. 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

Thursday, January 11, 2018


This carnal craving a tomb
a dark dance-hall floor for my slender fingers to
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
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.


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