On Paper, She's Tantric / A Festival Lament

Spent the morning upskirting stilt walkers feeling
pedestrian in my open-toed clod hoppers
two-stepping to panflute chords on the cobblestone near
the downtown deli where the white tents
tilt because of the quickly rising water

tawdry tribesmen bartering for the American dollar
dog barking from perfumed closets
got sparkling trinkets spinning on their spindly digits
got my grandmother itching to part with her coin purse for
goat herb and scented smelling soaps
pulling hard on her stiff southern collar
for cleft she cried over African bauble
for purchase I steady this old woman's feeble wabble
stiff vodka tonic twisting up the French daughters waltzing
hip locked spinning in space cowboy boots
grinning with wet lips parted

we up tonight scattered across suburban carpet arguing
endless palaver while on the back porch fiddle queers
squeeze the strings and stroke notes at battle
we up tonight too late sneezing on white witch powder
shit-talking Cajun bloodlines till the taste gets lemon sour
baked on the midnight lawn staring at the results of a white girl's tarot
another Pisces moon lingering mockery
fingering the pink vulvatic pulse of belonging
a slow slipping down into madness for this
forgotten lonely bastard.

TA

Another Woman

Blue jean amorphous goddess of wild surprise
two cold mickeys for the tank top bros
done got themselves wound up too tight on overtime pay
a distant desert hullabaloo is stirring up gossip
hard coughing and black spittle
sharp white light from bruised bulbous lips
water chokes the narrow arroyo
horny toads take refuge in the creosote cracks on the power poles
a forgotten fenceline along an empty endless two-lane of hot strip ribbon
poet boy of electricity plays purple rain in passing
so long San Antonio

thumbing through a rolodex of lewd memories
metaphysical cassette tape sundries
an orchestra in European repose stiffens at the
summons of my tapping conductor's baton
mickeys sweat awful in this heat
drowning sunlight yellow dry and sharp as Saint Gabriel's golden piss
my hand on five long legs wanders willy-nilly over a manicured lawn
her exposed suburban skin
this rubber lady ain't got no soul inside
she ain't got no head

what makes you think you can love me??
you carry so much hate inside
galactic orgasm begging for ignition from a sodden match
my weather worn flesh finds new folds for little Mexico to hide her stories in
every sunset sends us to sleep spinning a yarn
you arise yet again like an iconoclast
shattering your own altars to keep in bed next to
someone you claim to love
such a castrated empress
just another woman come undone.

TA

R Elle G

Whisper like tall trees do grasping in great
green gasps for the cup that brings silviculture
invasive kudzu choking my grandfather's hardwood
teach me that watersnake philosophy
show me where they slither high in the
little saplings springing to life
I took note of you crossing the quad
you could not see me yet
books burning in your stitched backpack

the scalding southern sun turns his stern opal eye
to roast my blue tarp roof
like the holy ghost's midnight mistress I am baptized
in silk and milky sweat
like the pewter crucifix dangling between her trembling breasts
I am bedded between two loblolly pines
the heat has settled my argumentative spirit
the heat is a shroud
I am enraptured in her memory like acid on my tongue
my empty clothing in a pile on the hardwood floor
my fingers follow the cursive scripture of the tattoos across your skin

chalkboard culture has gone extinct
the whiteboard hums with electric life
tomorrow's fine young prospects do not
long belting hallelujah incantations ring like thunder in
the cavernous concrete kingdom of the vacant metrodome
kids crawl over one another in the bespoke candlelight
they paint each other's bodies similar to how they paint the walls
raucous laughing ghosts splinter their brittle bones
raucous laughing ghosts
the acronym is aloof yet stirring in the ambience awaiting attention
I'll start here.

TA

Master Builder's Lust

I pulled myself apart last night
I dreamt of the shape of your consciousness
blueprint reconstruction of the skunkworks beneath your bare breasts

my ribcage stuffed like lunch in a brown paper bag
my love a moonshine mixed in a mason jar
vacant condo complex of lightening bugs design morse code poems

I am pouring over intricate plans on display before me
tracing the lines of your exposed figure with a single finger
tell the men to get back to work!
the afternoon is late and I am returning to the dream.

TA