Full Frontal

On a recent Disability After Dark Andrew Gurza talks about The Sessions – a movie that made a big splash some years ago dealing with a disabled man & his female sex surrogate. I thoroughly enjoyed Andrew’s scene-by-scene look at The Sessions. A movie which I have not seen – too emotional manipulative for me. I don’t like being forced to feel good.

It was important to hear about a movie from an ‘expert’ – someone who knows about the reality of disability as opposed to some reviewer, critic who is caught up in the drama & not aware of facts. Andrew pretty much likes the emotional content of the movie which resonated with his lived experience. He calls out a few anachronisms (modern wheelchair instead of period one) & also how little the hero’s privacy is respected. 

The other thing which he notes is nudity. He questions why Helen Hunt, the lead actress, get full frontal while John Hawkes, the male lead, gets minimal exposure, even in the sex scenes. This is not unique to this movie though. Showing breast & vagina is not longer so shocking but the male body remains pretty much hidden. Lots of fast ass shots, never the well-lit, lingering shots that female nudity gets.

Female nudity is rarely seen as gratuitous if it fits the story. In Sessions if nudity makes sense for Helen Hunt then nudity makes equal sense John Hawkes should as well, right? This is one of those double-standards. Male performers have to worry about ‘performance anxiety’ or are shy about displaying their cock at all – what if it doesn’t measure up to their fans fantasies. Isn’t that cgi is for? If they can double the cost a film by digitally enhancing the hair of the lead for every scene he’s in, surely a few minutes of cock shouldn’t be an issue.

Or perhaps they wanted to respect the dignity of the disabled man – after all his disability was enough without exploiting his dick, too. When one catches a glimpse of a stars’ cock it is a flash – even when that dick is the supposedly the star: i.e Boogie Nights – where there is ample bared female but a split-second moment of Dirk Diggler’s supposed large cock & even that was a bad fake – they couldn’t afford a stunt cock.

I’ll end this with my favorite big star full-frontal from Fight Club. Brad Pitt appears at least 4 times in a single frame at various points in the film. My vision was so good it caught the first one & thanks to our dvd player I was able to frame-by-frame at the points were Pitt flashed me. That was no stunt cock 🙂

How Deep Is My Love

my love is deeper than Nietzsche

deeper than the gap between 

spiritual fantasy and sexual reality 

deeper than what we all thought the 60’s meant

my love for you is longer than 

the time between knowing 

it isn’t working and ending it

longer than the time between 

ending it and getting over it

I love you more than this shirt look great on me

my love is harder than 

peanut brittle in Arctic moonlight

my love is more hopeful than 

an overflowing recycling bin

my love for you is longer than 

the arm of the law 

holding a restraining order 

my love for you is purer 

than the water in the bottle of 

rapidly disappearing ice shelf 

melted just so you 

could have a sip 

and throw it away

my love for you is purer than a dream

my love for you is purer than 

how you felt 

before you even know the difference

between a care bear and a pubic hair

my love for you is stronger 

than the tang of expresso 

with a flavour shot of almond

to cover that weird burned taste

my love is truer than 

all those Facebook friends 

who rsvp’d they’d be here

my love for you is stronger than 

your need to be loved

my love for you is 

no longer the crime it once was

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every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
 capfireslam.org 

September 25, Tuesday – Horror feature – The Art Bar, Free Times Cafe

 

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Terra Cotta

samprules2

Working through the  227 Rules For Monks. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This another of the 92 pācittiyas.

