Friday, August 30, 2024

she is what she is aug 28, 2024

  

she is what she is and will always be

not a china doll yet as distinct

 bearing herself with great nobility

yet humble to as if she can't distinguish

 between the two and we

who see her like to Honey are drawn

dreaming of what she might be

 like at dawn curtain, sheets rumpled f

rom the night so sweet

 we paint portraits of her in our minds

 though in truth these are not kind reflections

 they are of of what it is we wish to see

not the woman we should know her to be

 she is what she is and always will be

 even if it is not the soul we think we see

Noble and sweet

And we at her feet

she being all she needs to be

 and we too foolish to see

 

 


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A truce aug 28, 2024

  

all hostility has ceased

at least on the surface

no surrender just acceptance

 a truce within herself only she needs

to know how to keep

after all the ups and downs

she sails a steady course

over water so smooth as to terrify

 those who have sailed stormy seas with her

why is she so calm, so quiet, so collected

has she come to some resolution

 some measure peace even she never

 dreamed would occur

her seas calm we must admire her from afar

but with peace comes with a price the price

of a lesser ambition

dreams she had and gave up

 a trade off for the possible

rather than the impossible

of fading tomorrows


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She is a nun feb 23, 2014

 

she is neither Monk nor nun

 still I am drawn to her innocence

 she living up to Blake's vision

of what innocence should be

never perfect always tested

potent in its power to seduce

 wicked people like me

I dress her as a nun in my mind

 The veil, The gown, the rosary beads

 hanging around her neck

Yet I always strip these from her again

 leaving her naked

and vulnerable the way Eve must have looked

when I ache for her to be the other Mary

 Christ knew and forgave

The sinner who is the face of sin

 who lives life on the edge

a balancing act to keep from falling

I paint her as a virgin in the way she is

 knowing as the Bible says

then still unmolested

shimmering in the Twilight

 the way the first stars do

 always intensely attractive

 always scalding even at a distance

 always beyond reach

if not saintly then saint like

 what we need to violate

 over and over again


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Thursday, August 29, 2024

like dogs do it. 2015

  

will she come if we do it like dogs

 and I come at her from behind

 or does she need to ride me

 like a horse always on top

the up and down on me as saddle

 fast slow fast again

taking me up inside her

as far as she needs

 not always how far I can go

will she let me turn her over

and fill the other place where dogs go

bang against her like a ram

again and again

in this place then that

then both again

 hard, harder, deep, deeper

 or will she put the bit between my teeth

 and saddle me always

keeping me under lash

 like a true mistress


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Her silence? aug 27, 2024

  

why is she so silent

 a houseplant stirring

 rattles more than her bones do

weak fiber, I think not

 her absence withers men’s souls

as we hang on Vines

she in her middle age

 having no need to revive them

their juice that once tasted so sweet

 has just a touch of bitterness

as she replants her roots

and hopes to grow without them

all her debts of the past

paid in full

and if she chooses to pick fruit

that tangles before her

she can pick and choose

no longer coming to this

out of need or as a cure

for lonesome blues

she has herself to keep company with

and that is more than enough

her silence is not smug nor arrogant

 just satisfied


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Portraits in my mind 2015


I paint portraits of her

 photographs in my head

those glimpses she sent me

when we first met

that linger in memory in ways

from which I can never divorce

her eyes, lips, shape of that hat

she wears or doesn't

the urges that came over me then

 and since, the irresistible temptation

 I bring on myself

I painting pictures of her

from then because I no longer know

 what she looks like now

only how little my feelings have changed

the breathlessness

the ache

the pure pleasure of remembrance

 I know will never escape me

 each portrait as indelible in me

as a tattoo

and stings in the same way

when I recall them

 


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Wife of Bathe feb 22, 2014

 

what is this pilgrimage she goes on

is it like the wife of bath

who seek salvation behind the wall

 of some nunnery

where wild wolves howl for her outside

 as we seek to cast aside her veils

 and plunge into the abyss that brings Joy

are we then the sinners

that it's been illusions in our own heads

 wishing she could be a virgin again

for we might be grateful for the privilege to violate her

is this her road to a place of redemption

 where she might cast aside those aspects

 most of us find most admirable

reflection of our own desires

perhaps not hers

painting her in colors

we ache for and she must live up to

she needing finally respite

from our wanton expectations

 we wanting what we want

 but not always what she wants

and so we all howl outside the nunnery doors

 gnashing our teeth

our needs dashed by the walls of propriety

we expect to violate for our own sake


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Wednesday, August 28, 2024

petulant frat boy. feb 22, 2014

  

I pulled a stunt which I perhaps should not have, a flashback to my silliness the summer of 2012 when I texted her happy birthday.

