Only wires and air

And we bow down to these vaginal idols,
every moment of every day-
dream there she is–right beside me,
and I don’t even know her.
Such a pantheon to worship:
to assume there is a perfect goddess
is betting on Mercury
waiting, waiting for the return letter,
checking every conversation for an address to permanently live.
Oh! to be unmade by the batting of lashes and the curves
of roads that lead and twist and detour
signs left by others point, but behind
the wheel seems to be the only pointer,
pulling up beside a car zooming along to the same curves,
but a different road each time,
never to meet again.
Maybe if I collide and call Allstate, we’ll get to talk,
I could glance at her home address,
or at least she’d yell at me as we fill out forms.
It would be better than this
mechanism called radio with its chord-less voice
of only wires and air.

Can you force me to epiphany?

In your Lucid Dream, she was your savior:
a nude supermodel standing in the doorway,
(is it distracting to the message?)
for those defined by emotional intimacy–searching
under a rock somewhere, someday
where the 30 year dew will have ‘mil-ded;”
‘after you’ve driven off a bridge at 80 mph…somehow you don’t let happiness in without a full body search,”
insecurity ignites with alcohol, you know,
masks on the front, masks on the back
‘I don’t know if I can be your friend with that mask on?”
I’m not the only one hiding,
fearing one could be taken away,
like the half-empty consequence of predestination,

waiting for another ‘Document1” to load,
a finger to curl around and a shoulder to smell,
a face to trust after my reconstructive surgery and
if my intellect hung by atomic magnetism to my sanity?
will innocence be charming then?
for sweet sauce would be bland without the sour.
I’m a pleasure delayer–maybe? Is God?
Well, we’re still here. Aren’t we?
oh, to know this image more than it knows itself
and to ask what is happiness?
The little things: there’s nothing bigger
(everything is little to Him).
Immortality as entertainment—this can’t be the future,
but it is the present church: ‘Look at this. I’m frozen, and you’re dead.”
–’It’s a problem,” Penelope says with a smirk
and a kiss, and a vow to love me forever.

‘You just never seem to be there for your friends until they give up on you.”
–well, that’s because they don’t need me when they are high.
‘Don’t you know that when you sleep with someone your body makes a promise or whether you do or not.”
–My life is chewy twizzlers. Add some food coloring, and call me in the morning, honey.
No! Challenge me, change my view:
teach me!
if you can,
for I don’t know what to enroll in or
whether it would be quicker to just read
or watch a movie?

can you analyze why I sniff
your shoulder, and what I want in
life, entice me to entertain
you and not to convulse in
guilt,
tally my thoughts and find a sum?

I smell of woman

I smell of woman; skin lingers on the tongue,
Dry mouth, wet lips, and thoughts loiter on.
Scared, lost in hair and night;
Found in arms, tense and tight.
Driven to reveal the hidden
Tracing curves with light tips–smitten!
Need I apologize to the girl I might know
And this girl’s groom as he screams “No!”
Before this darkness binds us.
our conscious finds us as
We fall down.

God, please forget.
All like a dream now?
Except the regret.