. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Monday, July 16, 2018

Pink


You asked me here for what?
for this
and him and the sunken dead tunes of your lonely tomb
alone again where the red weather invites hypothetical doom
say it better
say it better between my legs than she did
so I can forget she's there and get her out of my head
pleasure tethered by a thin thread
well-read men with mannerisms dance catechisms while you orgasm
in bed
without me
you'd rather be with your pink dildo instead.

TA

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Ted's Confession


I am enormous,
like Ted Nugent's self-righteous ego,
like the taste of your tongue the taste of apple pie on the window,
like Apple poised to take over during the dot com crescendo,
Stevie Jobs shaking hands with men in suits
so used to fucking high dollar bimbos,

break yo neck, nigga,
break yo neck, nigga,
break yo neck, nigga,
while you do the limbo,

see the bearded lady crush my balls in the side show,
I am Cool Hand Luke's hand slow-jerking his greasy pepperoni pizza
until it starts to slowly grow,
and I'd know,
though I'd likely not say,

it's probably better that way,
Ted Nugent picking up the pieces of his shattered day dreams
off the side of the interstate.

TA

Monday, July 9, 2018

My Shit Prince


Come dance with me,
you shit prince,
cast in the stark dark bowels of last year's
trends,
twirl me around the fish eye lens
until I spin
and spin
and spin
there and back again,
a grin from the devil inside of me
defying me
to close my eyes and be,
be pushed into someone's open arms,
be left standing on the porch in the dark,
be left in the storm,
be broken with a broken heart,
you told me from the start
that this wouldn't work
but I can't dance without my
shit prince,
long days spent stepping in circles
lonely,
bent to the scent you left behind,
your hard hands along my stegosaurus spine,
all that I am is yours
and nothing that I am
is mine.

TA

Monday, July 2, 2018

Sibling Rivalry


"Allow me to reveal to you my cruelty, brother"
my sister crooned,
she acting like a little girl gentleman
standing with one foot on our mother's head,
her dead smile ivory in the full moon,
"Give me this chance to prove to you that your ugly twin sis
is no sullied grownup's
fool"

"Be patient, little love," I barked in my most sincerest
southern admonition,
"Though you felt no fondness for this bitch - listen:
not everyone wished her tits up
succumbed to total demolition,
some glitch in your misguided system has steered you
headlong
into rough waters and ultimately into
the tomes of insufficient women daughters"

"Both of you be damned," cried the one father we knew we had
but had never met,
"Take this axe and with its wet blade
cleave the delicate bones
and the long empty chambers
of your mother's alabaster neck,
I have had no greater gloom nor known greater glory,
but shall carry with me her head
reminding me always of the greatest woman
ever to walk this rotten earth on two legs."

TA

Thursday, June 28, 2018

Wondering


Charge the hill steep as it is
bayonets and all
calling loud to be the last tall tin soldier shouldering a legacy of swamp peoples
peopling the old wood dance floors of our cajun nation's historical lore
carry Father Francois' flag proud and the bastards later handed down
two-step march to war time tunes
high-stepping to hounds braying bloodlust 'cause they treed a doomed raccoon
Paw-Paw got a pair of them alligator skin boots
Maw-Maw in a moo-moo checking the trot-line at the prow of the canoe
a big blue slippery catfish barking at her like a rottweiler behind a chain-link fence
maw full of drool
Lou cussin' Gertrude
Gertrude cussin' the bullhead
not quite in English, not quite in French

Maybe I'm meant to carry this delicate legacy
but not actually live here in this muddy trench
sitting on my fists on the bench waiting my turn to make a play
seems silly
when half the team is simply walking away
is the fight worth the grit
do I keep my head down, throw mortars over the ditch
wondering should I go
wondering why stay

TA

Thursday, June 21, 2018

These My Propensities


My faith
my consistent irresponsibility
my oft-colored nobility
the thick grey blood in the hallowed halls of my bloodstream
the thick grey vesicular knot of coiled string in my shallow balls
dead skin and sleeping dogs
then the empty threat of a shrieking god

and the wonder of it all

my face
my misplaced gentility
my propensity for proclivity
the empty rope coils covering the stains on my bed sheet
the various empty visions that parade within my sleep
cypress knees and pallid meat
heart within this heap
my shriveled core
gone door to door
dust to dust
and nothing more.