Perhaps her poem was right about me, calling me a petulant frat boy.

I had planned this 4 weeks since the day I left my camera bag in the Democratic headquarters of the Virgin mayor's town

I had to go collect it later and so I took a bunch of pictures one or two of the inside of town hall, which I posted.

But I also took some pictures of the water front – some places where she frequented, including one place where she did yoga, but I refrained from posting them until yesterday

I wanted to get a reaction to gauge if I was still on her radar.

Although I grouped these photos with other waterfront photos elsewhere, I knew if she was looking at my site, she would read into them the way she did the photos I took at Woodstock, and might get peeved.

I got a number of quick hits including undisguised IP addresses from the town where she just recently worked, as well as a handful of others including Secaucus where the PR guy for the state senator has offices and where RR recently lived.

I am assuming that the first few hits from the Virgin Mayors town were our poet but there's no way to tell that for sure

but some of the pictures were places where she hung out and so I suspect she went into a panic again causing her to call around to complain about it with some of her contacts

this of course is an assumption I have no proof at all of

but again if I am the impudent imp of her earlier poems then she might have seen me doing this as a kick in her ass as she left her job

although I again wonder if it was her I saw outside The campaign headquarters the day before I took the pictures

I don't know whether she is upset about me posting the photos and she is using them as a little bit more evidence against me, although I don't see how since I was careful not to take pictures of any place too clearly personal. I never took a picture of her building for instance or anything else that could be mistaken as stalking. although what all this proves I can't be sure but I suspect she is still watching what I do


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I am the pizza man June 12, 2012

 



 It’s my own damned fault, 

I think, as I hear John Lennon’s voice

singing, “I Am the Walrus,” 

in my head only I hear it as “pizza man” 

not Eggman, and realize 

I was supposed to another 

of her “working things out fucks,”

 and I turned it into something else,

something ugly, 

something it was never meant to be, 

while I ached for it to be 

something it could never be, 

and realize it is my own damned fault,

 thinking about the playwright 

she wrote about aching to be bad 

if just for one night, 

and turning it into art instead,

 while she was bad and liked it, 

until I ruined it and turned it 

all into something ugly, 

dream turned into nightmare 

we both have to live through 

until maybe someday

 one or both of us wakes up.


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innocent pizza delivery June 12, 2012

 



 I read the story she wrote

 that caused such an uproar, 

about an unsuspecting fool 

delivering pizza, 

a fictional account of a man

carrying this wilting box

 stained red with sauce 

into the mouth of a fly trap 

where women waited to

 use and abuse him, 

and I wish it was me,

 shocked at myself for thinking this,

 scared that the reality is far, far worse,

 her control over me only 

without the brief moment of joy

 before the jaws

 of the fly trap snaps shut, 

the bliss of the innocence 

most men feel before they

 find out they have been used, 

and I wonder when

 she writes about this,

 about some other woman 

who laid out her private fantasy, 

whether or not she wished

 she was that woman 

and just who she saw in her head

 playing in part in this seduction, 

and whether or not

 it is fiction at all 

in her head 

or what she does already.


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I cease to exist June 11, 2012

 



 I cease to exist,

the way a shadow does 

under sudden scalding light, 

never substantial to start with, 

not even a memory,

 not even a ghost feeling drained,

 as if she feeds off what was 

until there is nothing left

 to feed off of,

 I feel my breathing, 

and know from it I am here, 

only I can’t see myself 

or perhaps the mere outline 

of what I have been, 

a child’s coloring book

 or a paint by numbers art work, 

needing someone or something

 to fill in the appropriate colors 

so I can exist again, 

wishing she would be the one, 

her artistic fingers holding

 the paint brush or crayon 

that recreates me,

 though I know she never will,

 and I am as invisible to her as to myself.


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Tuesday, August 27, 2024

Leaving it up to you aug 18, 2024

  

a bitter Blake once stated

 to say it is to lose it

and so I leave it up to you

 if distance is the thing

so be it

unrequited

this mutual understanding

of where we all stand

 though I will say it

only to myself and think it

even if I never act

knowing it is there is enough

 like something precious

we keep private

to keep it safe

so we do not risk losing it

the way Blake states he did

 a buried treasure even

 Blackbeard might never dig up

we all need to keep it in our lives

 and keep it distant and safe

 maybe all we can expect

 but if you want more

 if you want me to dig it up

I will gladly do so

 but I'll leave it up to you

 


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Drowning again aug 26, 2024

  

