees,
And hipsters bikes
– Bloody impracticable bikes –
Making criss-crossing lines
Across freshly sprouted spring.
I’m drinking a wild blend of red
Eying patrons eying me…
I’m not annoyed with screaming children,
Just wondering how fun their game really is;
How long fun lasts
Before someones mother has had enough,
Started worrying about what types of spices
To leave out of tonight’s meatloaf
Vegetarian meatloaf,
Hipsters meatloaf.
Mimic my every cry
As I let you whistle low
I’m ready for the hunger
I’m ready for the feast
Left alone at the crossroad
Pack all filled with air
A dollar too much down
Dusty register’s golden crown
Felt hard in my left
Checked the other one again
Heard my freight-train-a-coming
Lookin the other way now
Long road comin hard
Off to another day
Felt the executioners tail
Felt the grip to mother-me
Ramblin rose staring at me
My eyes gone, going back understood
Creeking sleep covering me
Lurching stops frightening me
My bag and me settling in
Easy train rumbling on
Lost my voice miles ago
Keeping my whistle down low
The urge is to cry
To roll up my sleeves
And drag my knuckles dry
Pity that holds hands
Hugs deeper than your throat
Meaningless dripping sands
Innocence that’s bleeding red
Hunger rolling eyes
Still lying naked on black night’s bed
Cupping breasts cold as ageless
And sipping wine with fine dark chocolate
Slipping through my anonimical mess
I die with the tears of acid
Flowing freely from the stone
Black with ash smelling acrid
Don’t lie to me angel face
Licking your feathers and pouting your lips
Desire makes death tangled with lace