TA

Friday, June 15, 2018

In Robes and Regret


Is this Heaven, for Heaven's sake?
call it what you will stumble over your definitions
stumble through your very own joyful heartache
walk with me through the leaves
walk with me to the rake
angels lie awake whispering ghost stories to one another
about the king of snakes
priests fall in love with little boys for pleasure
but live in God's house for the tax breaks
tossed willy-nilly into the lake of fire
succumb to earthly desire
a fat tired black clad friar tosses his nuts in my throat
like a cat in the dryer
if I say I'm not a sinner am I liar?
higher powers call my cell phone by the hour
but I yell
COWARDS
tell it to my face
hang up the phone and send them on their merry way
stay
but stay
the sermon should be swell today
donuts afterwards in the sweltering heat
laced with as much grace as this tiny chapel can contain
I promise, father
to bend my knees
to plead and pray
my soul is yours
COWARD
despite whatever else I say.

TA

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Betty


C'mon, baby, you know God gave you them fangs
so you can sharpen your knife,

C'mon, baby,
is it too much to be asked to be cut tonight?
ripe flesh flawed but displayed for the cutting,
the deer make haste through the woods
'cause the bucks are rutting,
find me bloodletting,
find me feeding on the dead skin cells in the folds of your bedding,
hasten the good men from the wedding,
may they run rabid like dogs chasing confetti,
may they strike you as lost men,
but deadly,
never to be savored by your harsh tongue of sand
and sin,

C'mon, Betty,
brandish that blade and let's begin this messy undoing
while your hand's still steady.

TA

Friday, June 8, 2018

Mud Hut Men


Is there no kit to welcome the foreign horde to our shores?
bag of last names pronounced phonetically
a list of the best boudin shops alphabetically
(cause no true top 10 list exists)

shift around the contents of this clutch
until your wayward fingers linger long enough
on a mud hut
built by savage men in the marshes
who survived the summer heat
who survived the mosquito sting
who survived the hurricane

but who could not survive the greed of man

dig past the pencils engraved in local stencils
and further contraband
until in the heart of your purse
cursed to see a people ignoble in their struggle
ignorantly denying they were the first to be damned.

TA

Monday, June 4, 2018

The Treatise Endless


Today the wind blew in cruel,
and on top of that bitter bitch's back blew in thunderstorms too,
too concerned with the rain in their bloated guts
to feel anything for a smattering of mortal fools,
zeppelins did loop-de-loops writing sky-cloud truths to warn
us of what would happen if the rain broke loose,

We stomped around in our cowboy boots
and seersucker suits ignoring the signs spelled out so well
o'er our roofs,
ignoring the clues,
invisible Zeus being pulled in a chariot of cumulonimbus clouds
loud with mad power within those tall terrible towers,

And then came the showers,
thunder broke into our homes like intrusive prowlers,
lightning leapt to the ground like the stem of a bright but temporary flower,
we prayed it'd be brief,
but the water fell for hours,

King Howard left his damp throne and rose into Heaven to plead with
the thunder god to lesson his aggression,
Oh, Sky Father, he cried, have compassion,
King Olympian, relinquish your transgression,
son of Cronos and the Titaness daughter Rhea, stave off this
sodden armageddon,
I am deafened by the awe of your legend, oh Pitcher of Thunderbolts,
but am here nonetheless on bend'd knee begging,
call off this wedding of earth and sky before we are buried alive
by water too high even for the mountain tops,
if this is a lesson then may this education session be terminated with prejudice,
we apologize with an emphasis on selflessness,
please, be sensitive of these bodies - our most precious possessions,
so fragile, so reckless,
a gift of your divine essence,
if someone must pay penance, then let ME, a humble king, step into the crevice,
spare us the endless menace of your jealous obsession,

It is said King Howard never returned from his visit to the clouds,
his proud son, the prince, bowed and was crowned,
the rain dried up,
ceased falling from the thunderclouds...
and then came the drought,

Again the people moaned and complained aloud,
groans were thrown like stones o'er the dustblown land,
until a bone-dry wind,
as cruel as sin,
sounded above the shouts,
drying out the words in the people's mouths,
a distant crackling sound,
the familiar fear,
the familiar doubt,

Another long-winded story of the disloyal and the devout,
most likely profound,
princes buried and forgotten in the sometimes scorched
and sometimes sodden ground,
surrounded by a long list of dead nobility under brown'd mounds,
alas, enough of sand and gout,
of downpours and heavy clouds,
that particular part of history,
I'm saddened to point out,
is not at all what this poem is about.