I fall behind on my posts

I get a deluge with of hits from Singapore

 as if I could actually stop

this stuff is in my blood just as she is

is this Morse code is she sending a message

 are all 600 hits telling me to keep going or to stop

I breathe water

 I'm so deeply immersed in it , in her

 the accumulation of it all

leaving me sitting at the bottom of the sea

 with no way to ever reach the surface

there on my own accord

still stirred by all that has stirred me before

 I drown in the memories

in the same churned up stuff

that nearly drowned me before

I can't stop

 I can only occasionally stagger

desperate to read the tea leaves

that tell me what she wants

I am as helpless now as I was then

 and perhaps no more wiser either

 


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Which ever way you want 2015

  

I'll put it wherever you want me to

front door back door uptown or down

I want it all in any and every way possible

to get to know what every part

 of you feels like inside or out

I'll taste whatever you want me to taste

 to ease my tongue in wherever you say

this space up front that space behind

to press in and touch your tongue with mine

I want it all whichever way you say

to get down as deep into you

 as possible

 to know all that I can ever know


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Getting my fix of her feb 21, 2014

 

I really can't help it

 I keep falling back into it

an addict addicted to what

I think of as love

 especially when I no longer know

 what happened with her

so I drift off in a cloud

that shapes reality into what I imagine

 and take over each illusion

 as if real

 how do you lust after something

that isn't there

 clinging to the shreds of it

as it turns into something else

with each brief gust of wind.

I thought I had recovered from this

 no longer needing the fix

to cure the fit I feel

 absence doesn't make

the heart grow fonder

just more desperate

 thinking perhaps rightly

this will never come again

vanishing before my eyes

leaving the sky full of fantasies

 I've shaped into her

 some more pornographic than others

yet all with the same intense sense of pain

 longing after something that can't possibly exist

yet I can't help it sticking her in my arm

like a needle

letting her course through my veins

feeling wonderful despite myself


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Monday, August 26, 2024

What’s up Doc? feb 21, 2014

 

our poet is not talking

at least not to the opposition in the Virgin mayor's town, who have tried to reach out to her figuring if she is mad at the Virgin mayor for firing he, they might be sympathetic to them but no dice

she's not talking to anybody my freeholder friend said

I'm not sure who he means by everybody or anybody but this might include RR since freeholder is also talking to him now

this suggests that someone might have advised her to keep quiet or that she is scared to speak fearing some retribution and hinting again at the idea that someone there is holding something over her head

but it may be simply her slamming the door on a life she can no longer claim one of hers

 Facebook friends complain that she had not posted much in days and she responded that she'd been so busy with “intake “since Tuesday she's had no time

it is impossible to tell from so few words if she is blowing smoke the way she did when boasting about the press conference she claimed to have set up or if she indeed has some new job in public service

she can't feel good about any of it and if she is connected to James her prospects or even more dismal since his stance and politics has been much reduced

our owner and our former temporary boss are both in foul moods but if this is because of her or James I can't say

the poet has closed doors and you have to wonder on who

could these include former temporary boss or perhaps even the owner

if she has decided to move on away from this political game she may no longer see a use for them and may be putting distance between her and everybody associated with this part of the world

she won't let them go completely and yet may not want them as close as they had been in the past or as close as they wish to be

since she has not posted a poem since prior to her firing it is difficult to get a sense of her mood but her to likes on YouTube both deal with eating disorders and suggesting she had a relapse

she may have been lying to RR about what happened to her at work suggesting perhaps distance as well specifically when he has since appeared at a fundraiser for the man who fired her

she has to be angry at the situation my source said she knows she went too far

since she has a history which suggests she doesn't revisit old haunts once she left them the question now is where does she go from here


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resistance is futile 2015

  

resistance is futile

perhaps even then

 to believe that I can

survive unscathed

after having heard her siren song

 conquered by my own need

 though her voice still eases into me

 a sharp and crafted blade

thrust into the core of my brain

and the depths of my heart

a double fatal blow

 from which I may never recover

her words, her stare,

blinding me

captivating my mind

and body and soul

 I might have survived one of these

but not all

and so in the depths of night

 I see her eyes even with my eyes closed

 and hear her voice so painfully soothing

I get lost in the sound

set adrift on a sea of my own desire

 unable to navigate back

to what once was

she owns me wholly

 whether she wants this or not


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time’s winged Chariot. aug 18, 2024

  (inspired by an earlier poem)


does she fear

 time’s winged Chariot now

 when she never did before,

having her whole life pulled all into a ball

when other play coy

 does one realize as days go past

how much she had had

 and won't have again

worms of a different sort

seeking not her virginity

 but bringing little of the Joy

she saw it in elder days did

how does she pass her long loves days these days

does she sit in peruse the Ganges

where she draws out rubies from its side

does she wish again for those days

 when she could reach her hand out

 and gather all the joy she wanted

 time pressing now with fewer rubies to find


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white sneakers. Feb 20, 2014

  

