Shucking Seeds

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Flustered, mind agape, silently wide-eyed,

I know not what sits behind her eyes.

She, a squirrel up a date palm, looking for acorns,

and I, a logical storm looking for a landing, apace,

we dance the squares of the place, tiled and tidy,

a touch of mildewed madness escaping. We spin.

She hides, a cushion pin stuck in the grimy wall.

Magenta stew toppled around her meaty face, her,

I stare across the room at only silhouette;

flat ribbon plastic words float to her

cordon her off like a crime scene

in the corner, dark, smoldering

punk in a steamy seamless-ness,

drunken porridge, we two–a corruption,

an oil leak of foul forethought.

She takes me home–her home–

a wondrous oak tree, reaching

branching, bleeding out the red roots.

We shuck seeds, plant acorns, see what grows.

My Dating Site

credit: thememeguy.com

Espresso shots, Open tables, a shoulder-slunked mind in a cafe quips:
Sighed out on Dating sites with their Show me yours I’ll show you mine. 

Only I don’t want to play that Gut exhausting, Happy sapping game.
The one of Cliché’d glass cases with a mime Silently howling inside. 

The trick is this, I’m told: Be direct or be alluring, No in between.
Play the sex card or go fish, for All else covers as time wasting. 

So practically practical this world, A missing blessing, A cursory look.
Human exploration dead, Gone the way of humanities–disrespect. 

The machine pumps all now, Post people-ism, Peddling wares of wear,
Faces incomplete, Bodies disembodied, Intentions at Cross sections. 

Arms hugging an example, a harried voice, wincing thought, clarifies
That which makes him/her/it/us/them truly tick, Gather up and hallelujah.

Just once, Wanting to reply a brutal truth-biting of words honestly pled:
Not wanting to down you, Respondent, Just that friends don’t do friends. 

Can you Be a being, like me, like you? Exist with me just for a while?
Feel the feeling of feeling? In a combinatory presence, Can we just walk? 

See how the air circulates, By and between us flaring Scent and Sound.
The air does. See? In the gaps of words, We speak, While we walk 

In sensorial immemorial blind sight of touch-less touch–My dating site. 

Secret’s Out

  

credit: http://edge.neocha.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/huzi@neochaEDGE_01.jpg

I saw her picture first

cut off head, breasts
ample, pink spandex
clad, gathered at the
neck, accentuating
her rack so shapely.
She saw my photos
and thought to meet,
she and I anywhere.
But she turned out to
be a fashion maven
adoring all the latest
and I have no style 
but my own practical
to the bone and spare.
And I told her so, that
we had no center, no
common denominator
as I cared a whit for
what she cared a lot
about and so, what
kind of conversation 
could we dream up, 
impossible to sustain?
She revealed nothing
more than color and
fabric galore, for sure
a goddess of cinched
waist and good sense
of season and tricks
to enhance features.
For me, choosing the
day’s attire wears me
thin and ragged with
choices so few as I
keep a cry-cluttered
chaos of t-shirts and
jeans, no belts of any
kind, scoop necks or
v-necks only, turtle
necks producing a 
sweat and strangle
merely imagining a
collar so high up to
a neck’s constriction.
So with clothes only
we could not share
enough experiences.
I told her so, that she
needed to seek her 
own since I could not
compete, never get
beyond intimidated.
But the truth is, she
revealed her secret,
opened to me and I, 
unable to configure,
to examine fragment
instead of a shortcut,
a whole composite of
what she potentially 
could be, a mind not
reacting rationally or
flexibly without data
computable as usual
designation of man or
woman or somehow
tangibly identifiably a
sexual orientation that
would posit me in a 
known position, how
to act and what to 
ward off, defend or
protect, how to play
games, wait and see
properly, knew not 
what to say, how to
be. What could he
presenting as a she
expect of mere me?
Fear of falling free
of label safety just
dismantled me, a 
gaping loss of words
and thoughts of how 
to be only me with a
human:  he/she/we 
I skulked, hung it up.


 


Love Dance Ritual

  

Love dance ritual
downright habitual
hello, a kiss
reply, a miss
a mental hiss
Why resist?
the game on
a wink, a stare
returning glare
another beer?
Why not?
It’s clear
you’re here
to pluck my pride
take that ride
think of it now
driving that plow
rich fantasy
in bed with me
skin off my back
oily ass smack
tense smile
stay for awhile?
bar stool bitch
making his pitch
Come play with me?
so good you’ll see.
nothing better for free.
smile in secret
will her submit
what you want
Come on cunt.
Give it up already.
Wait, hold steady.
She’s loosening. 
not leaving
eyeing my crotch?
turn it up a notch
She’s so hot.
need what she’s got
How about dinner
with a winner?
Come on, come on
Let’s get it on.
This play’s too long.
And now she’s gone.
no biggie
She wasn’t pretty.
This one’s hotter
not such a rotter
How ya doin’ tonight?
See the moonlight?
What a great smile.
Been here for awhile?
Buy you a drink?
a leer, a wink
the dating game
just a frame
for the mighty lame
a sad mime
silly rhyme
painted velvet kitch
the love switch
turn me on turn me off
I’ve had enough.