tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75723365887138558272024-03-14T11:10:23.105-05:00. The Poet's Beat .Thoughts from a Travelling TroubadourOl Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.comBlogger510125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-55769492634620726462023-04-26T17:06:00.002-05:002023-04-26T17:06:52.441-05:00Where a Bygone Boss Sat<p>Hold her roped in rapture exposed from<br />the bedroom window the watcher sweetly<br />speaks soft science fictions into the Mars<br />canals of her earscape glowing sunset red<br />translucent wet saliva and dry spit<br /><br />show her private photos of secret <br />mountain waters surrounding her in a <br />wooded shadow, kneel in the clearing<br />blood in the pine moss carpet and coiled fern<br />she knows full well w. full body what<br />the shadows see<br /><br />following her filthy fingerprints<br />clambering abandoned train trestles<br />ogling magazines of uncouth cowboys on<br />sorrel stallions, wilding women w. long<br />laser guns laced to their latex legs<br /><br />bury her face in the new smell of a used book<br />morning's warm coffee an aromatic aphrodisiac<br />late-night's strip tease tipsy in the porch light<br />wraith in bare feet begging with a crooked smile<br /><br />she sits where a bygone boss sat, and in his years<br />absence her naked ass on his naked desk<br />dust as heavy as the paperweights used to be<br />when the last men left this building shuddered<br /><br />she is ready when she is wet, calling you to<br />come inside<br />frame her in summer thunder<br />disguised as that torrent of falling rain.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-8195466689434064042023-04-26T16:10:00.001-05:002023-04-26T16:10:52.595-05:00The HandlerThe herd has its hierarchy<br />a natural calibration of evolution and instinct<br />tiered system of groups and subgroups<br />a pecking order of individuals within<br /><br />lovers<br />best friends<br />parents, children<br />leaders<br />groupies<br />assholes<br />fuckboys<br />and pushovers<br /><br />disposition, genetics, blood<br />all play a role to determine<br />who moves for who<br />who steps out of whose way<br /><br />but when I enter the corral<br />they all move for me.<br /><br />TAOl Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-37589832239545728632023-04-26T15:59:00.001-05:002023-04-26T15:59:47.557-05:00Downtown in Spokane<p>He was coif and pertinent<br />unexpectedly beautiful<br />his face did not improve w. make-up<br />smokey eyes and distracting masculinity<br />a few extra ribs, and angular<br />a woman's perfect ass<br />husky cock I could never quite get hard<br /><br />burlesque bouffant but unsustainable<br />short dress of immodest length<br />a decent exposure<br />long runs along his black stockings from<br />run-ins w. strangers<br />he keeps me busy in a maze of<br />perfumed costumery<br />fingering his lace hem<br />unbuckling pink corset<br /><br />in the lurid red light tumbling together<br />squirrelly satyrs in an old oak nook<br />discarded appetites<br />and lingerie<br />intoxicating pulse of silver stringing<br />through our erect vascular cycles<br />returning again and again to<br />the glass pipe<br />that wandering eye<br />devourer of an ordinary life<br />my open throne regaled to impassioned touch<br />eager lips greeting<br />grieving mothers<br />open containers<br />this lascivious queer king of chance encounters.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-60155622572352780122023-04-26T13:58:00.003-05:002023-05-04T09:05:38.994-05:00Damned Lovers w. Teacup TitsI hear your anger too, turned venom, turned hurt<br />from gooseflesh to grey rock and stone<br />like rag weed in your suburban garden<br />hurricane hair carousel spinning eye of the storm<br />ultra-green grass lasso'd lass on the back lawn<br /><br />still, so fucking stupid sexy to me<br />bent will, bent back<br />mother's gallons of golden milk<br />crying in your<br />candle cream-colored warm water bath<br />long neck for the noose<br />hung like I am late Saturday night<br /><br />you do not get to own all of this pain<br />such a beautiful martyr you are<br />though you lay with dullard gods<br />still gods crave you<br />but, bitch, my eyes sting absent your visage<br />pale pearl riving in an oyster of my bedroom blankets<br />thick threaded throat of blonde fur<br />laying red and wet<br />open hungry trophy<br />begging rope bound knots twisting thirsty<br />wolven innuendo<br /><br />my hands ache to grip you<br />whiskey whispering our favorite author's names<br />into the oven light<br />pushing under your summer dress in the dark drive<br />it hurts, here below my ribs<br />like a plunging bloody dagger deep into my chest<br />near to that same spot where below those<br />teacup tits your own broken heart lies.<br /><br />TAOl Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-21009129258404571872023-04-26T13:36:00.004-05:002023-04-26T13:36:58.841-05:00Janet My Guide<p>Janet in her denim vestiture arrested<br />wrists adorned in turquoise jewelry<br />collapsing aperture hay barn cowboy <br />conjecture<br />heart warm heart broken<br /><br />heart worm vaccinations<br />fire department came hellbound down<br />from town cause the smoke in the woods<br />beckoned<br /><br />locusts in the black pine<br />locusts black dark dirt road<br />known only to locals<br />midnight came the party turned bogus<br /><br />Janet puts her hand over mine the other<br />on my fly the horse tenses below us<br />neighs grows nervous<br />fire in the woods and in the sky<br />I can't stop<br /><br />Janet whispers, hush, stay focused.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-36366809872745949742023-04-26T13:28:00.002-05:002023-04-26T13:29:49.757-05:00Buck-knife Meditations<p>He placed me down to pass the time<br />to prolong the pleasure<br />measured in the pain of those elastic hours<br /><br />so that I would not force his hand<br />though finely tuned it hammers nonetheless<br />in soft whispers<br />quite a bit better than it ever has before<br /><br />an eclipse before the revelation<br />a shadow passing over the land<br />quiet solace in the cockpit<br />wherein the earth has tempered tremors<br /><br />for we are in this together<br />we sharpen one another but cannot<br />outpace the other<br />there only the dull edge follows<br />buck-knife hellions catch loose eyes<br />but the dagger slips silently beneath the ribs.<br /><br />TA </p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-37989985159570537152023-04-26T13:21:00.000-05:002023-04-26T13:21:13.887-05:00Deepwater Horizon w. Allan<p>Bedbug infestation out on the <br />rig at Trinity Shoal<br />Allan, call your wife<br />dawn broke in violent colors<br />she sung swift division among <br />the sailors sent to rescue<br />she swam with the cephalopod<br /><br />riggers ran rampant<br />radio automation<br />evangelical<br />what white god would send<br />the serpent?<br />what brief christ would cut such<br />an obscure path through meaning<br />and underbrush?<br />vigilance does not save the<br />village idiot, amen?<br />brothers?<br /><br />he is blind in many more ways<br />wrinkles and rusted metal<br />hungry sea seething with the<br />flotsam of psychopathic spittle<br />invertebrate with the <br />suction-cup tentacle<br />ceramic child's chair at the apex<br />of the temple<br /><br />education, higher learning<br />limited intentions proved Allan could<br />not keep going in that wild<br />way of his<br />too alive to be allowed to live wild<br />warden of the shoal<br />machines<br />entrapped<br />so far, so good<br />they say and god agrees<br />the graves are dug for somebody else.