Terra Cotta

he insisted

on terra cotta flower pots

not pots

planters

you know the kind big enough

for a

oh you’ve heard this story

you know where it’s going

unlike the men

meeting him

they didn’t know where they were going

just that he promised

to take them somewhere 

offered –

well I’m not sure what he offered

it’s hard to call that something sex

I guess I’m old fashioned that way

 

terra cotta is better for the plants

for the roots

it breathes properly

allows water to filter through

plastic containers trap the water

traps insects

plastic absorbs heat

the soil doesn’t breathe

 

neither do the men

Selim Esen, 44

Abdulbasir Faizi, 44 

Majeed Kayhan, 58 

Kirushna Kumar Kanagaratnam, 37  

Andrew Kinsman, 49

Dean Lisowick, 47

Soroush Mahmudi, 50

Skandaraj Navaratnam, 40

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The Eye of The Old Beholder

On a recent Disability After Dark Andrew Gurza talks about getting old! He’s just turned 34 & wonders if he’s now officially a Daddy 🙂 As far as I know that isn’t official until either you have fathered a child or turned 45. Finding a few grey hairs in one’s pubes doesn’t count. For those out-of-the-know ‘Daddy’ is one of the many gale male age divisions. Twink is another. Too many to list. Once one passes Daddy they are ‘Older’ & for many no longer sexually viable, even by other’s who live long enough to be ‘Older.’

Speaking of grey hairs I had a friend who several years ago discovered some grey in his pubes. This distressed him to the point that he tried to colour those pubes! He tired various dyes, Grecian formula, hair dye & others to restore his pubes to jet black. It was partially successful but … the combination of sweat, of body parts trapped in undies all day, resulted in an unfortunate aroma. To make matters worse he started to ‘shed.’ Lesson learned. This a friend & not me – I’m a natural ginger-pube man – for photographic proof send $10 to my paypal link below & say ‘proof please, sir.’

I’ve mentioned before being ‘rejected’ by some men when they realize I’m older than they prefer. Age limits on some sites are quite specific – men between x & x years; or no one over x; some are more general: with Daddies being at top end of the age list. Some profiles are more explicit. It’s no longer pc to say ‘no fats, fems, etc’ but it’s fine to say ‘no one over 50’ & not get called out for ageism. Sadly often those who say ‘no one over 50’ are themselves over 50.

I don’t think queer culture is markedly different from its larger cultural context though – youth is the ideal. Old is tolerated but not the hot ticket. I’m sure the cosmetics market would be lost without all those creams (some of which I do use on my face) to keep one looking youthful & therefore sexually viable. One’s value & self-worth in a jar of goo that is usually hidden from the eye of the old beholder.

A Walk in the Park

I was walking though the park

eyes open for dog shit on the pathway

I turn a corner and there is this couple 

female splayed on a bench 

a man on his knees between her legs

she moaning pushing his head deeper 

his hairy ass bare in the sun

 

her eyes catch mine

I can’t tell if the expression

is pleasure invitation dare

or what the fuck are you looking at

he stands and half turns to me

hard cock flashing in crisp light

she licks her lips 

 

I keep going   that image in my mind

his jeans crumpled below his knees

her panties around one ankle

their faces gleaming beaming

what brought them to that place and time

were they walking along 

so aroused they had to have each other 

was she a working girl 

and didn’t care where she made a buck

did they need an audience

to take them to another level of orgasm

 

when I doubled back

all that remained 

was a pair of panties

             pink

damp

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every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
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Polite

On a recent Disability After Dark Andrew Gurza talks about the times he’s been a douche bag with his sexual interactions. Some of them struck me as being part of a learning curve. Some of them come out of how our cultural awareness & sensitivity has changed but it’s easy to judge how we behaved 10 years ago with how we behave today.

Listening to his experiences, as always, makes me look at how I’ve behaved in the past. I have used excuses not to meet with someone rather than come right out & say I’m not interested, or not interested anymore. The polite Canadian doesn’t say ‘you’re too fat’ – they say ‘I don’t think we’re a good match’ when size is the issue.

I decline opportunities by reading what a man has listed in his profile. It’s easier, to me, to say I’m not into party’n’play, which is true, than say you don’t appeal to me at all. One man I met, who was quite taken with me (no surprise there) when we first met, whose English comprehension was nil, wanted FWB – the main benefit being his English tutor. Sticking to my primary purpose lead me to decline after out first ‘date.’

I think the worse thing I do is ‘ghost’ – if after the initial communication & text conversation I’m not that interested I merely stop responding rather saying ‘I’m not interested ‘in being your ass pussy’ or ‘in making you my ass pussy.’ Nor am I interested being anyone’s esl tutor or explaining the political context of my decisions when all I want is fun sex.

