Return to: [Chetleon]'s House.

---

Part

I

introduction to the poems:



I find that my poems often times are somewhat demented, or concerned with misanthropic views. I don't want to hear any comments about subject matter, I only want reviews or advice on set and grammar.
Thanks.

-EL

---

Part

II

the poems:

INDEX [#]

(01) I HEARD A CRY IN THE NIGHT * Daily Poem Choice

(02) PHONE CALL TO GOD

(03) HOME OF THE HOLY

(04) MANIA IN THE MORNING * Daily Poem Choice

(05) THE FLIES

(06) THE WANDERER

(07) SEAGULLS

(08) THE NIGHT

(09) STORY & CLARK

(10) STRANGLEWOLF

(11) THE FOREST BETWEEN US

(12) THE ENDING, OF THE END

(13) POEM, ON HIS BIRTHDAY

(14) A MOTH MUST DIE

(15) URIEL  * Daily Poem Choice

(16) MANNEQUIN

(17) SERVING THE SERVANTS

(18) FELL UP

(19) LETTER TO JANE

(20) PRIVATE SETTINGS

(21) THE VIRGIN SLAUGHTERING

(22) THE SCRAP TWIN

(23) LUSTING AFTER VENUS

(24) THESE HEAVENLY BURDENS

(25) NUDE AT A WINDOW

(26) INTERIOR WITH A VIOLIN CASE

(27) RED ROOM SUICIDES

(28) ANGEL ON FIRE

(29) AMERICAN ANGLE

---

(01) I HEARD A CRY IN THE NIGHT [#1]


I heard a cry in the night,
And knew it was you--
The tone that carried over the rooftops,
And came from the forest,
It sounded so pitiful, and sorrowful--
It almost brought me to forgive you--

I heard someone stumble on the path behind me--
And knew it was you who followed me,
The footsteps stopped as I slowed my pace,
And I knew that you had been around me--
I could taste your scent in the air,
And I knew it was you that had been around me--

I saw a reflection on the lake, beside my own--
And knew it was your's,
I knew you for what you are,
And knew we could not be more similar--
I once heard a cry in the night,
And I have never stopped listening--

---

(02) PHONE CALL TO GOD [#]


1

I could’ve waited for your call.
But instead I rang your number,
Zero for the operator,
And number ONE for God--
I sat on the windowsill,
And watched the spiders play--
Whiskey and Tea don’t mix,
And neither do religion and depression,

Of course you didn’t answer,
I am sure I was not the only one--
Dialing ONE for God,
Knowing he could have waited his turn.
But always the bore, but of course--
You left me with my head down by the phone,
And my hand deep in my hair,
Playing with a heart shaped earring.

Spinning the heart with my fingers,
And wishing it were yours--
So that I could play with your love,
The way you play with my faith.
Pray, pray, pray and hope you might hear me--
Why don’t you pray to me?--
I think Id’ be a better deity,
Than you could make a poet--

2

Good God, Good God, Good God,
Why not good Man?--or ‘good Ethan’?--
I think it sounds much better,
Jehovah, Ethan, my, my, who could tell?--
I sometimes wish you were human,
So I could meet you honestly,
And see your body as you see mine,
Fragile, flesh, bone and muscle.

Why don’t you ever respond,
To the letters ive mailed to you?--
They all say, “read me someday”,
And “with love and loathing to you”
You don’t have to live,
Wondering ‘will my god send me to hell’.
How selfish you are sometimes,
Maybe you should take a trip there.

There is no room in hell for me,
There is no room in hell for you.
Why not give me your mighty hand,
And see how I use it?--
You wear no rings,
Because if you did I would see the marks--
--on my face from the many times you’ve
slapped me.

3

If killing myself really helped,
I would have done it long ago--
I think you would have too--
But then again--
Your immortal.
And I would rather live, And look up to you--
And say for all to hear--
How much better I could be--
If I were God for a day.

