'Gutter' and 'Galaxy'

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Two surrealistic poems

Submitted: December 28, 2009

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Submitted: December 28, 2009

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Gutter

... scattered jazz,
haunted gnarls of
octupi-night staggering
between semen-splinters of stars
pain-fornicating in
my collective gutter, my disheveled
cells oozing your
black and
softer gold
burning silence
in a heathen writhe between my ears
dancing on the cusp: my dead-zone ecstasy
defiling
corrupting and
seduction-raping the
industry of numbness,
toilet-scream from
between legs: slave of avoidance
whore of denial
death in a vacuum
naught ever happening
until it's time to drain
blood from the radiator
in the cross-hairs of crucifiction,
copulation of seven-inched nails
click of steel, snap of heels,
tails,
tongues flickering to embrace
the gutters of my cells
reaching for unopened chapters
strewn through sanctified pain,
and I waiting
for your drive through
the brothel of my mind,
forsaken
lashed to the altar,
my anguish screeching
our prayers,
your black, softer
gold annihilated to smoke
ravishing the reek spiraling up
from my nostrils,
your unspeaking
crawl through catacombs
whispering mouldering truths
under my fingernails scraping remembrances
from your hair
caressing cathredrals rent into
matchsticks to prop heaven
apart,
shriven thighs
toxic-anointed sighs,
poison of my ache for
the healing venom
of your eyes,
soothing darts of darkness bathing dead-zone paramids
with the musky
perfume of sorrow and
floundering celebration
dug from primordial pits
by scrabbling fingertips
clutching for a remnant of your heart
wrapped in wonder
around my pulse staggering, ragged edge of jazz
scraping across windowpanes
in a shriek freezing the soul of god
and dried ice
begging to plunge into embers of your blood
lost in my veins
running from room to room
in my house, our house,
teddy bear, knothole yawns and
oven with gaping jaws,
medicine cabinet of numbness,
sobbing pills
ceiling lowered to a stoop,
tatters
patterns
snow-crystals following a trail
out the window of our bedroom
into traffic jams of children
cascading out of the chapel - my gutter-cell
longing to be unlocked
by the sound of your voice...

... ressurection in the
octupi-night...

* * *

Galaxy

naked galaxy of pirouetting confusion
irradiating your hair threading open sorrow,
aorta of desire licking
the wound and
pleading for the diamond
of your glance,

and the street is no busier
than my journey
run amok,
wilderness
moss steeped in your dew - sweat
tracing my densities
not comprehending what you sing
at the midnight of my crossing,

windows dancing in frost
between your feet and mine
drawn in flesh-curves
aged in a redolent, dripping
moon weeping what we cannot speak,

boat staggering across oceans
of gems dissolved in tilted cadences
of our furnace hymns, yet

where the road
where tracks the sun?

a craven spider web of craving cradling
my mind,
butterfly unsteadily, slowly winging its arch,
my feet paralyzed in honey crushed
from the womb of a riddle
chanting... chanting -
my face melting,
lips torturing and twisted by
wayward syllables,
decadence of
my caverns sobbing to know you in
a serenade of essential fibre and fire strung across
the pained instrument never ringing so deep....

... simmering, shivering in the lost galaxy of our eyes...


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