Vacation with Mother O.

You came of your own free will, the cattle call
A place to soothe phantom depressions
Gathering shells to fend off every day, imagining this is perfect reality
She understands more than you will ever know
About desperation and desire
Lulling the pigs to sleep with deft fingers 
Then pulling them into deaths cradle
The emotion is there, don't doubt that
Pushing and pulling, lunar commands not barked but whispered
And when the thin blue veil washes over her prey, her lovers
Her belly still aches with a vastness that can never be filled
Scream if you can, spurn her advances
One thing is for certain
It's time to feed the crabs

Smoked to the Frame

“Inhale motherfucker.”

“Inhale motherfucker!”

 

     His voice was low and wicked in the boy’s ears. His large, hot hand fumbled with his crotch. He grabbed his balls and squeezed, the blinding pain causing the young man to inhale sharply the acrid, sweet smoke, ending in a coughing fit.  Then it was over

     “See ya tomorrow shithead,” the man said, “and bring money, the lady ain’t free.”

     The rush should have been all consuming, but it was secondary in his case, background.  The sound of his own blood pulsing in his ears and the vision of his mother telling him he would be something, something…something. Flying to the moon and back was something, right?

     Everything was on his right, even that girl who lived on Folsom, she was reaching for his hand but he couldn’t move.  He could see himself smiling, but lifting his arm was out of the question, it was toooo... damnnn... heavy.

    “In a minute honey-pie,” drifting, “jus’ one more minute.”

 

 

Magical but not that Magical

Are you there?
The face of a child is the face of the universe
In that child's face lies everything and nothing
And in his pocket a quarter to make a call
Assuming God doesn't take collect calls
The child will have four minutes
To say everything and nothing
That happened since last Easter
Then comes the small talk
Which is bigger when God is on the other end
When the call is over she will sigh
And say out loud
"No matter how many times he asks,
I will not call him "It", that just seems disrespectful

Addict

You can have it if you are high on anything
The softest voice attached to the softest fingers
Supplicant, you might ask for more
But its not your decision babe

When you are high on the wind
There is a piece of you that does fly
Not your soul, its tethered to infinity
And you cannot fathom the calculation

When you are high on drink
Those breasts will eat a man's lunch
Then his mind for desert, coffee after
The headache, a token, affection for the search

When you are high on love
It is better to love the earth or ocean, not the man
Grounded in natural beauty, you will choke first, tears
But the heights, oh the heights, you may reach 
Kissing the sky means just that