---

(03) HOME OF THE HOLY [#]


What happened to the home built on the rock?--
I thought that things of the holy,
Were supposed to last eternity--
So that the children are sent to play--
Around the lakes twice in the day,

What happened to the pious that built the homestead?--
I thought that God would always provide for them,
Aren’t things of the holy--supposed to last eternity?--
But even gold melts under the flame,
And the sun must limp away tired--

I saw that home built on the rock--
I drank wine as it lit up the evening sky,
The bonfire kissed the clouds as I kissed my glass,
And of that godly retreat they built on the rock,
There is nothing left but a spoon to sift the ashes--

---

(04) MANIA IN THE MORNING [#]


I drank the rainwater from the pails,
I collected the stones and threw them at priests--
I can’t seem to remember why you prescribed this to me.
I saw one face in another--one gender among the sexes,
I couldn’t cure it, but I really did try;

I prayed to God, he didn’t hear it--
I kissed the women, I kissed the men--
I kissed the mirror, I kissed your hand.
It’s like a game played against myself,
I’ll never win, or you’ll find out--

Free the pigeons--free them--free---
Drown the baby and throw the windows open.
Crawl like a beast--and worship me,
You’ve done it before--this time do it for me.
All--in the mania, of the morning.

---

(05) THE FLIES [#]


I heard the flies talking,
In a spiders web--
Screaming names and places,
That have long since disappeared.
They must have known that I was listening,
Because they told me they knew more--
Than I could ever hope to know,
In the space of a single lifetime--
And that they learned it in a day.

The flies they kept chanting,
A song like a name,
They could have kept on all day--
But I had to ask for curiosity’s sake,
What they meant when they said-
--“Satan”
They said that he’d been by--
And offered to help them out of the spiders web,
That he helped spin.

They said “hear me Lucifer--
-and leave us alone”.
“--We sold ourselves to some god--
--we saw hanging on the wall in a church”.
“And when we die we’re going to--
--check into our investment”.
I walked away from the flies,
And went to the park--
And on the swing I saw a man--

In a red suit, smoking a cigar--
He offered me a light, but I said ‘no’.
I held my lungs dear to me,
And he held his to the curb.
We sat at the swings,
And didn’t speak--
But watched the cars go by.
When he got up to go,
I asked him for his name.

He turned around and looked at me,
And gave me a card instead--
Then we walked down the road,
And off into the woods.
I looked at the card in my hand--
And saw it was blank.
I had been talking to--
Nothing more,
Than a man with no name--

---

(06) THE WANDERER [#]


Ive always been staring at that point in the distance,
Someday I’ll get there, I may just leave today--
And when I get there I’ll say,
“My what a wandering”--

And when I get back,
Whenever that might be--
I’ll tell you all about it,
And pretend it was really me.

---

(07) SEAGULLS [#]


1

If I were to be your child,
I would make myself unknown but to you
And dance in indigo weavings--
And leave a trail of salt for you to follow
Till you find me again.

2

A coffee cup between my knees--
--Im on the curb again,
My what a beggar I make
When I actually try
Im sure your searching the clouds again--
--dreamer, but you won’t find me there.

3

On the road again, which one? Which one--
--do I take? It’s gotten so confusing since you last left--
--for me to find the way
Strawberry fields that look so lonely,
And Im starving but can’t really eat.

Even though the strawberries look lonely today,
And im sure that they would love to have me
I’ll continue down the road until,
I can’t find anything else that grows.

4

I pass by,
Shrubs, thriving plants even in drought
Still surviving somehow--
And cacti without rain for periods,
During which im sure they thirst
And dream of water.

5

Temptation, in the fruit
Canteens that never fill-
And bread that has sat to long
And at beaches,

Where strangers hand out dimes--
Chips, and other amenities
That I will take only to live on
And find a different way this time--
--in the air--perhaps even over the sea
to you.

---

(08) The Night [#]


They say it is there again,
Dark fruit of lust in the tree--
“I should take it for what it is
and because it is not mine”
Says the Hunter who has
sought out the tree far longer--
--than me.

But the hooves of this urchin--
The wing in the curve of the neck
Hide--black and sweat covered.
Mine, for the ride.
And the night will cave in,
Not the night, the Night--
Not they, but THEM--
The guardians of the secret
They will answer the testament.

And it will be retribution,
And it will all be done on
That night.

“It was mine once,
but it is now gone from me”
said some great teacher,
at some great gathering,
at some place or time.
“--And someday It will be there again,
where I left it in the shade”

It is their's, was
But the hooves of this urchin,
It’s bloodshot glare--I grab the mane
And hold dearly,
Black mare that is mine for the day.

Great pasture that we ride in,
I will tame, I will tame, will tame--
This beast, then this land, then the soullessness,
Solid relief in the rain
That relic will be mine, sometime in the night.