Damned Hands

‘keep your canned hams on the shelf’

or was that

‘keep your damned hands to yourself’

often I don’t quite hear what people say

like the time 

I heard someone shouting 

‘jesus loves your shoes’

as they gave out flyers 

 

‘wow’ I thought ‘there’s a personal saviour 

I can believe in’

but when I got one of the flyers it said 

‘jesus loves your soul’

or maybe it was payless for shoes

claiming it could save your soles

 

then there was the woman

ranting on a street corner 

‘one day you’re wearing sunglasses

the next day your not

how can I really know you’

I think that’s what she said

I never went to back to find out

I never stopped to say

‘mom it’s just me’ 

 

I wasn’t wearing sunglasses

she probably wasn’t my mother

I didn’t think she was talking to me

I got over that a long time ago

I don’t think I’m the centre of anyone’s attention

when they shout ‘hey fuck head faggot’ 

they mean some other jackass

 

there is so much out there

trying to take my focus

I don’t focus on anything

often forgetting people I have run into 

unless I make a note in my soul

the one that jesus loves

 

if they put their damned hands on me

it would be a question 

of where those hands were last

how much would they be willing to pay

are they ready to shut up and take it 

like a canned ham

are they ready to love my shoes

are they ready to be so in to me 

that they won’t hear 

their own mother in the street

 

or are they unfocused stumblers

like myself

not paying attention to much

happy to sit for a little while

watch the scream of life whizz by

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every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
 capfireslam.org 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

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Confirmation

Confirmation

kissing her

was unexpected

she had told me

my bed had appeared in her dreams

 

I was pretending

to be interest in women

claiming a bisexuality

to allow for a safe passage through life

at a time

when that was necessary

 

there were enough suspicions

about my sexuality already

launched in grade school

carried into high school

suppressed by fear

then by the bottle

 

intercourse with a woman

was bandied about like a flag

a boy scout badge

to announce

hey I’m a normal guy

I bang chicks

 

but that sex was a remote possibility

until she had that dream

she made it come true

for herself

 

no one knew

no one suspected a thing

except for me

who finally knew

intercourse with a woman

was possible

but not a place I wanted

to return to

This was prompted by the first of the two aniyātas. Both deal with the shame of sex that in implied by being with a woman under questionable circumstances. None of these prompted pieces are meant to illustrate the rule so they frequently are tangental from a word or two in the rule.

Confirmation is, as you might suspect, totally autobiographic. It reflects much of my teenage and early twenties as I tried to get some sort of balance between what I knew about myself & what was culturally acceptable, in Cape Breton, at that time. The pretending that, even in my thinking, went through a process of ignoring the fear, experimenting, eventually admitting to myself that I was gay. Stages of acceptance. Some male pop stars were rumoured to be bi – David Bowie for one – so it was sort of okay to say one preferred girls but would bag the right guy. 

In high-school I was bullied for being a gearbox even though I had dated some girls, that wasn’t enough. I didn’t do the ‘smell my finger brag’ (that is I’ve just fingers the vagina of some girl & here’s the scent of proof) that would have cemented my heteronormativity.

The ‘she’ was the younger sister of one of the guys I frequently drank with – one a a group of guys who would show up en masse with guitars or new lps and booze in hand. Girlfriends, sisters in tow often. One day the sister dropped by on her own, told me about her dream & over the next few weeks we messed around a little then one night did the deed. 

I have another piece about that – Perfect Match. (https://wp.me/p1RtxU-2GB) Her bothers found out & were pissed at me. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I was not the first in. She & I didn’t continue. Though we enjoyed the sex it was clear to both of us that I wasn’t really into it. It was also obvious it was something I initiated or would ever have initiated either.

