Skinny's thread

Near misses,
drop from the sky,
like rainfall at a Balkan wedding.

I troubleshoot.

There's momentary dazzle,
but on the whole
this facade is unremarkable.

Fool's gold,
wrapped in sediment.

You, and all the dwarves
under the sun
can swing your picks
to cut away my monumental sides,

but while I can trick
as Newgrange does,
while I have living scars
from my journey here,

I caught urchins when I was settling down,

and now just need to sleep.

 

ooo skinny.. its been a while, but i am glad to be back, falling under the enchantment of the spells your words conjure...

your voodoo draws the zombie from my soul, by a mere thread....
pull the string! Pull the string!

 

Acid air,anticipation.
Announcements bellow.
They disturb my impatience,
punctuate my chaos thoughts.
Structure to appease the frantic mind
which races caffeine round this rim,
and wins. That sleepness night
still rings in my pink eyes. You're coming.

This bitter nectar inks my insides,
calligraphy behind my teeth. I whisper
to the billboards but I'm lost
behind the tannoy voice.
Eyes, I'm epileptic,
following every case and head.
Can't think. Just smoke and wait.

 

This is automated erotica.

Insert card.
Punch in with nimble fingers
the password to escape.

Please remove your card.

Then foreplay fumble.
Bags a hindrance, coats undone
papers, fingers and thumbs

in a serpent of weary exodus.
A plateau of waiting,
exhaling. Smell my sweat.

Hungry machines. Forced entry.
Cracked smiles by the passport booth.

But we're moist. Heavy air
and heavy wine lubricates
and we can't wait

to penetrate each other's dark.

 

Patience is a weary habit.
I'm cross legged with it!
I'm nicotine hungry with it!
I'm misanthropic in the night air
clusters of us waiting for the final leg,
a stampede of impatience.

This escape is a long time coming
and now a long time to arrive!
The queue diminishes
as we puff away on
each other's sex and cigarettes,
anointing all around us
and staining the back seats.

 

Can we
haul ourselves
away from this
morning's
poetry and
song?

Every inch of me
leans into
your
succulent
embrace. It tells me
everything I need to hear right now.

 

Under the Arc de Triomphe
the heavens try to conspire
but we are resolute
in our drenched skins.
No tempest in our joint sky,
just a little weather
to freshen us up.

We smile as we interpret
Briand's monument to failed appeasement.

This rain can't dull our features,
just rewrite the lines we know,
animate our understanding,
and quicken spirits.

Titillation.
Fat drops lick us both
with nature's passion,
and turn the buildings
green with envy, as we walk by.
I can smile through these false tears
and see you shining, glazed,
ablaze with calm.

 

I spent a restless night in France with Napoleon
and then his tomb became my toilet
and I was head first, arse first
like at the fucking circus. And when
Dom Perignon finally burst all bubbles
I crawled louselike to my empty pit
and waited for the arms that never came.
Because you were laid out in another room
in thoughts as black as mine and
brooding moorland was the landscape you were lost in.
You returned and I clung damp to the stone
that became our morning memorial.
Antacid fixed my guts but not your heart.

 

I annihilate your memory.
A mushroom cloud of cigarette smoke
covers everything of you.
You will not cling to my bedsheets
bathrobe, bric-a-brac.

Your eyes will not hover
illuminated by my sad guilt
through this mustard fog.

Your drawl will not cling to my pillow
with my sobs.

 

I hear feet
in this silent glade.
The marching feet of legions.
Our grand army
parades through my prone bones.

We are glorious in victory.
Spent and silent.
Humming to the tune of blood
in unison.

My head rolls.

 

It's always been about body odour,
this languishing, late into the evening.
Sticky, chocolate-coated,
minor aches and pains.

Keep licking.

A little later,
the devil in these pillows
will make me sneeze and shudder.

But for now, my punisher
hangs cold and cow-hide
from the curtain rail,

and your hands are tied up
pouring tea.

 

Spring Clean is a big WOW, amazing, relentless power, very inspirational for me. Want you to know that I've read all of these and loved them. I hope yer much happier in yer new romance

 

I get so lost in your writing...absolutely loving it. ty sweetness, always a pleasure to pop into your thread and envelope myself in all I find here.

 

I got a rush of great imagery while reading -afterglow- that you probably didn't intend, but ah well. You rule, as always. I enjoyed -breakfast in bed- as well... thanks you!

 

I relaly like the purple jumper one.......hippies are soooooooooooo refreshing you have no idea...or maybe you do.....I HAVE NO IDEA......

 

Disappointment in the gargoyles' eyes
as they vomit sorrow
into these stone gutters.
Cemented in grotesque ritual for centuries,
they belch, with fierce indigestion.
They are indocrinated by the noxious plumes of Mass,
and so they seek to leap.
Crouched tense upon their balustrades,
they teeter always.

 

Sturdy cob, you squat upon the riverbank,
trying to sleep, to commune
with the dreams of God,
but flies mutter and buzz
around your mealy mouth
incessantly.

We circumvent, and the arc of your vision
hugs us to you.
Behind you, blind,
we touch your ancient flank
as you kick out
your congregation.

 

I’ve become an apex of late,
soiled by my joint venture, this deceit
of gorgeous lovers,
so sincere in their affection, while I
calmly
evade their suspicious questions,
love them deeply, one by one;
ever true, but only faithful
sometimes.

 

I can't
replicate
the cafe here.

Glossy
reflected in the pages
of that magazine and melting
like butter
on our tongues.

I can't
resmoke
those silver tendrils that danced
with sunlight in your hair,
nor choose dessert.

But we can stay up close,
and crack our elbows cheek to cheek,
entwine our lifelines on this table top
and drink a toast
to memories.

 

bless Paris! baudelaire one minute language the next,
imagery, intimacy, struggle, yadda yadda, it’s all good!