entrance

Looking his lonelit eyes into her girlblue orbs; his were stoneblue, piercing navy grindstones and they spoke promises in volumes, the empty hope of promises, lifebright premonitions and potentials of the young together in love.  He flashed his eyes to girls like a hidden hand revealing hoped heavens, loveflush in honest plea.  She bit on his compliment of her eyes and now they stumbled through their talk up seven flights to a garagepark’s sunswept top.  He hugged her hungry loins and placed his face upon her belly, the world.  The world, he told her, is here.  The world needs no end of bellyloving, he murmured into her bellybutton as an ear.  She laughed unsure encouraging his caress.  But what did he mean.  She wished he was more obvious.  She wanted to grab his struggle and twist it dead in her hands and cast it off the tall open garage.  Her heart suffered in small moments of unsurety, and she made tangled handsigns to castigate the moment its awkwardness.  She wanted there to always be a progression forced, a hand forced and a direction made.  Why did he seem to not know what to do and languish in these hopes.  And his lips retired from her tummy, knowing there was a world there where he was alien and must find another.

ive given a good number of girls the gift of my furtive finger

but why do i find they respond so artlessly

as though they don’t like boys

Worse; acting like they Know boys, and I am no surprise

When i know she knows me nothing.

I cherish at their fountain with needing lips

I carry them over in my strongheld athletic grips,

But they lie only in their absent moans

like carrion, then ask me to go home.

gimmme the brownies, bronze badge or whatever…i been girlscouting my whole life

It just never stops, I wake up and skate
I wake up and read, I do it all day long
I wakeup dreaming books, beautiful women and loves
I come whetted from my jumbled dreams unsatisfied
and think now I get to do it
A love alights my mind and leaps me up from drowsiness
All the living day I skate, soak sun, no stop, I think and see,
my nose alive for treasures, sharings and young pretty things
I go alone unwaiting chancing on friendful interweavings

I keep wondering

with small pure gasps of wonder

that I’m still alive

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Here’s a haiku, this came to me in a moment in a line, threelined, and i thought afterward, is it a haiku and undisturbed it surely was.  I was riding my skateboard and swerved off the smooth roadway into the stony shoulder at the sound of a car speeding behind me.  My path was obstructed by a parked white van and in its window quick my reflection rose pure and sharp up the black hole surface til my nose nearly touched it.  A crazed shock, the roadside danger, matched with my unexpected reflection, instant memory of all my closer orbits and near deaths….. I’d forgotten I was myself, I’d forgotten I was alive.

tea home, spring airs

I’d let this tea house be my foster home
I am someways child lost
needful of sustenance set before me;
a cleanlit air, the creamwhite walls thoughts spread on,
an open door my soul might slip through free
caught on winds or in the sweep
on visitors shoes or conversations,
a mild tune, a chime a chirp a chatter
a stream a tribute, streamlet thoughts I gather.
Midst my soul adrift and body stabled
there leaps strange Spirit erranding between;
alert alust at laugh in airs it laps unseen—
In airs… such airs as lift from lovers hair, as
drive bees afar to garden’s sweet mulch heaps—
ah in winds, in springsure winds it flights remote
while at a table body heats and writes.

today at the park there were a couple of beautiful gooses strutting slowly on the grass and there were a couple of little goslings making hilarious lostlooking crossings halting many cars in their utterly unrushed goosy straggle toward fresh puddles, I cheered them all

If people had any idea how much fun i had some of these times… dont see how they could be anything but jealous, if they knew how fucking high i get, do they know? I swear youd have to be jealous, i mean like…just on my skateboard… shit.  Then again, other people are having sex so i think things even out

That boy energy she called it, sighing with supposed knowledge. O they’re wild! But does she know, the seed from which the oak will grow…Truly, the seed the oak; the same, dark grope of growing….. or does she just sigh so in supposed knowledge of boy energy. O alone we are, and we boys, we boys are really alone. Or do I just think of myself and MY position?

Contrarily let me think of another
And enforce a widening of my myopic vision
She too alone O lost alone,AND yet….her flesh itself held mirth

Private globular hensia
she sits in her lounged warmth, a cats repose
her broad bare shoulders
like a beast of the bog
her great round shoulders pile,
rawed redly clean,
atop her tautened towel green.
She smiles out
Her earth strength emanates in heavy circles
Her body is like a sucking pool
A bog, a pool thirsting lips.
In affection her eyes take in impossibly small boys
her thoughts indifferently tickled with unknown kisses.
Her bog body grounds her in earth strength
against isolate defeat; she never dries,
as a pool full that lives for to full lips give.
No one saw her, she sought no one
yet she smiled on the world in warmth, and cat repose,
horribly alone she kept warm not thinking of her accidental life.

A book’s just about nothing if you don’t bounce and grin
gasp and tear and shock
with that giddy anxious feeling of having to piss
or maybe you do have to piss but keep forestalling..
That—those see are books
Dostoevsky wrote them, Jane Austen, Melville
Dos Passos, Anthony Powell, Lawrence, Amis, Proust and Papa
Pynchon and Barth have and hey might more
and many others, and many unknown others—future initiations–
and one named The Cossacks by Leo Tolstoy
which is remembered in paintstrokes, in lushness
In the paint strokes of emotion and memory,
a journey, as good, a living journey, vivid and soul wringing.
I’ve realized something
after all my efforts with entertainments meant
for my little entertainment, to tickle my sci-fi suckerhood,
and make mind movies for me,
And it’s that
If it isn’t a great book it’s not a good book.

And woo if that ain’t pretension…
But life is short, guy like me…
Ya gotta get the purest dope.