I grew in a very Catholic neighbourhood & regularly saw children dressed up for Confirmation. A ritual to bind them to the church, or something like that. The Lutherans have an equally ritualistic declaration of faith. My experience with ‘she’ was a heterosexual baptism that confirmed my homosexuality 🙂

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Vampire Willow

 Finally worked through the Buggering, I mean, Buffering archive (if I type too fast I hit ‘gg’ instead of ‘ff’.) Listened to all expect their look at Wonder Woman – I’ll wait until I’ve seen the movie. Hosts Jenny Owen Youngs & Kristin Russo have expanded the podcast, thanks to advertisers (who knew book of the month still existed) & Patreon supporters. Interviews with actors who have appeared on the show increased from those with episode appearances to those with full arc appearances.

I enjoyed the interviews with the mayor, with the deputy mayor, even one with Buffy’s mom. Fun stories, though one of the interviews was close to an infomercial for that actor’s current ‘empire.’ I was sad to see the mail-bag episodes become a bonus for their Patreon supporters. 

Season 3 is the Faith season & has too many great episodes for me to pick a favorite. Band Candy is one standout. Vampire Willow is unforgettable, as is MOO (now that’s a t-shirt I’d buy). The Mayor has most of the best moments & lines with his ‘square Dad’ banality that barely contains his inner demon. The writers & the actor had a great time giving this villain so much character & personality.

The Faith and Buffy chemistry simmers with lesbian tension in nearly every scene they have together – even their final confrontation. The hosts are sure it boiled over in not-seen scenes between slayings. I don’t find it as daring as they do though. Lesbianism – girl-on-girl – has always been more allowable in entertainment, than man-on-man. If the writers had, say, Zander & Oz, display this same kind of sexual chemistry then the show would have been revolutionary as opposed to merely toying with the acceptable girl-on-girl trope.

Diversity increased with Mr. Trick – the first regular black character. Played with great panache, & out dressing even Cordelia, he is a commanding presence but remains underdeveloped & under utilized. Race is mentioned but not explored. Why are there so few poc in Sunnydale, even as background fillers? 

In one podcast the hosts speculate on how Buffy would be made today – how would it be cast? Probably with the same formula now used in Hollywood that allows for limited but more poc. A black Willow with access to African spiritual energy; probably piss-baby Zander would be and Asian dude or perhaps Giles would be the Asian character as he so wise & serene. 

The season ends with a resounding bang that destroys the high-school – which (spoiler alert) is revisited in mid-season 4 & remains in ruins. I guess when Sunnydale High blew up to seal the Hell Mouth the department of education opted not to rebuild. I suppose they are bussing the students to another county now. 

My previous Buffering posts:

Buffy Buffy Buffering https://wp.me/p1RtxU-2P5 

Buffering Season 2 https://wp.me/p1RtxU-2Sf

A Bite

one morning there was a bite

an arc on my forearm 

almost on my elbow

clear distinct human

top row bottom row

teeth marks

skin not broken

bruised red ridges indents

not where I could have done it

it wasn’t there when I went to bed

there was another bite

on my left heel

it was tender to the touch

another spot my mouth could never reach

then a final bite mark

on my inner thigh

I could still feel a mouth there

a tongue warm and wet

as teeth sank in

as if someone had

tried to devour me in my sleep

all day I found myself

rolling up my sleeve

just far enough to see the first bite

it hadn’t faded into a pink rose

it was still there

an red angry smear

when I got home

the others were also there

as if something had a hold of me all day

I checked the mirror carefully

had I missed one

did they make a pattern

they didn’t glow in the dark

they didn’t throb

there was no pain

only the sensation of my hand

when I touched them

weeks later

years later

they are still there

and despite them

there is never less of me

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


http://www.queerslam.com

every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked) capfireslam.org 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

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DNA Traces

samprules2

Working through the  227 Rules For Monks. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This another of the 92 pācittiyas.

