It’s nothing I have haven’t experienced before
And yet, that’s what makes the possibility all the more enthralling.
It’s no longer about the act or the finished product.
Hardly at all. In fact, that might very well ruin everything!
Well, almost.
But truth be told, it’s the enticement of opportunity,
The mere perception of the act that I revel.
Some call it the journey,
Some call it foreplay.
I’m not sure which of the two I agree with more.
It’s the mystery which piques my every sense,
It’s the unknown that I chase after with gratuitous diligence.
It’s the almost that I crave with ravenous appetite.
And there you have been, unknowing but tempting at every turn;
A leg, a sigh, a smile, and yes, cleavage.
Yet with exploitation or exposure is there victory?
Contrary, it becomes the inevitable demise.
Behind the shroud, the lust.
Beyond the shroud, it’s all the same.
We’re all the same.
Day: July 23, 2010
inflatable man/reality is lame
poetryi’m an inflatable man
waving at the heavens
and yearning ever outwards
and futher
but the wind is high
and the gravity is heavy
and reality is lame.
let’s drive north
poetryand leave this all behind,
saying farewell to our lives,
dropping the imperatively meaningless tasks,
walking out on our fucking jobs,
jumping onto 25
to see where it will take us,
leaving texas behind (good riddance),
passing through new mexico
only to linger in colorado
before tackling wyoming,
montana,
continuing on with no directions,
with no definitions,
with no plans,
except to find canada’s cool embrace
before our lives find us
and drag us back
to the heat of our lives.
gone too long
poetryrun me down to
the shore
grab my hand and
pull me to
the rocky beach
through the thick mist
peppered with salt and
pine and sea
through the deepening
shadows of the streets and
by the electrified home windows
that echo back
our bright laughs
we stop short of
the water, and molecules
collect in our hair –
in the needles of the trees
we share a glance
a squeeze
a heartbeat
and the sun has set
the sieve and the sand 