A Bear Musk

She barked coils of cumbrous gristle
endless sermons saturated in Sunday hanky-panky
chewed red scars into the fibrous meat of my heart
fuck you you coward she growled
beefy and self satisfied
her tits in bulbous distraction burdensome
her clothing a slaver's chains
crawling like some lesser ape
like something from my kaleidoscopic fantasy
gripping me in her gravid bulk
the heat of her unmanageable
a pulsar
a bear musk

in the wet dirt loathsome in my mad lust
I clawed for her like an animal
was eclipsed
fell in ephemeral flash like midnight's meteor
a brief consequence in the distant firmament
dissolving in her atmosphere.

TA 

This

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The Tragedy of the USS Brittannica

There were shards of us left,
space collision in a comet's dying light,
the cold quiet of an immediate vacuum in the aftermath,
terrible scream,
terrible rending,
then the thunderclap of cacophonous silence,
curiosity, excitement, trepidation,
hope,
                  horror,
we were thrown to the solar winds,
the nuts and bolts of us,
the cast metal jagged edges of a trillion dollars,
unspent fuel,
an evanescent dream, dispersed,

Debra from Compression burned her tits on a hot plate,
Tony from Propulsion Systems untouched, angry
   to be left alive when his brother, Pedro Lunkletter,
      was taken by cancer,
Amber Fingerling cussing about skinned knees,
some skinwalker stowaway lost his shit in the commotion,
Captain Comey got no more balls,
the three rough boys from Engineering can't breathe,
Eugene Wonder, black, smooth, moustachioed, lay
   locked in his room,
the Corporal with the lisp last to board may have stayed home,
vengeful Jon Ashy cutting his way through the docking cables
   with a dull boot knife he bought on Craigslist in 1996,
      the fire in his belly now only a candle's light,
Crab Apple from Botany floating listless and lifeless,
   a gallon of salt water in her stomach - frozen,
      three goldfish in cryo-hibernation
         on their way to Venus,
a radio signal from a faraway home fades through,
Dunstin checking in,
"...is everything okay up there...
is anything wrong?"
little tiny Petra Vance, our child priest,
   lost in the endless stars,

and me, a grown man,
   begging for pussy.

TA

Andrew, 1992ish

Wind like a physical terror,
titian thundercloud and Hade's malevolent eye,
cyclopean hurricane hunters in army brigade green
   crisscrossing that bulbous girth w. kamikaze courage,
southbeach breasts back in bras crying in their bath tubs,
panhandle palmettos stiff like the flag on the moon,
waif trailer spitting too arrogantly into the eye
   of that monstrous purple god,
wide-eyed prayer to an absentee Christ who
   once calmed the roaring waves
      but not this storm for me,
darkest midnight I'd ever witnessed in Suburbia,
a silent morning covered in anything that could
   be thrown,
me, so excited to be alive,
and the pecan tree
   split down the middle of the only RV camper
      my parents ever owned.

TA

Here, You Are

You are here as much
   as I can make you
stiffening incantations erecting
   your feral presence
holy ghost apparition slithering along
   the ceiling, mind the fan
shed your skin in hot sheets coming
iridescent grinner
whisper into this lost ear and grip me
tight tight
crux in contour no mathematic
   formula has solved
driven to abyss
   by your opaline chaos

y'all know this madness
a breeze, a kiss
so tight in knots imagining something more than
   the gentle stirring of a Spring wind
if for prayer
   if for wish
      if for wanting
you are here as much as I can
   make you

yet
   you are still not here.

TA