But the hooves of this urchin,
Glorious frame and skin,
Slim figure on the back of
The demon, it is mine for today.

---

(09) STORY & CLARK [#]


You say there is nothing between us,
Gray stain on the keys--
Who has played it before me
Will after me?--
This is my right for life,
Or death as it will.

Tumultuous era in my life--
Ive been seeing the goddamn thing
In my dreams--
Bleak piano sliced like a yew,
A lamb or a cow.
This is my right for life,
This secret of you in me--
Completely.

But there is a bridge,
Not solid--no--
But there for the crossing
Clear tape, red lettering,
Like embroidery across the face
I caress you.
This is my right.
Not yours, you drudger.

It is private this vendetta--
--violent streak across the room
it is all mine.
This is my right--for life.

---

(10) STRANGLEWOLF [#]


I saw you standing there at the door,
Your pale throat ready to peel--
It is time you say for a new pulse
To ruffle you’re hair, a stroke.

It took a bullet to end the war
In your head, and a poem,
To end the one in mine--
For a last time, I tried.

    ~

This isn’t all that you did with me,
We tumbled in the grass by a cliff--
And sang strange songs to the wind
For a last time, I will try--

To piece together that pariah body
In which you lived like a traitor--
I lived in it too, but only with you.
It was only for a season, not this one.

~

I hear that you still call for me from--
The trees, and that you morphed into
Something similar to a wild creature--
Exotic demon, to move with the night

---

(11)  THE FOREST BETWEEN US [#]



There once was a bridge--
Between my house, and your's,
And as I can remember--
We made it from cedar planks and aspen--
And hand carved the railings,
Our love was like a forest--

But then time passed and gave way to sorrow--
And what had aged fell away in mourning,
And the bridge we had created--
Fell into disrepair--faster than we could mend it--
But even as we tried to save what we had--
Inside our souls turned from one another,

Yours faced the Sun rising eastward--
Mine turned to the Sun in the western sky--
Together we betrayed our love, together in infidelity,
Our love was like a forest--
And the trees fell down between us,
And left a gulf of compost and shavings--

There once was a bridge--
Between our two houses,
But even as it fell and we aged--
We still thought of each other--I know--
For sometimes in the morning, I see your eye drift west--
And I know mine meet your gaze--

---

(12)  THE ENDING, OF THE END [#]


Your colossal feet are landmarks in the darkness--
And I am ever closer to the heel,
The heel Ive been running from
Many times before.
This night is the night I strive,
Again under the arches of the cathedral
You are the deity I have rebelled from--
For all the years I've lived.
This isn’t the last time---that I--
Will try to usurp your giant’s
hands control from the heavens.

This is not the end,
Even though it might be the end--
I am still the same
As when we began.
All the changes Ive seen--
Don’t add up in the end.
This is not the end,
Even though it might be the end--
Of your stature in the skyline.
Morbid Skyscraper--all the peons
will always swim to in the seas
And will again.
This is not the end--or--
The ending, of the end.

---

(13)   POEM, ON HIS BIRTHDAY [#]


The wind is violent,
As is the wish---
Poured over the candle.
Pronounce that word
Again for me---hate---
So that the
Meaning stays with me.

I would such petty things,
So petty as Whiskey
Were it not for the tasteless--
Gasp of air I strive
To overcome.
The gasp of death.

The quick flutter of the--
--closing eye.
A slowly tilting world
As mine--
Is grave but in it,
There is some beat like I
Used to know.

And the candle burns low.

The mind is the key,
Not what is there---
--but will be.
I would want such petty things,
To ease the transition of age.
So petty as---
----Love that dull
laugh I would have bourn.
This is my awakening,

And the candle burns low.

You would so want,
Me to crave all your gifts--
I see the sunrise
As I listen for the blow--

And the candle burns low.

I too watch the sunrise,
As do you in the winter--
But the winter is with
Me always.
I am---I am---the changer---

And the candle burns---low---

---

(14)  A MOTH MUST DIE [#]

A moth must die, where it lies--
for if you had ever watched it,
like a voyeur
you would know.
A moth must die, when it may--
--and no longer fly
so deep into that sky--
Like a turbulent sea.

For something must die,
And die in the night--
When all eyes are closed to the--
--spasms.
A moth must die, where it lies--
To fragile for the grave just yet,
But dig it all the same.