TA

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Of Termessos



I am the last man of Termessos,
the forgotten chick in the eagle's nest,
sandals on my weather-worn feet and a ring through my nose,
the eye of Bellerophon upon my chest,

I stand alone among stones ruined,
but not by the great Alexander's hands,
these rocks were worn by time and winds chewing,
the only unconquered city in all the land,

last guardian of the city of Termessos,
her valley in the clouds,
a great gladiator prosaic and forever stoically composed,
Romulus and Remus would be ever so proud.

TA

Monday, May 14, 2018

Audrey


Audrey climbed the old red bricks crumbling now under
her delicate wrists
until atop she perched in lime green cotton panties
and sun-kissed tits
calling down to me to toss her an ice chest cold Miller
so she could watch the moon rise later from that century-old pillar
it's quiet vigil over brackish bay
now accompanied
by a lovely naked girl alit as the setting sun
sitting holding her knees like a queen raccoon
answering to no one
breathing in the loneliness
laughing in fits

happy we got to catch this moment
when so many are missed.

TA

Pic: bewarethebearr

Friday, May 11, 2018

Everyone's Eyes




I don't need your snake oil
or your secret tattoos
frankincense lightly dripped on your wrists
mispronounced prayers to Shiva and Vishnu
I don't need you to tell me you love me
or look starry-eyed when I kiss you
sweep the blue bruises along the inside of your white thigh
with a tissue
after I've misused you
don't place me in the same bracket as every other misguided fool
don't have the pals place bets
on whose the real lover in the room

you give everyone here the same eyes as you give me
same smile
same two-step shaking the bangles on your feet
you bless with a kiss and caress every old timer spinning a beat
meet'n'greet with dirty denizens
feasting on a carcass of rotten gossip like black forest wolves on venison
by divine design you've got a big enough heart for all their need

and it's so GOTDAMN genuine

but I'm not one of them
I've lived my life defiantly separating myself from most of them
and when by fire light it so transpired you chose me
I boasted then
promoted to sprout limbs and walk from the shapeless ocean
into the world of men
oh how we sinned
you and I

so
don't promise me a future
fuck that
if anything
I'll take the past
I just want you to give me those same eyes
from across that fire light
that first night I caught your glance.

TA

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Kendra


Alone in my tundra,
tons of bedrooms eyes
but I only want Kendra's,
her pectoral fins inspire
summits of grandiose desire,
collections of liars,
Kendra standing in an apron
by the kitchen fire,
a better woman than I for
having gone through the muck
and the mire,

Alone in my glacial palace,
no solace among the icicle towers
built in how many hundred slave hours?
power to the people
but this is getting ridiculous,
Kendra's tiny fists
and thermonuclear clit,
sit long enough on my lips,
darling,
and even I will have a fit,

I saw your face,
I saw your face in the stars,
the whores of heaven sprinkled
across the moon-roof of my old
car,
alone and somewhere very far,
my bed feels like the arms of
the Minotaur,
my mind the maze of his cage,
his cave a prison,
and this lesson on me unknown,

wait for me, Kendra,
wait by the phone,
I promise,
I'll call soon.

TA

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

Karina


What highway?
what highway's old signs?
the road trip drag
the disguise
falling sun ushers in the desert night
what design can I trust when I'm cold
when I can't be taught
to keep to myself keep to my mind
manage the pastures others leave behind
the build up
the song that plays over and over
my sister says the cloister bells ring in two-step time
who am I to smoke her last cigarette
the deluge delagate
she lived through bombs and lies
a mistress now
a babe back in 1969

she taught me smack
about smack
and about fire
she was a hurricane of desire
cymbals crashed when she cried
I was on my knees in an alley with a needle in my arm
when she died
a lonely trombone ceased playing somewhere
in the lonely night
in one minute Karina was a mountain of rhythmic pulsing glowing light
in the next
flat-line

she held a nation captive
while they etched her face into a ten cent dime
a tempest coke whore sure she was
but she had a smile for all mankind
her skin was marked with splashes of blue bruises
and fingerprints
but Karina
Karina was all mine.

