this is one of those rare instances where I call upon my face to serve as art replacement – I believe I was about 16-17 years old here – I do remember the t-shirt – very fond of it at the time – Happiness is a German Shepherd 😘
A toilet paper gown has outlasted this fondant fairytale
Our dark lies gessoed white on white
Look at me leaping into a downpour
I’ve grown so very tired of ikea domesticity and Wayfair lighting–
dressage for mules in horse harness
These tissue sheaths spontaneously combusting, quiver my body
You once did this for me, do you even remember,
flesh-dancing with a blue fire no ocean could smother
I’ve become a zombie waltzing in a deluge
You and I suffocated in Egyptian cotton well before this pulp symbolism
Now my white paper gown disintegrates, I pray to the black prescient sky
Look up, nimbus clouds hide nothing-they never deceive
We doomed ourselves to this Pompeii,
the moment we under-appreciated the dark sky and caressed our monogrammed bath towels
back and forth back and forth back and forth
splattering rain, this redundancy of motion
the last hopeful sky un-recalled
this bleak morning, too early for the sun
a thousand immolating balls can’t bring warmth to this day
God is false hope manufactured by bible companies
angels are myths playing dress-up for lingerie chains
a broken deer on the side of the road
wonder if she knew
from the looks of her cracked torso, I doubt it
some car folded her body like a dollar store blanket
the lifeless trees are no better than emaciated throats and fingers
nothing for them to swallow
nothing to grab onto
nothing for me
nothing for us
they will remain naked
I remember you, inside me
moonlight and indigo lovemaking
tick tock tick tock tick tock
another road, same lousy scenery
silver lining lately on a bottle of red and designer label
paying a bit more than usual for spirits, cheer costs
this blueless is overwhelming
the radio melodies on
gently at first
she floats into my interior dystopia
Sarah Vaughan’s nuanced soul
and I know, I will believe in angels again
“There’s an Old West saying that if you stole a man’s horse, you had condemned him to death…”
In 1824, I wer hung, hung out wit hemp thick as Nellie’s mane
but twice as deadly ‘n ten times as quick to ther choke
they dun hung me, dried boots ‘n all widout a reckon ‘o my side pockits
my neck it snapped ‘n dat fucker hurt sum, befer the snappin,’ not after
I dun stole a man’s horse, a white gorgiss thin’ wit sharp fetlock ‘n marble eyes
don’t know what made me do thar impulse
wuz her Godful beauty, I’m a certin
ain’t no crime in thar, stealin’ wutz perfict
do ya know wutz ’tis a see’in that Godful beauty ‘n not hold’n it
not bein part ridin’ in that sunset after dem saloon duz kick yer hide inta the sand
they dun hung me out thar, hung me out ta dry ’til I very, very disgustin’ly die, yup dem basters
black crows a diggin’ at my sockets ‘n balz
a beaten white station wagon, the last white stallion in this town
she’s in my rear view mirror, prancing on the hill
just admiring her I am
my eyes flapping faster than wicked-quick saloon doors
the white beauty of a generation long since past
men were men, at least that’s what my dad was and is
my elegant mom, remaining a woman who transcends time
so many white horses chasing down the freeway, miles of galloping herds
so many it’s impossible to believe they will ever disappear
lightning white buffaloes by the thousands
and there she is, the sexy white wagon, long and sure as sugar
Custer’s battle scars, blood-rusting her panels, but she’s still smokin’
revving that big engine, purrin’ like a puma
at times, she breathes smoke to wake the dead
I hear tiny family fannies sliding across her vinyl bench seats
all the way to the Catskills
to the Jersey shore
to Vermont’s Green Mountains where her body plays with light
my SUV is climate-controlled, too controlled
Oh, here she comes, the last unicorn
driving by, I’m a body ensconced in sealed air
stuck behind tempered glass, I can’t caress her hide
she knows nothing of tightness, she has always been free
a drop of air escapes my lungs
a grain of water falls from my eye
I feel the hangman’s noose a callin’
come ‘n git me ya dem basters
I seen dat dar white beauty ‘n she gotta be mine
Wrapped in a white T-shirt, placed in a black canvas duffel–
a travel-size Adorini humidor and his hopes.
The flirty Spanish cedar box urges him onward.
Thirteen rolled soldiers guard this carrier’s hard on with dutiful vigilance.
Bulleit Bourbon, the Frontier Whiskey sloshes beneath his crisp North Face.
Before boarding the train east, he shreds the “please” off the bottle with his Kershaw Blur.
No time for “drinking responsibly.”
The 2 am train dumps him without mercy. He lands on the stained cement.
It’s The Wild West where screaming yellow mustangs and sleek horny stallions run free. Almost.
Mile after mile of the concrete mix is near unbearable and longer running than any field he’s ever slept in.
A dusty, ten-gallon hat sits on his brain and a mass of thick dark curls protects his scalp.
While smelling out the October air for her familiar city-built skin, he maneuvers across The Great Divide.
Right now, he’s so far removed from everything he knows. Everything. Except her.
He tugs protectively at his coat making sure the chest-liner is wrapped tight.
She nearly massacred his raw heart once. Damn near killed him.
Now he is The Magnificent Seven minus six–returning for more.
But, the olive branch she extended had roots. He still believes this.
He is willing to buck the bronco one last time. One more try.
Crazy wilding thoughts move his feet too fast. Before he can check the time or look at her Upper West Side address again,
looming across the avenue–her gilded monolith of speckled granite, insurmountable steel and shatter-proof glass.
The pungent city grit reddens his green eyes. With the quick wipe of a sleeve, he makes fast business of these renegade tears.
Almost there, he strolls into a nearby shop and ducks into the restroom–like Superman before the change.
He takes a long secret tug of amber confidence and chases it back with a fistful of mint Altoids.
Returned to Almost, he’s at Her building. He closes his eyes and sucks hard at the floating air. Dreaming. Remembering.
The thought of her wet vermilion lips around a Melanio is almost too much.
But he dares not go in unprotected. Not this time. He gently removes the Adorini from the duffel.
Thirteen pricey cigars gift wrapped in a fine humidor–a peace offering.
A capital start.
She absolutely adores a fine stogie–Gran Reserva Limitada.
This, he knows for certain.
What he does not know–
Is she capable of adoring him as much as her beloved decadent tobacco.
I am trapped in an intolerable sameness
My mind, a weapon firing the same bullet over and over–
killing everything I wake for each day
Trapped in life’s jungle, a purgatory for lost hunters–
those who know where they should be perched–
but can never climb high enough
Earth hardens me, heaven humbles me
Trapped in between, I stare down at God and up at the devil
So much transpires, lustful living chokes out the meek
Promises break, chambers are emptied
Nothing springs back, nothing returns–
nothing, until him
His disarming gunmetal eyes–a grey so pure–
he surely has stolen pigment from Saturn’s rings
My weakest points give way to his bare arms
He becomes what I had prayed for
My spirit rekindles, like a weary grizzly in heat
Freed, my slumbering heart rises from its hibernation
His words turn my winter breath into spring air
Every moving part of his powerful anatomy, targets me–
He parlays brilliant charm and overtakes my trust
Sometime later, the camouflage fades
The sun breaks through the dense canopy
I observe him from a new position–
watching while he is unaware
My mind returns to restless oblivion
There is, I will admit here, a sense of comfort in the chaos
Around me, the entire world stampedes in unison
And I know I can survive by myself