But don’t bury it there.
Bury a weight of sorrows
Deep underground.
And prepare an urn for the angel--
That lies down prepared.
For something must die.

Die deeply in that shadow--
--of the midnight’s shadow.
A moth must die, wherever it lies--
But not tonight,
Don’t go looking tonight--
Instead keep out of the streets
And meet the moth in sleep.

And no moth will die tonight.

---

(15)   URIEL [#]



I feign my negativity--
Like a gothic Christ in his
Holiness.

I secede whatever mass I
Was a part of;
And write a canticle of depression
In the evenings--

Out to the square I come ready--
--to have my head rolled like a
die from my shoulders.

I enter, I enter, yet am an exit.
Counting the stones I grow tired,
And lie down amongst the corpses.

Yet--I tire of lifting the
Larger obelisks,
and positioning them under stars.

The moondial says it’s three
In the morning--
I go home, and there--alone--
--I wail.

---

(16)   MANNEQUIN [#]


1

You poor wooden model,
Your scorched arms bring me joy
That look of misery you show
It’s a sideshow I enjoy.

2

Your screams of agony send me signals--
And flashes of mercy and regret
Pass me by as I watch--
myself crush your hand in a grate.

3

The shudder of pain across your
Forehead---startles me still.
Poor bastard that I torture.
Bloody child I adore.

4

It’s a sport that takes it’s time
Pushing needles through your fingers
And spurs across your back--
--there will never be remorse.

5

It’s cold in the morning
But warm in the ground--
I’ll bury you by a tree---
And deep so it burns like Hell.

6

The animals wear your entrails
Like freshly ironed corsets.
They wear the moisture of
Your skin like a jacket.

7

Do you feel the pulse of your leg?--
As it bends and snaps
With all the weight
Of the chains. Yes.

8

I’ll kill you sweet pet--
But not yet.
We’ve still so much to do
Playing----as we do.

---

(17)   SERVING THE SERVANTS [#]


I come down for tea,
The saints are here for me.
Try not to forget--

--I’ll be wandering hatefully
while you suffer this--

Serving the Servants of God,
Never seemed like such a chore.
I show them round the lake,
And go out knee deep--
--fishing out bibles and bottles and things,
such as that they may need.
When the play starts later,
And the Saint’s play their part--

--I’ll be wandering hatefully
while you suffer this--

One saint says to me,
‘Where is God to you?’
I tell him,
‘In the mirror, where he stays’
So the saint takes out a mirror,
And breaks it on the floor--
‘Where is God now?’
‘Dead where he should be’
The saint laughs,
And passes out--
--just remember,

--I’ll be wandering hatefully
while you suffer this--

The saints prepare to leave,
They climb in a car,
And drive away.
I toss a bible in the air,
I’ll seem them later---
--when the lights go out.

---

(18)   FELL UP


At the instance of a--
--vague notion, I
discovered a filthy hole
and within:
a mystic wringing his hands.
"Is this Hell?" I asked
"No look deeper,
deeper than this" he said.
It's a thrill,
trudging farther down than this.
Falling up to Heaven--
--I found a saint bailing water
from a tower.

From below I shouted:
"Where is Hell?"
"Look deeper,
even deeper than this" he said.
I started down and
deeper than Heaven--
--I found Hell:
A gray valley, and in the
middle of a bleak pasture a tree.
And under the tree--I--
--found a mirror.
I held it up and asked myself,
"Is this Hell?"
"No, look deeper, farther--
--up than this"

then I fell.

---

(19)  LETTER TO JANE

Four in the morning, I'm on the hill and I look down,
Your on the ground--
--L.A. Jane, are you sane?
I'm ever stumbling down that path
that I was once stumbling up.
I feel as if you can't see this now--
I've grown weary of moving stones downward,
and heaving them back up to the summit.
I followed your act, and gave up--
--L.A. Jane, are you sane?

You casting shadows from your grave,
and yet your a shadow too.
Distant from the light, singing
anthems for my delight--
--L.A. Jane, are you sane?
I'm starting back up, yet slowing down
I feel as if you can't hear this now--
L.A. Jane, are you deaf? are you sane?
You've broken the bucket and strewn the seeds
in a rocky fissure with no trees-- 
--L.A. Jane, are you sane? 
Four in the morning, I'm on the hill and--
--I've looked down, at you

staring somewhat vacant up from the ground.
I once dropped the knife, and now I've 
picked it up again. 
I'll kill you if it's needed--
--I feel as if you deserved it now,
after all--
--L.A. Jane, where you ever sane?
Was I ever yours 
--I feel as if you never spoke the truth.

