The Night Watchman

Artemis stood defiant against the Singularity
not so as to oppose it
but to be looking into it
with courage
when it swept over him
a pulse of collective consciousness
like a dance floor beat
harvest moon lovers who sob at the coming red dawn
pianist fingers playing us out
junior explorers imploring lower cubs to collect samples
mining the miniverse
nanobot badge presented for outstanding vascular action

Artemis pressed his hand to the back of her head
sweetly
nothing's gonna hurt you, baby
electric touch rushed
but no electric kiss
she smiled like a happy corpse
slipped like a happy Christ into the crowd
concentric current of human souls
salient digital deviants
deviations
and all the holy algorithms

Artemis knew
love can't last forever
the Singularity will overtake it
he still couldn't help wanting to hold her hand
something about being a man is about being human
because if love be damned
then so be he

and maybe
as the Singularity passes overhead
like the Death Angel
bringing undeniable propulsion
so be us all.

TA

This Spokane

 

I searched beneath him
for a pulse
for a desperate truth
in the folded flesh fabric hanging like hot meat
in the circuitous path of the smoke coiling around his mascara
would I lift that velvet vaporous veil of myrrh
to kiss him
like childhood again
like you've forgotten it all
as birds are demons
weak shoulders and his soft tits
the thick rich red of his righteousness
hungry like an altar boy

what parable of sour truth betrayed you
oh so long ago?
what trails divide
that should never cleave?
what love is wasted on Unnecessary
and Divine?

imagine him sad
if you must

but struggle to find the proof
to your father
to your friends
to your priest.

TA

The Thirteen Feet

I wasn't supposed to be here
swallowed by the same virulent dragon
as the denizens
as the easily excited massive igno-mass class the neo-deductives
neo-anti-intellectualism
as the dumpies
fuck Dumpsta fuck the lesson he gave his life to teach
preach big daddy titian babysitter flat face
and that aint cultural appropriation
not yet
Stitch: not like this
World:

I wasn't supposed to have a black duster dusted by closed closet existence
dreaming of last night's mad mare ride
leggy blue jeans clean too long creased forgotten
fuck! I bled in those boots for three weeks
to harden
for what???
the blood long stale
the crusty callouses long forgotten
cum and cute but cut from the cow life
no
star clutched midnight saddlesore frozen by a shadow and
shiver shrill of a wayward wolf's too-near howl

I wasn't supposed to be vacant of the struggle to live cleanly
sharp cold of morning sharpens the soul
coffee and cow's cream from the can in the back of the cab
they said NOBODY could do it in less than twelve parsecs
what they failed to see was:
there is ALWAYS a path in the chaos
and if you can read the path
see the trail
you can EXIST where it seems impossible to EXIST

the chapter turned
I saw it!
I saw the unfolding of new rich realms
I saw the forested mountains and treasures in untold lost groves
I saw the spirits of peace in the paths beneath my naked feet
for once all rivers ran to the Pacific Ocean
woe to ki-pat
the grass was just starting to grow green
the cattle were just starting to grow fat
on the cusp of the firstborn word of a new exciting poem

but a wind blew
cold
a golden broodmare threw her finely muscled ass high into the air
and me
me
my arm shattered
my new hat fell onto an old shelf
my wranglers fell folded crisp again and unworn
my boots stiffened up by the backdoor
the turning page, it turned back
the chapter fell away
I fell thirteen feet over a blonde with a ten pound skull
right back to where the rivers flow to the Atlantic Ocean.

TA

Trevor

 

Trevor with the golden empress mare
rump roast in fjords of long clusters
   clashes of conflicting colors
   bordering one another in otherwise disorder
   but on this daughter of rich lineage
   men have wrote poetry
   and made long pilgrimage
      (for the conflict in the color is so rare)
but even with Trevor
only one knee bends
and she never breaks her stare

Trevor with the swallow-tale tattoo
dirty and flat-faced
   maybe there's a trace of handsome
   in an alt low-rider belt buckle bucking chute
   meth fucking cowboy Ryan Gosling
   sorta way
only a handful of moments
a handful of days
not enough to be complete
couldn't quite tell if I knew what Trevor knew
left me his coil
kind words for the trail
and follow-ups even though he knew we were through

Trevor was there when I first drank with Dave
when I finally faced the devil in his den
   daring to break bread o'er the crackling tisk of cold beer
   bartering with significant ignorance
   might I have to best Brother Bear
   in his own cave?
      sort of like he had parted the deeper waters
      and led the way
managed each of my moments
in quiet fulfillment
Trevor
designer of my days.