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-26360298387880861082023-04-26T13:07:00.003-05:002023-04-26T13:09:12.724-05:00Fresh Kill w. Dianne<p>Dianne drew near me in supplication<br />enfolded soldier in cufflinks and <br />war time souvenirs<br />steer me past that plate of warm spaghetti<br />silver spoon and<br />spatula capture tendrils of my beaten flesh<br />tongue wet ropes tight turns on the slick trail<br />treat me clean<br />turkey meat drumstick human inner ear<br />close your eyes listening to<br /><br />her labored breathing<br />she's in rut<br />Dianne mean means to hurt you<br />froth foaming over her jagged teeth<br />spittle like tossed semen across rusted twists<br />drink of the wealth of life<br />of the chances given<br />and not of those missed<br />let her finger never<br /><br />find your sweltering den<br />uncoiled serpent shriveled<br />Dianne whispers bold statements to<br />stay my wayward clinging<br />long-legged puppet climbing the curved<br />crevasse of her inner thigh<br />deerskin jacket thrown wide like an<br />eagle's soaring wings<br /><br />another skinning<br />the deer's guts at the bottom of a black pit<br />grandsire's lost soul spinning in his grave<br />to know that the grey coat once adorned noble<br />over the stag's shoulders was<br />ripped willy-nilly from that bone and meat<br />not with the carving knife<br />but by my very own teeth.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-86239133712984332042023-04-25T13:20:00.003-05:002023-04-25T13:20:51.006-05:00Sherry<p>Sherry shook on her mother's<br />grey suede couch<br />syncopate<br /><br />they say the drums come<br />from the beginning<br />born by the tit<br />die by the tit<br />Sherry was so cool to me<br /><br />but she was probably nothing.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-88402036784807219612023-04-25T13:18:00.001-05:002023-04-25T13:18:32.612-05:00Standing on the Edge of a Building w. Drummers<p>paradiddle<br />paradiddle<br />paradiddle(flam)<br />moaning over morning<br />coffee muttering man<br />cereal and dull dungarees and<br />bus fair and christ quotes<br />a dime-sized anus fair<br />heel clicking up the long<br />elevator, badge and<br />flashlight in hand<br />security man<br /><br />paradiddle<br />paradiddle<br />paradiddle(FLAM)<br />giftshop street cop winter<br />coat company man<br />another day, another dolla<br />boys'n'girls<br />circle stroll<br />one more rosy round the ring<br />and...<br />heels clicking over empty space<br />panic stricken<br />screaming security man<br /><br />FLAM<br />FLAM<br />FLAM<br />banned for life IRL from the<br />Louisiana State Capitol located<br />in Baton Rouge<br />I bled purp & guld, mother fucker<br />pronounced "mutha fucka"<br />and/or<br />"Martha Foxler".<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-16037780125453035322023-04-25T13:06:00.002-05:002023-04-25T13:07:18.408-05:00Creation ConvoLet there be light, so Asimov wrote<br />and Christ wasn't wrong<br />nor was the Buddha<br /> nor is that great grey horned owl who<br />comes to ferry lost souls from places like<br />abandoned golden domes<br />or train stations<br />or both,<br /><br />creation is all that is true<br />science has not been counterfeit<br />or contradictory<br /> the manipulation and corruption of<br />the genuine honesty of human beliefs is<br />perversion by dishonest men<br />and not the religion<br /><br />I see that now<br />artificial intelligence is coming<br />but so too is the kingdom of heaven<br /> we have hated one another over<br />it all <br />for so long<br /><br />and <i>that </i>is the Great Lie.<br /><br />TAOl Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-39154279315098149052023-04-25T12:53:00.001-05:002023-04-25T12:53:27.425-05:00Over Time<p>Bedroom sounds swelling umber<br />chords carry heavy like rive fog down<br />the hallway corridor<br /><br />consciousness creeps on bird bones<br />back to the empty nest of my bird brain<br />silence of this predawn house<br /><br />then the pagan note<br />some femme fatale showman <br />showboating<br />wrapped in the red ribbon of lust's <br />mad dash to outpace the<br />death breath of sadness<br /><br />over time<br />thick silt builds up on the banks<br />on the bends<br />and the river's path changes direction.