Oh, L.A. Jane, rise up again,
before I'm done trembling at the top--
--I wish to see you take a bow, 
--L.A. Jane, are you that vain? 
that you'd leave without me again?
L.A. Jane, your dead to me--
--I feel as if, you've known this
for years.

---

(20)  PRIVATE SETTINGS


--fingering the stems I re-arrange the blooms--
--red, violet, blue, some are white,
seeming as if they belong to a chorus.
Buried in fall they’ll be back--
--in spring.
There’s a corpse below the bulbs,

--feeding new life with dead flesh.
There’s no mystery in the darkness.
Not when you have dug and
mulched and crooned as I--
--to bring up a harlot like a flower.
Fingers bleeding from the ice,

leaving dainty stains on the petals.
The mirror leaves no illusion as to--
--what you are beneath.
I’m dreaming of clouds and trenches
This lust for eternity knows--
--has a time-frame.

Obliterating vases against the tile,
Till you find the one worth the
purity--
of such as perfect things as this--
--feeding new life with dead flesh.
Reciting lines from a wall.

It’ll kill you all, or so
I’m told.
My divinity is endless.
My graciousness, curable.
My humbleness--unsure.
Posing the mannequins with tulips.

Twisting arms into ballerina-like positions,
Looking back I lose momentum--
--and come back to the present
tenses,
filled with private settings.
--feeding new life with dead flesh.

Falling down amongst the tulips,
Color hanging in the air.
I’m reminded of delicate limbs
and a torso going under--slow--
like a drifting petal.
My optimism is senseless.

And--I’m singing of so many
Pretty, perfect. Things,
It’ll be my end, or so
I’ve heard
Private setting like these--
--aren’t referenced in a lie.

Uprooting the sound straight from
the mouth--
My bitchiness if cold,
My beauty, bold.
My religion, a place--
--such as this.

---

(21)  THE VIRGIN SLAUGHTERING

It’s blasphemy,
To show trashy mien--
--at such an unremarkable grave
I’d wonder if you were mourning,
Or just enjoining--

He’s taking pills--but doesn’t need water,
--he’s washing them down with castor oil.

I wonder if we’ll pump out an iron stake from your stomach,
or liver. You enjoyed death so much we ached to deliver
you to the shallow river.
I’d wonder if you were rejoicing,
Or just--well, something?--

He’s taking pills, but doesn’t need water,
--he’s washing them down with castor oil.

He’ll go deflowered to his grave.
We’ll wring out blood from his intestines,
and decorate the tombstone.
It’s astonishing,
to reveal how lucky he was.

I think he liked walks that never ended,
I think he like guns and bowls of glitter,
We’ll send him off right, with a
hole in his sternum.
Or--well, we’ll think of something.

He’s going down fast, no! let’s not revive him.
It’d be such a waste,
Such an idiot blunder--
--I’d rather see him quiver, and moan,
than remember.

He’s taking out razors--but doesn’t need bandages,
--he’s pulling out fingernails and throwing them everywhere.
This is how one slaughters a virgin,
No, this is how one slaughters a virgin,
Yes, this is how one slaughters a virgin,
Not with a grimace--but a smile.

---

(22)  THE SCRAP TWIN

It’s grotesque, yet dreamy--
--hiding my eye sockets with your
unwashed hair. You
startle, you scare.
Your a hideous sight,

--and yet I am conjoined,
to this crooked neck twin.
That leers and smiles stupidly,
even to a knife.
It’s eye’s rolling like dull marbles--

--Keeping me entranced like an
admiring heretic.
I keep removing it’s limbs, till it’s
left with only that pale spongy torso.
That writhes and tosses around on the floor.

One could almost care. Or poke needles
between it’s ribs.
Tickling the lungs and listening to it breathe.
And wheeze. And squeal like a
bruised infant.

Locked inside with this demented changeling--
--counting off weeks in notches on it’s fingers.
Outdone by this madness, I kick my ugly
sibling to a corner.
Perhaps I’ll hang it in the closet.

