NaPoWriMo 2013 # 8

art by Jiří Kolář ©

pin-up, chin-up, what the silhouettes said

pictures, sticky shit

random number generation

I wanted to get back

as quick as I could

to write about the latest

seductress cup

I fed myself

a drunken night for

it was cold, still viscous

a residue, something else

I could start clinging to...

perhaps odd luck thrown

my way when

I rubbed against

a caught slug

squeezing me

at the wrong time

when puns were intended

bending tongues because

I never ended

my pleas for magic

in bare limbs...

spilling drinks, I think

I am gravity splashing

leaning back laughing

in a tropical locale, pang-ed

with sudden scampers

caught in her hypnosis

one eye then the other

I am wandering blind

opening wide

my nostrils disguised

as ears...

I hone into scent

giving up data storage

for knowing where

something is...

arched back sandals

roman leather

where are you

who are you

what …what…

come back please…

damn…fuck

there goes my baby

I wake past noon

paste dry cotton instead

of swallow time

is on every clock

I realize

I am still dressed

been so, for

a few days now

I don’t mind

being stained

snare trailed

with food

and bodily fluids

these are

my little Picassos

on my clothes

crawling for a story

amid the rubble

of my lazy

I amble, a soft shoe

a halfhearted discern

to know what day it was

was it Monday

it always feels like Monday

in the morning

when you don’t remember

falling asleep, billy-clubbed

to a dancing siren fall

she is silk tendril music

stranding you past midnight

with all of your attention

calling in sick

going to work

seems the plans

of another day

a dark veil Pandora

and her blackened fertility

has got me pinned

has spread too fast

for me to stop

the slow bleed

of my will

Heaven knows

full coverage is

a velvet rope status

attained, only when

we drown somewhere

between thoughts thrown

and wishes grown

people stared

as they shrank inside

their body’s language

I must have smelled funny

when I ran with little money

for a newspaper, two coffees

an egg sandwich and a beer...

or maybe, I just looked like shit

or worse they knew

they too, had always wanted

their own maypole parade

glacially knifed to what

surrender means

but, as they look

they don't see

I am still

not ready

to share

everything

that is

wrapped inside

this dream

I can’t quite

remember

EJR ©