I find the pair of white sneakers

in the back of my closet

worn once then abandoned

because she said I look like

an old man wearing them

 I am old

old enough to be her father

a real bit of Oedipus in that sense

 I also want to fuck her

and so as Father figure

 full of lust for my would be daughter

 I stash the sneaker in the closet

 and do the best to forget

 they're there

 a haunting presence

 the ghost I imagined in the closet growing up

waiting to leap out at me

full of teeth and claws

Time’s Unwanted Chariot

dragging me to the eventual Doom

 while the sneakers stir under dress shoes

 and old garments that slipped off hangers

a not so elaborate striptease

I always imagined her doing

 those long nights long ago

when we texted each other in the dark

white shoes for an old man

 with pretensions of being young

 lusting after his offspring

the way all men young or old do

 but most of all for he, I think

as I take them the shoes out to the trash bin


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Sunday, August 25, 2024

Mutual orbits aug 20, 2024

 

this is never what I think it is

 and so I have to stop thinking

 that it is anything at all

 letting the world revolve

 letting life go out into the void

 all these things separate and safe

what I know or think I know

comes from a time and place

when I might know something

 rather than the vacancy

that exists now

 planets in orbits distinctly

divorced from each other

 with no more influence

than the remote gravity

 we feel during those rare alignments

 this orbit bringing that planet

to the same space around the sun

we both must orbit

we glimpse the surface of things

not the content

make judgments based on

what we assume not what is

wanting things to be

what we fantasize

like those old visions

 people once had of life

 on other planets

 a reality that does not pan out

once we land on the surface


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sneak attack 2015

  

I always see it as a sneak attack

 I come at you from behind your back

baring your shoulders fingers touching

 the nape of your neck

 and then my lips as my fingers slip

from behind to grip both your breasts

rubbing them up to the tip

as I kiss feeling them

loving the way they feel against the palms of my hands

as my chest presses against your back

and I rise up that growing need

as I peel away with layers between

until I am large against you

easing against you as I ease into you

one slow stroke after another

 heating up like a piston

 as I grip you in your breasts

then engage

 a sneak attack

 again and again


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The rose tree (with apologies to William Blake) feb 19, 2014

 

she is the rose that still makes me bleed

 a pretty rose tree I grasp until the thorns break me

such a flower flour I might never see

 who's thorns are like a painful key

 I see and still need

 that all too delightful rose tree

what makes her so appealing to me

and why am I always willing to let her make me bleed

Her sweet scent linger but I can’t see

the always elusive butterfly that always haunts me

Who tends this ground that grows roses as sweet as she?

and why am I consumed with jealousy?

 when in fact I ought to flee

but again and again I come to feed

 and again and again I always bleed

this woman I picked off this sweet sweet tree

 with scars of her touch all over me

 what is it that I want to see

do I find pleasure when she makes me bleed

or do I want to be on bended knee

to adore this rose that I forever see

and yet cannot touch without her making me bleed


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The guilt factor feb 18, 2014

 

in the midst of the crisis that grips our poet, there are a number of unresolved issues and unanswered questions --  the most pressing of which centers around the world “guilt”.

What exactly does she feel guilty about?

she is alluded a wanton lifestyle to several times yet fails to provide details

Early on, she shocked me a number of times while at the same time these shocking moments only made me lust after her all the more

Wanton, however, in our society is a very relative term.

Young people  -- and perhaps almost always in the past as well -- fuck so much that in this perspective it has become the norm

Even kinky behavior is rapidly becoming acceptable. So, it is hard to imagine what she could have done to make her feel shame

She once claimed on a dating site she was open to filming herself in the act of sex.

 I can't imagine her ever getting involved with pornographic things the way my ex-wife did

I don't mean the act of sex but the degrading acts such films require   blow jobs and cum on the face

She has a certain level of dignity that would not allow herself to be degraded in such a way

she might love sex -- maybe even variations of kinky sex--  but she is likely to be the one in control I could more imagine her as a dominatrix than a slut and even such a role would be beneath her

so what I am imagine she feels guilty about it's not so much involving any variations of the sex act but perhaps more the social aspect of it using people, through the act of sex and such to get ahead -- this coming with all the complications these affairs take on especially keeping secret what she does with one person from others

Yet even this doesn't warrant the self-judgment she seems to heap upon herself the casting of the first stone

nothing I can imagine her doing seems to merit the level of guilt she has hoisted on her shoulders though I know so little this is too easy an assessment to make,.

To Walk in her shoes might give me a whole different perspective whereas even her poems do not completely reflect it

if there is guilt to be borne then it ought to rest on the shoulders of those of us who have used and abused her, those who shared her bed for a pleasure at her expense, the cheats and the liars who lust after her, buying her affection while giving her almost nothing in return.

it is what we dump on her she feels the weight of not her own actions.


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