<br /><br />TA<br /><br /></p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-88602463475319273932023-04-25T12:43:00.003-05:002023-04-25T12:44:08.458-05:00Jupiter's Sailing Skiffs<p>They say down in the deep core is<br />a very tight ball of hot rock<br />pumping like a black heart<br />pushing chords of positively-<br />charged magnetic pulse waves<br />out, up<br /><br />a drumbeat thump thump<br />she swings in ragtime her sweaty<br />wide hips<br />altar call cadence space junkie<br />high on star dust<br /><br />the sky was littered with dross like<br />a toddler's tossed toys<br />great floating islands of stone<br />some of them macro miles wide<br />covered by cities of men in<br />cobblestone collectives<br />listing bejeweled continents kept aloft<br />by the tossed and tossing<br />negatively-charged magnetic pulse<br />pushing back down<br /><br />dancing doldrums shows swing sister<br />sexy red underpants pointing <br />to heaven<br />long legs interlaced<br />and the twist<br /><br />swirling in deep umber undulates<br />between it all<br />in thick knots of cumulous clouds<br />bulbous and ribboned in cold glass<br />bolts of lightning<br />bulbs of gaseous fragrant glide<br />gaunt eagles soaring<br />in screams dive<br />in storms ghosts die<br />in the silence a fierce wind finds<br />lonely lanes to blow'n'go<br />in between all things<br />lies Jupiter's open road<br /><br />and o'er that frothy ethereal tide<br />in sleek sailing salsbury ships with<br />sleuth keeps and<br />waving colored vigor<br />the sailors running tallow line glide.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-88685650381332699562023-04-25T12:23:00.001-05:002023-04-25T12:23:46.037-05:00A RequestOn this sticky request<br />my stiff musk sent<br />the sounds of the kids <br />barking code outside<br />in spirit and their colors<br />this dark den<br />a hard man hard arrests your want<br />wet midnight priority<br /><br />after storm showers this<br />way passed sugarcane scent<br />and tall antennas tickle <br />heaven's slippery clit, till<br />she<br />till she cums<br />me in my sweat in that fucking<br />summer heat<br />alit beneath pregnant mothers clustered<br />skyward agriculture<br />take my delight<br /><br />animal trap snare at my front door<br />my uncoiling white cord<br />around her white ankles<br />shadow puppets<br />the lights from the window splash<br />against her breasts<br /><br />twisted tangles of white hair<br />my hands full<br />grey twilight beginning in my beard<br />my father's flesh wrapped like<br />roadkill around my forearms<br /><br />unlit cigarette<br />loaded six shooter<br />burning shame in my flower<br />one / two combinations in ink on<br />the styrofoam cup<br />fake fangs<br />wet roach on the window<br />maybe I kill him tonight<br />maybe I trap him under the cup<br />drown him in the toilet<br /><br />still,<br />no hair<br />nevermind<br /><br />on this sticky request<br />I send my most urgent need<br />soon<br />soon.<br /><br />TA<br /><br />Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-56747183175972112362023-04-25T12:07:00.000-05:002023-04-25T12:07:00.352-05:00Sleeping Jane<p>Sleeping Jane awakened<br /> under heavy thread<br />sweet slips of late night's<br /> savory wine on her breath<br /><br />deep lines of deeper sleep<br /> slashed o'er her morning cheeks<br />and someone else's teeth marks<br /> pressed into her morning flesh<br /><br />where gods throw golden light<br /> through prisms and glass<br />and following trails trodden during<br /> last night's indelicate dance<br /><br />by right expose to the morning<br /> that supine naked tail<br />add my own mortal bite marks<br /> next to the stranger's on her ass.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-79087093920471868952023-04-25T11:51:00.002-05:002023-04-25T11:51:23.197-05:00Morning MeditationFill me with coming morning<br />ash on your long fingers<br />strings and<br /> lace on the hem<br /><br />broken circle of a smoothie's repose<br />AC clicking too cold<br />little finger<br /><div> holding up my phone<br /><br />house cocooned in perspiration<br />today will be sticky<br />like our<br /> secret.