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Archive for the ‘Burlesque’ Category

Someone had gotten there before me
and left their mark.
Her skin, owned not worn,
projects a burlesque outline
not unlike
the others,
Shelby like a hurricane
descended
with an awkward sign
that said
“First of the night”
and to those who
would label
me as virtuous as
Armstrong or Polo
I can only say
that unexplored lands
have never been
so beneficial –
so human.
So intimate.
The barren topography
of a Winnipeg winter
replaced by the subtly
of sin
and the artificial openness
paid for by capitalism.
A man shouldn’t laugh
at this
person –
stripped as she was –
but one couldn’t
ignore the juxtaposition.
The interplay
of nineties music
and my hands being
overly forward.
She asked why I took my glasses
off.
“To see you”
So it is. That the eyes see
but the body knows.

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The summer of 2008
is still neatly
cut away from my forgetting mind.
Protected by a holy space –
a vacuum that the eaters
of words cannot
travel.

Our apartment
was a typical
triple-decker. Cluttered
like the 20 somethings
that shambled its
ancient wooden floors.
Everything creaking.
Underneath discarded shoes
separated from their pairings,
scattered papers,
and underwear
there existed a skin I don’t
think we ever saw more than once.

The action atop that firmament
played out very differently.
In a room discarded by everything else
I sat with black coffee,
keeping time with circles in a cup
to the constant heart beat
of the house,
and I wrote over the prayers
and whispers that came through the walls.
It was isolated but not lonely.

You
were more interested
in unions than exposition.
More than one person
lead by an extended hand
past the womb in which
I feverishly wrote.
The bright light of the kitchen
silhouetted your umbilical march.
Sometimes slurred or staggered
yet always like a salmon returning
to the place of its birth.

Laying amidst
so many discarded half-poems
I could keep time
to you and be jealous
that while a fire raged inside you
I was left only with messy sheets
and a laptop. It wasn’t until 5
years later that you told me
you always felt the same.

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She had spent the summer
dissolving into a liquid
in the hopes that emergence
would produce a butterfly.
The process smelled ironically
of honey and the colorful
flowers house mothers
attempt to garden in the suburbs
unknowing that the harsh
New England climate
would claim them.
That summer her
eyes where black and orange
like a Monarch
fluttering. Her hair
seemed to lift on the delicate
wind of light footsteps –
down stairs,
around children,
and in the shower – I imagine.
She no longer depended
on women’s hosiery –
she had outgrown them
into full hips and
rounded smooth thighs.
That shredded cocoon
gave her the sun –
and with it the eye of man.
Now curiosity and licked lips.
Now desire and a timid hand.
Now pinning her wings to fresh linens.

Now a showcase in the sun
that man can boast to other men about.

 

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The Party Line

I hate parties where you have to wait in line,
She invited me to one,
as a gesture of interest,

because she likes me,

because it might be fun. 

An assortment of French cheeses
Skewered with tooth pick American flags
as if some tiny astronaut
Left a mark with his tags,

fill a plate.
Well dressed caricatures
with Brobdingnagian hands
Trade stories like stock options
about head shrinking bands
of self-help, tofu and bran
guru types fresh from Japan
Or some more exotic place
Like Mattapan.
I contemplated French kissing
An electric outlet,
that three pronged savior,
When the topic of politics,
under the guise of animal behavior,
hidden within the debate
about evolution in the school system
arose at our table.
I would’ve if I were able,
But we were in the center of the room
drowning in well-meaning
mostly harmless,

Humanistic,

But otherwise useless crapulence
That some spelunker,

Dubbed as authority by the Post,
A shining armored debunker,
pulled from the anis of history
and supported with polls
taken of 100 people
Like the Family Feud.

Survey says I’d rather be home
with a movie I’ve already viewed
just so she will fall asleep
On my chest, because she’s bored.
I want to be alone, I want to be alone

with her.

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