I can’t tell whether it’s male, or female,
for it’s crotch is smooth porcelain--
--save for a dark jagged hole.
I’d say it was meant for the scrap pile.
Holding it up by it’s hair,

I can’t make out if it feels at all.
No wrinkle crosses it’s face,
Banging it against the wall, I swear it’s
begun laughing.
I’ll have to kill it eventually.

String a wire around it’s neck,
place it on the coat-rack.
And shut it away, so I can’t
hear it whine.
I think it’d be divine.

To lock it away from me,
To keep it’s eye’s from wandering round
my throat.
And gnashing it’s teeth terribly.
I pray that it’s dead by now.

I haven’t the bravery to see,
If still moves, struggles, breathes.
Watching it revolve in a pattern,
Forward, back, forward, back.
I’m ready to leave it, behind me.

---

(23)  LUSTING AFTER VENUS

Inside the vein the world is--
--is bleak.
Outside we see illusions.
God in disguise, as a woman on
A cerulean chaise-lounge,
Hands on her thighs,
Her hair waist length.

It’s the equivalent of majesty,
Her eyes centered on me--
--turning round to see.
Her mouth drawn to a smirk,
Wearing only a turban.
Beauty so unattainable that--
--I’m at risk of trying.
To the mute Venus with a harsh gaze,
All that view her are the same--
--cold, impolite.
All voyeurs every one.
The bravery to touch her face,
Kiss her neck,
Reveals no timeless nerve.

Pressing a peacock fan into her fingers,
Or a pillow under her leg,
Is only casual luxury that she enjoys
just for a moment.
I enjoy it eternally, in my
relentless flattery of her body.
I could die happily on the floor at her feet.

Or drown, in the moist air she breathes,
Or be strangled taming her hair.
I’ll keep on at this till she adores me,
I view her as a heavenly entity.
But how does perfection view herself?--
Does my darling slave away?--
Or pass the time looking off--
--to a portrait of herself on the wall?--

---

(24)  THESE HEAVENLY BURDENS

Time breaks down--and you’re
one of us.
Star-struck and lonely, like
You’ve never been.
A mountain rises higher and
--a mime laughs at our kind.

But here in our void, we still
Sometimes hear ourselves as--
--we mutter, recite, and pray.
I’d tell you to bear it, but
These heavenly burdens,
When they fall, fall hard--

--on you’re shoulders.
Push you down, then cast you off.
Weaken you’re will. And then
Forget you.
And once cast off you--re-think
It all.

But at times, if you stop
Look up--remember all.
These heavenly burdens--wane,
And you find yourself--
--wanting them all.

---

(25)  NUDE AT A WINDOW


--leopard print coat is on the floor carelessly,
with a shadow cast, wearing it.
The Thin man nude is an icon, of
Modern things
A scarlet rotary phone to his ear, it is
Unplugged---he listens for different things

But from the mouthpiece come no teeth, and
No sound from the open window--
The shadow pulls on empty clothes, and
Soars out of the narrative--
While spots run down the wall, released--
--from the inward jungle,

---

(26)  INTERIOR WITH A VIOLIN CASE

--Finally there is no place for cynics here,
all the mourners have gone, walking
on the beach.
Trailing black boas and scarves,
leaving a violin--with the room.

Even silence has gone with them, and
allowed emptiness to sigh.
No one strokes strings----that are otherwise
kept smothered by fingers.
The Thin Man close by: envisions delight

But where is comfort now?--past all the
Glamorous scenery,
The mouth can’t forgive music, that no vocal chord
can mimic.
So the Thin Man reels with frustration,

And thinks he will, depart.
Bitching quietly, mostly, to himself, but
A window invites a view
And he’s to careless to observe--his youth
as it is purged----

----by a menace such as a symphony.
And,
Thin Man can’t close his eyes----
Thin Man can’t get no soul----
As its passé, and gone.

---

(27)  (the) RED ROOM SUICIDES


Pretty darlings don’t despair--Thin Man
Likes men cheap, easy to break at a
--midnight glare.
Likes to see them in a line, on the bed, of
the red room, have them there.
No questions, please----

Take them steadily, one by one, peel
out emotions: leave them none.
Corruption is a terrific fad--he can’t
keep them quiet, no stains on the oriental rugs!
Away from the windows, the curtains are paisley.
He likes them there.

