. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

I'm Right Here


You're always looking
but
I'm right here
white hotel bed sheets
like I'm some sun-tanned son lost on a faded carpet sea
dark dead Samsung on the wall
watching everything
watches me
sucking life's light
all existence even
into that empty screen
soft prayers and empty screams
a holy deity

three long legs and some grey hair
a three-thousand yard stare
hyper-aware he's sometimes faking
profound and prostrated
naked
naked since this morning
the drapes long drawn
wondering all along
should I be yawning?
fading?
or rising like a white lion tightwire walking while crying?
white light from the lamp
coughing green contraband
lamb of god took strong Samson's locks
lamb of god looked down at his shoes
when the tall temple
fell forthright
like a million loose rocks
my soul tied up in wet hot knots

I'm right here
in front of you
but I'm nowhere it seems
white hotel bed sheets
and lost dreams.

TA

Friday, October 26, 2018

This Loving You


This loving you
in the full belly of this hot sticky pregnant south
bruised blue and purple summer thunderheads
bleeding sweet relief on the suburbs
and the swamps alike

This loving you
on Friday nights smoking cigarettes and sweating
porch light beacon for bulbous beetles piloted by the blind
dogs out there barking mad cause cats
   have the real freedom
cats come and go
cats with reserved love
teach me feline lessons
teach me to deny you

This loving you
on Saturday mornings wrapped in sunlight and white bed sheets
your breath like a child's snore
an aromatic mix
hint of vodka
hint of tar
hint of the last of me to reach your lips after you woke me up
in the middle of the night
with your teeth
and the sweep of your breasts pressed against

This loving you
in the distances we've allowed
perfected
forsaken
all this time we've wasted
still defiantly believing that we'll live forever
a lifetime is plenty enough time
wait to say what you should say

-not today
-tomorrow
come alive then

This loving you
is getting old.

TA

Sunday, October 14, 2018

Through The Trees


I can feel her dissecting me
refusing my reach
preaching about my disgusting phallic infancy
these my propensities
wearing my naked flesh like hunter's orange
stalking wildlife
through the trees
this stiff cock from the shore is the lighthouse beacon
pointing to lost sailors at sea
grab a'hold, mate
secure the line
strive to pull your saturated soul from the deep

she wants me whole
but I hide when she seeks
I smoke too much grass and laugh when there's somewhere else
     I should be
too lazy to clean my house
too lazy to clean my life
too lazy to write good poetry.

TA

Monday, October 8, 2018

The Night Thick


The night thick
like your wet kiss
like a quiet fog rolling in waves over the river banks
glowing orb
either the moon
or a street light
orange beacon throbbing from atop ornamental metal
painted black to cover antique rust
we hold hands
play russian-roulette with loaded shadows
is that a pile of trash?
is that a rapist/murderer?
do oak trees have memories?

camera flash from the sky above
angry mother climbing high over the Spanish tiled roof tops
a cumulonimbus pregnancy
wind rustles through wrought iron
ferns dance on rotten balconies
a thunder follows
rattles tall windows
tourists denounce warnings and drink
and drink
and drink

ruddy we find corners and play with one another
your long white leg
your face turned up to the storm
breathing in the rain
crying
drowning
while I at your throat devour your soul.

TA