TA

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Ode To Revenge


Seven bodies burned bad and took their wonder with them
into the ground,
seven long years later and their killer has yet been found,
I stand alone among their bones by blood bound,
by destiny to the be the hound that tracks this gotdamn fox down,

Seven young women robbed of living while flames flickered
o'er their delicate skins,
alabaster turned into disaster as somewhere someone walked away
with a grin,
do not call me sinner on the day I capture him and dismember his parts
limb from limb,
forget what they say of revenge in the hymns!

Seven reasons to steal my resolve reciting the psalms from holy heights
above,
they melted in that inferno no less a volcano like the leather of a
baseball glove,
such pretty doves drugged on the lies of a muddy thug,

Tabitha,
Tolethia,
Prinnelle,
Abbery,
Lee Arnt,
Staceen,
Sheilax,

my loves.

TA

Friday, April 20, 2018

Eponin


Eponin was born in a black back room in 1962,
post-war soldiers became her fathers,
she'd yell a hearty hullo while chasing hoops,
knees like cobblestones
and skeleton bones
short skirts and her smokey purple eyes too,
she refused to give directions
but was happy to tell you what to do,

Eponin saved my life on the River Danube
when the fire began to crawl,
she spit on my wounds
to soothe the pain
and slept with her tiny fist cupped 'round my burned balls,

They told me she lost her mind
on a mountain in the Urals,
a half-finished old-war mural was all they could find that remained
of her name
on a wall
in downtown Moscow,
some say she made it here to there
in a year
but no one can tell me exactly how.

TA

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Mammal Pride


I'm a bit too kind
or like so many caged egg-laying mammals
I'm likely out of my fucking mind
should'a stayed wild but now I'm saddled
drinking my own blood like it's wine

Momma Bird said only the first whiskey burns
her hair wet from the shower her eyes hungry for a prowler
when I touch her she purrs
scorned like a wasp hunting shadows in a thunderstorm
she makes me work for what I earn.

TA

Friday, April 13, 2018

The First Supper


He bade those with ears to hear gather
garnered as we were in
layered laurel
flowing robes
royal garments
garland'd vests
wigs like setting sunlight nests
a thick pregnant mother moon about to crest
firelight glowing amber's orange on heaving cheeks
and chests
so the bard stood
and although the tiny band crammed in the Avalanche
played their lutes rudely on
he cleared his throat and persisted nonetheless

woe the wrist dipped in dripped candle wax
a pheasant's feather spinning wildly in his cap
a parcel packaged thoroughly in very tight slacks
light from the candelabra throwing his long shadow o'er the grass

twas the night
some say
a tale as old as the sea
did pass

how we laughed carefree as the story slipped from his lips
past eggs cracked
past ALL that food
meat pies sleeping peacefully next to cow pies
each awaiting the first morn's first borne dew fall
past tiki-torches dimly but delightfully setting the mood
over our heads
through our hearts
floating lazily up
like paper lanterns growing ruddy
rising steadily
to the moon

this bards words were fire, y'all
like screaming rockets splashing color skyward
and he earned his due
but as with every bard's storytelling time
the ending came too soon

when we grasped the news
we gasped aghast
stricken dumb by this yeoman in pantaloons
we gnashed our teeth
we spit
we swooned
we rang his ears with endless pleads
we even moped and moaned
alas

the bard would not be moved
quite true

and what's more?!
he left the tale unfinished
so he'd be SURE of an invite the next go 'round
for the telling of part 2!

TA

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Trindell Slipper


He is the very breath and bones of the Lord
taken all those years ago from the rusty swing-set
   in the yard
charged with mayhem and the destruction
   of the saints
   of the stars

And what then would Mr Trindell Slipper do
if he were alone here
with me
with Linda and the kids
   or with you?

