February 16, 2016

scratch paper poem...

artist Gerda Wegener
Heritage Images/Corbis ©

it was auto-mata erotica 
and not quite ever enough 

"you", I said to myself 

when the empty house 
knew, I wanted a wiser woman 

letting me pretend to be 
in charge though bowed 
and better blue bent 
tender barnacle beauty been 

beans blending banal to bombast too 
this is a xylophone-poem...

a tone tome home 
where you can sleep 
without having to wake up quickly 
and ski-daddle wearing wings 
of never quite comfortable 
staying or sticking around here...

your arms are tired spine 
Wintered skin 
no regard for mercy 
you shout shard glass 
provenance or something 
that says you were handled 
at every station down the line 
chained to method and observation...

indeed indica indicates 
being stoned since when 
I was eleven or twelve 
first time I remembered 
was power hitter old mustard 
yellow plastic squeezed 
inhale cough stoned...

I was on a family trip 
at an amusement park, 
rode with older cousin 
got broken in softly sent 
heavenly lent around the edges 
that day for sure 
dizzied with abandonment 
the lure was assuredly divine 
scent driven madness 
no saddle bit or bridle 
I am grabbing the mane 
and holding on for dear life 
this would be considered  
stumble dancing from here on out, 
into and onto becoming...

and the formula 
for feeling my way...

a scratch paper poem 

you wore this dress 
there were two triangles 
fabric tenaciously draped 
I could not help myself 
I began, paw and claw, crawling 
ferociously, I had to know...

your tender(s) clung 
their mathematics, had me 
in a moment caught 
where my eyes said 
hey nose I need your help here
I want to completely surrender 
and show my work 
do you think I can 
get her to reach for my scent 
palms open, fingers outstretched...?



  1. I love this. Every scritch-scratch scrimshawing word.

  2. This is really what I need from a poem most of all:
    "this is a xylophone-poem...
    a tone tome home where you can sleep"

    These words instantly head-to-toe relax me.

    Thank you for sharing such an intimately personal story.

    Also, this is erotica to me: "your tender(s) clung their mathematics, had me" ... math

    This is my favorite part: "where my eyes said hey nose I need your help here" ... and the rest of the way down

    Certainly this is all overtly sexual, but there's a tender coming-of-age purity here as well. An openness, a trust, that's harder to find in older people. The heart is very much still connected to the body here. It makes the poem more touching.

  3. I'm sure you know this already, but it's Open Link Night at dverse, and I thought you might like to share something; I don't have your email, so I'm telling you here ... hope you jump in with your chaps on, like Billy the Kid.