DNA Traces

did he live here

there

he tended gardens

the cadaver dogs

are nosing the rose bushes

the lilacs

he planted here

there

 

each was his place

refuge or hideaway

haven or grave

the men who know

will only talk

if their bones are found

traces of their dna

say

we were here

there

 

we now live in a digital world

symbols

of the discarded

the disappeared

never to be reported

not missed until

their remains were found

men with hidden sexuality

now with hidden bones

senses of self

some homeless 

before they were lifeless 

 

cadaver dogs are on the trail

while some families still deny

their complicity

while a culture

denies its complicity

shaming sexuality into hiding 

long before those bones

were stripped of flesh

before being hidden 

perhaps

never to be found here

there25.greypair.01

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Our Song

Our Song

It was a mistake 

to look at his music collection

I just prayed 

that none of it would be used

as background music 

tastes I don’t share

don’t care to share 

his love of musicians

of song writers

I can not take seriously

safe banal tepid stuff

so middle-of-the-road

I’d want to hit the next telephone pole

rather than listen to this music

 

it came as a bit of a surprise

as we were compatible 

in so many other ways 

he asked me what I thought

was there something I’d like to hear

this is his favourite

am I familiar with it

and I said yes but let’s not bother

we don’t need distractions

which he agreed was a wise choice

 

I didn’t offer any opinion

didn’t denigrate his taste

or rather the lack thereof

I wasn’t there for music appreciation 

I didn’t intend to let anything

disturb

distract

from the momentum of the opportunity

Anyone who follows my blog knows my love of music. Check out my Monday posts where I’ve been discussing my music collection – pop, classical, jazz & beyond. I like so much music one might conclude I have no discernment. As this piece reveals I do have preferences that can affect my emotional response to people, places & opportunity.

 

This piece is based on actual experiences. More than once I have glanced as someone’s wall of cds & lost my interest in them – you know industrial grind is good for 3 minutes, thank you. Ditto death metal. Though I was as surprised to meet gay men into those genres, I wasn’t about to invite that as mood music for making out. When I tell someone I like jazz and they offer me Kenny G I know it’s time to move on.

 

 

I have not pursued some non-sexual friendships based on music taste as well. I believe that music reflects something about the person & what some music reflects to me a red flag. If I’m not into it I’m not going to subject myself to it just to get along.

 

 

But I’m not a music taste educator either, if you want education read about what I enjoy my Monday blogs. My primary purpose in most situations in to be present & if it is sexual, to participate & if the music is too loud, or distracting I’ll opt for silence. I have walked in & out of restaurants if the music isn’t what I want to listen to while I’m eating. If the music isn’t something I want to listen to while being eaten I’ll ask for it to be changed without saying turn off that fucking awful music. 

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glueleg vs Gnarls

glueleg is a Canadian band you might not expect me to enjoy as much as I do. I have as stand-alones: Heroic Doses, Clodhopper. A now defunct Toronto band they had a hard-edged progressive, art-rock sound – think punk Blood Sweat & Tears! That’s right or even Chicago thanks to a section of sax, trumpet along with their distinctive grunge sound. Reminiscent of Kind Crimson – they even do a cover version of Red.

 

I saw a video on MuchMusic – remember when that as a video channel? The horn sound held my attention – the rhythm  was a bit clunky in a funky boozy jazz way. The lyrics were a bit surreal but romantic in the hetero angsty way. A rare Canadian art-rock band that worked well without feeling contrived or bored with it all. 

 

Next is Gnarls Barkley. I have St. Elsewhere, the odd couple as stand-alones. Yes there is a sprinkle of ‘modern’ pop in the my collection 🙂 These guys produced great summer hits that are an updated Marvin Gaye – r’n’b, urban trip-hop that is not overly challenging. I’d say it is perfect radio music but who listens to the radio anymore? I guess it’s perfect Spotify music (I don’t have Spotify).

 

Not as overtly sexual as say LMFAO but with the same pop smarts. Beautifully engineered the band is a delight to hear on headphones. Danceable, romanic, humorous, hetero music that is safe for the whole family. It’s good to know that there is urban music that isn’t all anger & angst. Crazy, eh?

Thought 

The phone hadn’t rang all night. Dave kept hearing it though, over the sound of the dishwasher, while he vacuumed but it didn’t ring. Not once.

If his sister thought he was going to be a hotel at a moment’s notice she had another thing coming. This place was barely large enough for him, let alone her and Sally.