They say it takes a man a year to walk the Earth
to unload his bundle of burdens
to leave his footprints in the dirt

they say religion is the answer
they say religion is the cancer

but the truth is people find it difficult
   to tell you
      exactly where it hurts

Mr Trindell Slipper stole my youth
if you would have been there that day
a child innocently at play
   he would have stolen yours too.

TA

Photo: Vivian Maier

Monday, April 2, 2018

Mint Julep


I'm a woman of groceries
stone red tomatoes
iced milk mixed well with black joe
roasted stalks of tall celery
fresh frozen meat kept stable at 32 degrees
curly red hair
bangles on my feet
linoleum aisles for miles or at least
   as far as the eye can see

I'm diving in the lobster tank deep
those little encrusted spindle legged crab apples
should be free to roam the bottom of some
ancient salt sea
I'm diving in my purse
for mint julep
for starburst
   for unsweetened summer ice tea

I'm a woman prowling
purring loudly
fingering the green peas
tempted to flash the register boys staring at me
over black-rimmed glasses like some kind of
cashier bourgeoisie
I'm a woman not unlike the holy trinity
not beauty
nor freak
be done with your judgement
your modern critique
   and let me shop in peace.

TA

Monday, March 26, 2018

That Kind of Fire


Is it true that we once held fire,
that it once burned bright and fierce in our stomachs,
leapt like lightening from our fingertips,
danced in hot, blue tongues along the precipice of our pressed lips?

or was that just a fever dream?

were we comets?

did we rupture the night sky with a flash of white light,
leaving a crystal sliver sparkling under the moon's silver gaze,
fading with the passing clouds?

were we a brightly burning supernova?

did we reach the limits of our unknown edge,
outgrow love,
and collapse into dark matter,
remaining only a shadow of the light that once was magnificent,
invisible to the still bright and shining galaxy around us?

is it true that we once held that kind of fire?
or have I mistook the sun setting

     for someone else?

TA

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Specter



My baby
she's a ghost
host of vocal camaraderie filthy and derogatory
advocating for captivating women everywhere
gyrating like I found her whether I love her
whether I leave her
decipher or deceive her
please her when you nod yes ma'am
yes ma'am!
bend down beggar boy, and be my slave
be damned
me
yes, you
sweat her swelter she plays the cards dealt her
makes me fantasize I've got the blues like old thick-lipped black men forgotten in the Delta
the truth is -
I've got it good,
but the truth is ruthless
my baby
she's music
hardly human
hardly foolish
she uses me brutally never apologizes but cries her blue eyes out at man's futility
no, not his futility;
his violent tendencies
his quest for countless cock strokes and mother-may-I dependecies
she's lucid, you see
she's confused at times, sure, but not stupid
you see
she's got cerulean swirling in her eyes like lost sailors pining for lost love lost at sea
she's not defeated
she cannot be
she just can't comprehend the kind of inhumane human ignorance perpetuated by under-enlightened but overrated men
she's no believer but believes piously that hate is sin
projects reckless acceptance to anyone genuine blessing those who strive for transcendence
my baby is a life lesson
and I but a lowly scoundrel
a felon
I come when she beckons
steal what I can from her council when she gives me even seconds of that arousing attention.

Friday, March 9, 2018

Starlings


Can I do to you what the moon
does to the tide?
that moment your face brightens with fire,
the black starlings who hide
worrying each night that the sun has died,

end of desire,

never again morning light,
we play with truth,
and with lies,
trying to balance it all on the dull
edge of a rusty knife,
shaking off a grey layer
from a dusty life,
might as well tell the story
before the details
run dry,
cross the river of your body
at low tide,
before the water gets too high,
under the dull pattern of moon light,
shore to shore,

blow that whistle, baby,
wave goodbye.