<br /><br />TA</div>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-83773270170369888712023-04-25T11:45:00.003-05:002023-04-25T11:45:36.759-05:00CaughtYour smile a salacious curving <br />combination of lips<br />grass tan long lawn lines bifurcation<br />barbed wire between private properties <br />where we can prance<br />where I can touch<br /><br />delineated by the pallid tortoise<br />shell of your white ass<br />dope mug shot sharp in<br />that flesh-toned cotton bra<br />coconut color catching the<br />bathroom light<br />thin rivulets of curling smoke<br /><br />wrangling stains on starched denim<br />liver in stark repose<br />your smiling face clasped in the<br />crescent of a landlocked moon<br />on our knees again<br />red-handed.<br /><br />TAOl Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-34696593566302405512023-04-25T11:35:00.001-05:002023-04-25T11:35:07.837-05:00At the Ocean<p>A sunset falls over the flat <br />edge of the ocean<br />the last sunset of existence, maybe<br />all things coming to a close<br />at the end of this world, of us<br /><br />your naked skin a star chart of<br />constellations<br />glittering galaxies of black beach sand<br />delicate chandeliers hanging in the<br />infinite skyscape of your skin<br />star pilots fly freckles through the<br />in-betweens<br />following thin blue corridors searching<br />for where it all ends<br /><br />a fiery chorus of hair like twisting<br />flames of kelp<br />scratched and cursive penstroke writ in<br />red tale over your hollow bird bones<br />your shoulders slipping to windward<br />puckered nipples wandering as periscopes<br />do, peering into the long shadows forming <br />over the Pacific seashore<br /><br />cold coastal wind but warm in rut<br />tilted body of a bottle of wine<br />inside that hollow green belly black wine<br />waves wash against the glass<br />coming moon in every current<br /><br />photos of you in your panties posing<br />whistling, grinning through raccoons and<br />rosacea and magnetic pulse and<br />sad<br />and lonely<br />waiting to be noticed<br />maybe, one day<br /><br />but we were both such idiots<br />your dumb laugh<br />your silly ideas<br />your goofy smile<br />is why I loved you.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-7937330986024328532023-04-24T17:54:00.001-05:002023-04-24T17:54:18.819-05:00Us in the Wet Woods<p>We laughed together in pet pussy fits<br />perfect curling high five fingerprint<br />crescents your smooth ass<br />folded hint of russet fiction<br /><br />flickering in the golden gates of his majesty -<br />that setting sun<br />him the father rising, and falling<br /><br />pine bough guardians<br />old sentries overseeing the <br />forest temples<br />where mystery on belly crawls<br />on cat legs<br />growling like hungry white water<br /><br />we came together tigers under<br />shooting stars<br />wandering old homes in old growth stories<br />wet fern canyon walls where you kneeled<br />priestess of the forbidden ways<br />to swallow me<br />follow me where I go<br />and everywhere we go, together.<br /><br />TA<br /></p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-28905978736840565462023-04-24T17:45:00.001-05:002023-04-24T17:45:27.173-05:00Goddess, Hear my Prayer<p>Take me again down those same trails<br />where with too timid footfall I first did trod<br />not yet knowing to account for the minutes<br />of my days<br />not knowing haughty courage was a foolish shield<br />reaching with greedy hands for fleeting lusts<br />not holding on with Jehovian might to<br />the true things<br /> <br />my heart and armor has faired me well<br />but even the bravest knight still looks out through<br />the atrophied blinders of a gilded helmet<br /><br />may I triumph where before there was travail<br />on paths where once a clumsy boy passed<br />now a clumsy man less wisdom goes<br />made humble by his mistakes<br />carrying the ledger of learned lessons<br />shed of the heavy ignorance of mankind<br />embracing that ignorance<br />ever seeking the knowledge unobtainable<br />coming to know and find the hidden goddess<br /><br />so that where I failed<br />in those moments stumbled<br />I can now correct.