Off the couch, one by one, doesn’t like creases--
--on his satin.
See the Fabergé boxes, yes he has taste--
This is fruitless. No pleasure here.
Masculine features make a lovely display.
No questions--please----

No, on the plastic. You’ll do it there,
Not by the hazel colored print, of a harlot, combing
--her hair. Divine? quite.
That one’s already dead, don’t do it like him--
--listen.
Be elegant instead.

Let’s have a look---that knife will do,
Yes, place it there.
Turn on the lamp, he’ll be here soon.
Lovely pattern? handmade, nice touch indeed--
Now for you--step out the window--that
--will do.

No questions, please----leave all clothing
on the table. Of course! hand-carved you
know----
Lay down please, don’t be shocked, he’s
handsome you know.
Faces up, hands palm-down. Legs akimbo--

Nervous? It just won’t do, have a pill. Have--
--one more, take them all. Vodka?--
Shy? It’s just not chic, love the mirror?--
That ought to do, I’ll leave you now
No questions. None.
He’ll do as he pleases!----

Take care not to struggle, he doesn’t like
that at all.
It’ll be like a dream, well, you see--
--he’ll do as he pleases, to you
and----
----to me.

---

(27)   ANGEL ON FIRE

     for Elizabeth Brown [Junko987]


--there’s an angel in the sky
made---of fire.
His glance holds you high---
Makes all else futile, and dire.

His roman face is a catalyst,
His eyes a mirror of vanity;
All else is allowed to show him no trust.
But only with might, and sterility--

From his chest pour secret musings--
--all volatile and strange.
While he nurses brutal beings--
--called lovers, all pretty--yet savage.

Where does beauty go when unnourished?--
To an eden of rooms--all padded?--

---

(29)    AMERICAN ANGLE


------nosedive on the city with
our skin slicked back,
then crashed through the clouds
with my silhouette laughing madly.

------caught in the last act before
we call out to one another in rhymes,
skewed our profiles sideways for a
quick look up at tonight.

---brought back here with ease
to do it all again
----sent back in a hurry
(We’ve forgotten our eyes and our lighters)
-------gentle kerosene flare that burns us
to cinders
-----then a nice cold current that helps
us settle into something----

------See? I told you it was nothing.

---

(30)   THE CONFESSION


for Beverly Oldham


The infamy was mine: I could not escape,
wind my way through a miserable hall
that bent and swayed----
(Never truly stayed the same through it all,)
even as I wrung my hands and had
----my way as one may
(lean in closer, please do.)
Never had the choice of here or there or
of a past or future of either love or hate,
they’re all the same----
Once in a day you’ll find you love the world
but twice in the night you’ll find agony, and
there alone you’ll claw at the walls.
The violet room is a mystery----still now to me,
where the wallpaper sighs and the portraits smile
and sometimes will blink rapidly.
----to myself I’ll speak of times I lost my senses
----to the floor I’ll whisper remedies
(We’ve all done it before, naturally.)
Now that I’ve said that we’ve our business, you see:
It never occurred that life was a ruse, like a
ancient costume heavy on my shoulders----
-----then I had plucked the first string on
a terrific instrument of pain
(call it death, I suppose.)
And allowed my pleasure to dream of a day
When the soul is drained and lucid:
Where the pity is lost and the mind is a tool,
(You follow, of course.)
And the tongue craves a lie; while the eyes a
scene of great disaster
And the fingers would dwell on an idol, or the
ears a cry of sweet misery----
(I’d have them all at once, not you?)
Take my conversation with the old gentleman in red,
who passed his palms over my head, said:
What of the weather?
It’s a frightful day, full of rape and terror and
the filling taste of nature.
Name the philosophy please----
----It’s one of a wicked sensation,
(Yes I’m sure I should repent, oh well.)
And I walked in the street and found nothing
there----save a young man, his head up
admiring the sun----that
Kept flexing its flames while all the while
I traced his steps like a fine draftsman,
Finally some time later he turned and said:
Reality’s hook caught you to?--
(No, I just walked on, no response.)
But when I arrived, back home reflecting
It struck me as odd----I hadn’t the
means to repeat my existence.
(A bland one at that,)
All these things that keep on----every
common object that had no importance,
all would exist long after I left:
Yet here I am and I say this to you,
----strange isn’t it?
(Never rue the end, not sure that’s
quite right of me but I’m sure it’ll do.)
But look--listen, see, remember?

---

[#]