TA

Wednesday, March 7, 2018

Plymouth Duster


To the man who tried to sell me life insurance out the back of his Plymouth
mouth agape cheshire grimace begging me for one more minute
trouser snake hunting in the thin folds of his denim lolling on with his gimmick
me distracted
pondering the finish of each poorly designed poorly contrived sentence
him stretching the truth like some athletes stretch their tendons
I felt his pain
(in that moment)
I felt his tension
I knew his mission
he had come to claim his place on the throne of heaven
he had come because he was promised a holy ascension
but because I couldn't afford any life insurance
I didn't listen
sent him off with Momma's three-day-old biscuits
shook my fist in the air and dismissed him

now I simply miss him
long to kiss him
suck the gin from his lips and subsist in a pit with him
if I had to
I'd make do
linger in his perfume
be moved to consume his voodoo
love him until all life on earth is through

love him
love him
love my boo
in that chalky blue Plymouth Duster with the rust holes you can see right through.

TA

Monday, February 19, 2018

Gabriella


Gabriella succumbed to the night and fell to pieces
let the stars inside her head because Death
(that old dread)
had been defeated
in her pleated skirt and transparent shirt her rosette nipples
begged like orphans to be needed
I conceded
for who wouldn't??
challenged her to combat until one of us was left bleeding
until only one heart was left beating
until the crescent moon packed up its silver light for the night
and retreated.

TA

Thursday, February 15, 2018

Layla


     Layla, travel weary princess
and tireless fence runner
hunter in the heather in leather and clean linens
spent dreaming
spent spinning
red devil in your red ears ever listening
found you drowning in the heat of your own clutch
where it feels no pain
where it
hurts
in the center of your heart where the dark fire burns
     Layla, spend your summer nights
(if you must)
in pursuit of that holy truth
in the dirty bed in the center of my room
trumpets playing midnight tunes to crows and thieves
and fools
Jesus in the warm heart of a whore
     Layla, with pockets full of gum and copper change
nothing is
as it was before
nothing changes
a dangling moon hangs as low as it always has
gravity as heavy as invisible gas
silver serpents cold to the core
lower us into the burning flame
I cried
she sang
everything seemed rearranged
every
thing.

TA

Monday, February 5, 2018

The Cavalcade Prayer


I guess he's ready to eat,
to serve himself in that hot summer heat,

Seems this old dog's ready to dine,
fresh chunks of horse flesh hang heavy in clumps o'er a red fire,

Long days through the cold grey of winter,
from cub to cultured adulthood
     it has yet to be different,

All hunter's hunt for their dinner,
there are none who are righteous
     and all whom are born
          are sinners.

TA

Thursday, February 1, 2018

Streaks of Street Light


The warm dark air picked up the octopus tentacles
of her red hair and threw them willy-nilly
against her face
so that in the soft glow of the gauges
I watched from the corner of my eye as she wrestled
her own head into submission,
sugar cane fields in the passing night fading
into the distance,
crickets singing endless love songs to one another
tossing up wishes each time a shooting star left
a gash in the sky like
burning interstellar bridges,
the gun empty between us,
the miles endless ahead...

they said:
go over and meet her,
you'll feel cheated
if you never get her name.

TA

Saturday, January 20, 2018

Moony


Moony made it down to Mexico,
past wilted women in homemade cottons
     and men smoking spliffs through holes in their throats,
dogs died in ditches after a dissatisfied life on the open road,
when Dios calls the bitch mutt home
     the bitch mutt goes,
scores of crows flood the sky diving in droves
     nesting in blossoming teenagers' clothes,

Moony waddled through it all,
with balls of dope in his ass laughing madly
     at the insanity of a man squirming with illegal contraband,
his hands clammy under every shake,
his eyes shifty and his smile fake,
hauling poisoned freight nestled so very closely to his prostate,
a thin trail of blood slithers from his dilated ass lips
     like an infant crimson snake,

Moony makes his way to where jackals wait,
they welcome him into their den in blue berets
     and cocked AK's,
mustachioed men with dark skin
     and sullen face,
the last of the great Aztec race,
a man named Juan Castillo displays his place
     within their ranks,
points to a desecrated bathroom,
bids Moony make haste,
go spread his legs
     and lose the last of his civilized grace.

