We are spaceless stars
doing distance mocking intrigue.
We provoke smut
into the gutted promises
leftover from carbon ages, pumping
each pillow we keep
We, like unwanted parentheses, dock
blackbone vigil histories spirited
like single file tortures
by sound, by
apparition. Music in nude.
We are clever winks of spring,
body wind weeping over ancient voices
our parents and dictation keep,
last year's immutable thing.
And even in wet compilations,
we flutter without flock,
indignantly unclocked. No limit.
without ticket stub, ink stamp
or laser beam, we
gather on empty pages
and sky every planet
We call the bluff
mind patterns swimming thalassic high seas
cast upon dry nets looping the autonomous gazer,
each passing hour its own disease
or zenith licking fastfaze
our matrix razor.
We give good gladiator glare
sweeping the nightclubs, flamingly
assuming glacier tongues, salads of the mainstream
silently stroke around tossed memories, frozen
syllables lost to indifference. We plan
no Wildean head, might fall drunken giants
instead. Dismissal we wear on our sleeve.
We wrap our sins in striped cloth,
losing utter regard in a raw
common bed-boot prayer
stance. We believe.
Our nadirs glow like virgins
We bathe in mystical quiche
to ease us into outland mirrors,
sandwiching our matter of facts incognito
with a conscience of mayonaisse. We lust
for a quickie, taking all begotten bets
to paved audiences gawking thrift,
cruising eager avenues darkened
where social poverty sits in mood
inspecting its manly stool,
sunshine first laughing then just grinning,
unlocking negligibly static garters disguising
vacant choices wandering eyes damply
thrust toward beginning reason. New jokes
for new dancers. That's the only rule.
And we search new words
[ 1981, Corpus Christi, TX ]
© 1981 - 2013, Gabriel Thy. All rights reserved.