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-35074450704159807262023-04-24T17:32:00.005-05:002023-04-24T17:32:50.181-05:00Still Life with Summer Dress<p>She came on guided by <br />the midnight sky collapsing<br />overhead, sextant star charts<br />and her thick wet lips<br /><br />half awake in bullfrog pajamas<br />skinny legs and all<br />a youthful stirring in the strong<br />scent of animal musk<br /><br />cool black wind delivered<br />on sea song, reaching under<br />sheets shivering together<br />avenues underfoot of her flesh<br /><br />crawling things scurrying ideas<br />not yet calling to evolve<br />stiff in armor plating go parading<br />where kingly ferns uncoil,<br />multiply and seek dominion<br /><br />black cat creeping through<br />the grass, her fur collecting dew<br />yellow eyes from the shadows<br />where fell a summer dress.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-74349878314978520182023-04-24T15:55:00.003-05:002023-04-24T15:55:54.170-05:00Feathers and Blood in the Morning<p>By the third night you took action<br />a girl<br />dusty ranch boots and black jeans<br />white Stetson and your first<br />rifle<br />open window of your dark bedroom<br />you waited on the roof into<br />midnight,<br />for the thief<br /><br />the quiet hours passed below<br />a soft feathering fog<br />lo<br />fleeting moonlit wraith on the wind!<br />chickens in cackling terror dove for<br />fresh purchase<br /><br />a girl steels herself<br />focus on the iron sights<br />the marauder<br />crack <br /> across the cold mountain air<br />fell the king kestrel<br /><br />and peace in the hen house<br />was restored.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-4522112643154264752023-04-24T15:47:00.000-05:002023-04-24T15:47:04.645-05:00Homily<p>Blow in old storm<br />old ghosts from faded memories<br />the old folks dead for some years now<br />in folded purple cotton clusters<br />climbing into low earth orbit<br />only pretty from a distant perch<br />fierce<br /> and ugly from underneath<br /><br />rumbling gruff god-like <br />bending knees<br />penance trending a sharp up<br />in damp sheets those ghosts gather<br />on wailing voice the names of<br />original families<br />original sin<br />first bastard curse of all mankind<br />bow your heads, simple sheep<br />in blows the storm.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-73632889407076896052023-04-24T15:37:00.001-05:002023-04-24T15:37:07.994-05:00A Statement<p>I am but the very last breath of me<br />the last one and the first, and<br />all of time before that<br />into infinite reach<br /><br />I am my mother and my father<br />and the memories of every<br />older one gone, their laugh<br />is inside of me<br />the wild rabbit<br />the pirate poet<br /><br />I am molten peoples of<br />noble dereliction<br />blood from the birth of <br />planethood, muddy river<br />the screaming terror<br /><br />I am the water sign<br />things that slip and hunt in<br />the dark, where sight becomes<br />something sacred<br />touch becomes holy ground<br />and the tiniest things, by<br />cosmic chance,<br />divide<br /><br />titian gods unfolding<br />great growing stars<br />I am the dust that began<br />sunrise at the dawn of existence<br />the knowing of the first thing<br />and the last<br />I am creation and I was<br />created, the truest love<br />and<br />that is all I am.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7572336588713855827.post-44426782346472606282023-04-24T15:24:00.003-05:002023-04-24T15:24:27.038-05:00Beachside Bottle Rocket Concert<p>When the memory is so good<br />you don't want to breathe<br />you are convinced you don't have to<br />when that bubbling torrent of tight pain<br />is not terror in your chest, but<br />a swelling jubilation<br />as polarizing a pause as a<br />man can find IRL<br /><br />there, in the sweetness of that moment<br />it is not a memory<br />I am with you on that beach again<br />an empty bottle of wine in the sand<br />laying naked against a dry log<br />watching the sunset like<br />a comedy show.<br /><br />TA</p>Ol Stank Leghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11453314774631488512noreply@blogger.com0