The phone didn’t ring. He picked it up several times times to call her but stopped. Calling would  only alert her mistake, as she called Matt, the guy she had married.

He could still see that wedding photo taken at the reception. She and Matt by a painting. He figured they weren’t aware of that painting. But he couldn’t miss the fact that it was a sailing ship going down in a storm with the face of Christ in the clouds offering salvation. An omen.

Only he was no salvation for anyone. No, she’d have to make other arraignments. Besides that letter was postmarked almost a week ago. If they were going to arrive they would have been there by now. 

The phone hadn’t rung. A good omen.

He wasn’t going to lose sleep over this. Couldn’t. Too much to do at the denim mine tomorrow. New shipments to sort. Make more sales. His real life. The life that give him purpose, accomplishment.

The vacuuming done he put the Hoover in its corner of the front closet. Closets in apartments were just too small. No storage space for much of anything. If he bought anything new he had to get rid of something else to make space for it. Kept life simple and compact.

Yes that was good. No room for anything more. 

No room for dolls, sister’s suitcases. She would bring the dog too. Was he allowed a dog in this building? Yes he’d seen some on the elevator. Stoop and scoop. Oh no, not him. Something to teach Sally to do.

It was nearing midnight. Everything was in order once again. Ready for the wave of his morning departure to scatter things here and there so that when he returned from work he had something to do, something to look forward to. Yes it felt good to make things neat and tidy. Kept them in their place.

The phone didn’t ring all night.

Dave drifted off to sleep quickly. Another dreamless night

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


http://www.queerslam.com

every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
 capfireslam.org 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

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Saying Too Many Names

At the end of 2017 there was no proof of a Toronto serial killer – the lgbtq community was merely being theatrical – it was just a bunch of swishy, disgruntled attention seekers who didn’t feel getting the right to marriage was enough to keep their fucking mouths shut. They weren’t professionals whose duty it was to protect the public. 

Four months later we have an alleged serial killer with, so far, eight murder charges against him. Apparently these guys start young so the case has been extended back to the 70’s! The disgruntled, attention seeking police are now even more disgruntled at being denied the opportunity to march in the Pride Parade. So this is how we show our gratitude for all they do for the community. I just hope evidence doesn’t end up ‘compromised’ as the case advances. That sort of mishandling never happens

As I see the photos and information about these men, who are all dead (& that is incontestable) I am sadden to see that some of them had never been reported missing in the first place. Such as Kanagaratnam who was probably murdered in 2015. Did families figure ‘oh he’s gone to work in Calgary & will get in touch when he is successful enough?’ Were the families so fearful of the police thanks to their experiences in their troubled home countries? Or where they like Dean Lisowick, men no one really cared what happened to? 

 

These are the identified victims (so far) Selim Esen, 44,; Abdulbasir Faizi, 44; Majeed Kayhan, 58; Kirushna Kumar Kanagaratnam, 37;  Andrew Kinsman, 49; Dean Lisowick, 47; Soroush Mahmudi, 50; Skandaraj Navaratnam, 40. I’ll repeat their names. His will probably never be forgotten so there’s no need for me to mention it.

La Mer

What I miss most about the sea

is the sound of waves

                              Not

The waves themselves

With their deeply melodic cold

Or their careless foam caps

But their thunder

as they blast the kelpy rocks

   Lightning in a hail of night

 

What I miss most about the night

is the black of waves

                             Not

The dark itself

With its ungiving distance

Or its depth of stars

But its moon

As it unfurls unwilling waves

   Flags in triumphant passage

 

What I miss most about the passage

Is the motion of waves

                                Not

The heave itself

With its unbreathing breath

Or its reflections of the moon

But its tongue

As it rolls pebbles into sand

   Raindrops calming the sea with kisses

 

What I miss most about kisses

Is the waves of sleep

                             Not

The sleep itself

With its endless silver bed

Or its too soon morning yawn

But its caress

As it nudges my fathomless ache

Sirenes tugging me to the sea of you

What I miss most about the sea

Is you

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every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked) capfireslam.org 

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