TA

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Lionne


This carnal craving a tomb
a dark dance-hall floor for my slender fingers to
dance
dance
dance
a waltz to ragtime tunes
she's soon to come soon to leave
this ace tucked higher than a magic man's hare up my
   cheap three-piece suit sleeve
daring me to strangle myself in flaxen tangles
velvet triangle
believe I will
believe I do
in her flesh
in her lips
in the thunder and lightning crackle mountain shifting earthquake dazzle
   of her bony hips
her hands tied to my ceiling
reeling because I taunt
but never touch
the brush of her soul too much
rush to find gold
but when it's found
hush
tell no one
expose her pale flesh to the midnight sun
snap photographs of our bodies like a sub-machine gun
run this rubber tongue along the avenues of her spine
a long curving train track through Steinbeck's jug wine shanties
but whoa boy! never waste taste
dine in the unrefined nooks and crannies
   left behind by discarded panties
mix foul and fancy
treat her course
treat her classy
send her home with a kiss
   and pay for her taxi.

TA

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Lemon Party


Twelve men stand together in hip waders and rain slickers
bent over tripods with mounted cameras and remote-controlled triggers
snickering to one another as their reddening fingers snap pictures
twelve men focusing lenses on the lake bed where looms a single figure
a veritable killer with thick fur the wet color of hard liquor
they wager their very souls that this monster is not out searching for dinner
otherwise they're out of luck and he's twelve old men richer
consider the brute force of his attack and the violent manner it would be delivered
in bites he could eat eyes stomach lungs small intestines testes and liver
it would come quicker than they could abandon their gear to jive and skitter
shutters flicker as the twelve men linger like city slickers on the shallow lake mirror
their other selves shimmer when the wind blows soft breath ripples and trimmers
winter whispers in their aged ears this natural killer
the figure remains downrange and ever the giver
of life
of love
of liberty
and all with vigor.

TA

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Alas (or) Footprints In The Sand II


I went out walking this morning
   past dew and the fog from the sea,
to see if I could spot your love,
perhaps somewhere in the grey distance, infinite,
looking back at me,

no birds sang their shrill notes nor did the sounds from the ships
   reach the coast,
nor did the Earth move nor did any sinners boast,

alas,

my love is lost,
the sun is hidden,
and I am a shell,
an empty crumbling hell of a shell at most,

my feet bore me along twisted paths irresolute and demanding,
sand sucked on my bare bones in hopes that I would be caught unmoving,
perhaps standing,
long enough to be buried by the weather and my sadness,
the dead trees gathered round like sharks as they sensed my descent into madness,
foolish bastards!
I moved along scurried ever hunting in the rocks for laughter,

still, without the sun,
without the birds singing from throaty lungs,
I was at best lost
   and at worse done,
complete in my isolation,
at the end of the world,
known to no one,
a figure in shrouds whose disappearance had begun,
when you left
   you promised it was for the best,
you were wrong,
but still you've won.

TA
pic by mariahurtadoi

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Footprints In The Sand



I went out walking this morning,
alone,
past the domes wherein prayerful petitioners lay prostrate absent
   the distractions of house and home,
eulogies and laments mingled in the surf with hints
   that the devil's meddling had been overthrown,
ghosts moaned in the deep begging to be released,
but it was not up to me sifting through the sand in my bare feet
   to set their grumbling sorrows free,
a ball of gas and heat rose slowly in the far east painting the coast
   in hazy orange tones,
I walked on past cackling gulls and offered back my own sweet song,
notes from my guts bled past my tongue into the heavens
   thrown from my lips to flip o'er the surf rising ever upward like a vocal cyclone,

a drunkard eyed me from his cardboard box home,
sand in his beard and his eyes set with fear,
I steered neatly around his mound of the things life throws out
   only to hear from behind me sounds from his gruff hound's mouth:

"excuse me, kind sir, got anything you'd like to give out?"

he wasn't loud,
only a whisper,
an anti-shout,
vowels crowded with disuse and a tongue long abused by foul liquors
   allowed into that toothless pouch,
I crouched down next to his abode, stole a glance at the trash that flowed
   from his comely chateau to the open sea below,

"tell you what," I spoke, "you free them lost souls out there in that moat
   and I'll give you anything you can manage to ask for from that ol' tattered throat."

he sobbed then, for he knew this to be so: that bums to not float,
they sink like stones,
if he were to attempt to bob like a shrimp
   his own life would be forfeit,

I touched his gentle head and said, "weeds spread like fire, my friend,
do not lay your bed down with the dead,
here's a dollar,
don't spend it all on bread."

TA