TA

Milk Fever in the Forest

I'll play the blues for you, Momma, if you'll stay alive
I don't know how and I don't know notes
I don't know about keys and I've got trouble with theory
but I know sadness
I know quiet loneliness
I know what it's like to die and not be able to express the dying

so I'll play the blues for you, Momma
for your baby too
wet snow swirling in the deep woods
tomb of moss rock
of pine
of heavy shadow
wherein somewhere wolves cast dice for our flesh

we're all that's left
in the world
pressed against your imposing ribcage
coarse carpeted wall of muted brown fur
rising and falling with labored breath
I won't leave your side
if you'll keep me warm
and goddammit why isn't love enough

somber sound of harmonica chords climb upward into the forest canopy
like ghosts pirouetting
a soft pallid snow percolates through the rising notes
burying us in a cold cloak
I promised your newborn you would live
but I can't be sure.

TA

And Quick

She wearing thick lips red
and wet
snarling a snake's ruddy breath in bed sheets
and thread
glowing moans bridges and chorus
rock
hips rock
and fingers roam
would I taste the spit swelling tongue she licks
would I taste her warm fur spread and split
she finds me fast
spun
she finishes me cruel
and quick.

TA
Image: Arnulf Rainer

Plushclaw #2

Remember Lavergne who stood for the brooms?
cocooned in tattletale leggings bent and encumbered
her bloomers befuddled like doctors on tumors
cut kill shriek bleach suture
shrill she shrieked on those long Saturday nights
spread for some badboy "Deepthrob Todd"
rocks roll hard
hard rocks deep throb
pants found round her ankles all sassy and sad
spittle spent
bent and encumbered
who stood for the brooms?

and for whom?
on Saturday nights

she whispered

Plushclaw
Plushclaw is whom

Lavergne was found in a drainage ditch at 3:14am
assumed dead
tits like bulbous islands adorned
   by a single russet acorn each
belly cresting
mound floating like an army of washed-out ants
hopes crashed
spittle left to spend
she cried
BUT I AM STILL ALIVE

again
I TELL YOU ALL
I STILL LIVE

nonetheless
we turned away
we would not listen
we could not care
we could not spend the time
we faded and feigned
we forbade patience

y'all datin' or dancin'?

we could only answer

Plushclaw.

TA

I Broke

I tore into her
like a coyote its hare
rent her kindling thin collarbone with my rough cat's tongue
tilled the furrowed rows of her ribs
buckled her
drew iron hot
   and fast
      god so fast

smote her as it were
were I Divinity (and not just a shameful man)
lorded over her
threw her into long wet fits
belabored breath
into summer storm slick canyon trails
where moonlight does not crawl
where starlight does not taste

I broke her hard, you see
no tickling soft whisper
no slow brook slithering through a silent wood
no pleasure horse too dope to buck
I broke her
   and fast
      she broke me.

TA

Cowboy Killers

They were cowboy killers
she and he
buckskin buckaroos shooting buckshot bold
rolling chambers smoking
rolling papers
mascara and dread
pistoleros banditos bombshell
muscles clenching piston-like tendons
leather reigns slapping hot
they ran on
on into a black night
heat lightening lariats overhead
the storm twisting like a bruised sombrero
laughing in fits of whiskey speak slur slowly slower slumbering on
seek ye the devil these two
seek ye his kingdom

blue eyes bluffing his way through the bankman's charm
those sweet sweet sandalwood grips
those sweet sweet leather-clad hips
but the bankman was a dead man
asleep before they were on their way

you didn't have't kill 'em
I ain't ever have to do 'nothin
but you didn't have ta
ain't nobody I ever kilt cause I hav't did
I kilt 'em good
n'dead
cause I wanted 'em to be.

TA

Plushclaw

Lavergne fainted in a room full of old Fantasia brooms
her bloomers over her head
her folded salmon rows in full bloom spread
for the cleaning chemicals high on the shelf
for the pile of rags trestled by long-gone spiders
   and their empty husks of eggs
for the mop whose dreads were drowned in grime grey water
for the hundred brooms

Plushclaw
Plushclaw
Plushclaw

Lavergne gave birth to a terror years later
said she'd never touched a man but had slept soundly with fever
wondered if maybe magic had crept on cobbled knuckles
   to lay dormant like a comatose ghost inside her
wore thick coke-bottle glasses to spy the truth better
but no one believed her

win lose or draw
Plushclaw.

TA

Two Stags

Art by Chloe Janowski

Soft white curtains in swirling spirals fall
the bull presents
swipes weighted boughs with baronial crown
looks long down carpeted hall

I've interrupted a quiet daydream of a greener Spring to come

tenebrous copper colors fix me queerly
bristling cinnamon mane dusted in a wintry patina
a thick pink tongue to taste morning's tolerable aggression
oh husky horn'd stallion
vaporous breath vanishing in the velvet fall
noble king guarding a threshold of impenetrable pine

lulled by my call to arms
angered by my counterfeit threat
this hairless flesh
come closer
   and let me taste thy fighting spirit.

TA