Or at least to be never perused again. What’s a still viable little verse to do?
Gather dust and rust and suffer the top-down injustice of that linear scroll (read READER) that buries and tombs the still lyrical, so as to placate and patronize the ever present presently.
That ain’t no mumbo jumbo. If you can’t look past the present, you’ll never ever sight the future.
So …
Gung-Ho
my creative flow
is just below
a buckle of
good intentions
starts gung-ho
that creative flow
peters out
in soft circumventions
my ruminative woe
trumps stimulative go
and chuckles at
native pretensions
my creative flow
is thusly below
a belt holding up
my conventions
Tack Into The Wind
her long legs make me
mutter
how her long legs make me
shudder
as I watch her heel to
rudder
tack into the wind
Clue
high heels
on hardwood
floor me
some frames
border fetish
margin call
must lust
rust rigid
sentimentality
dangled shoe
a red herring
after all
Your Eyes
If I favor your leg
are you subject to fetish
when it’s your gait
I’m really queer for
if I amend that to say…
it’s how you carry yourself,
walk the talk.
do I lie, dissemble
or tattle-tale
When I was a little boy growing up decades, and at least— four culture shifts since…the way back then… ladies didn’t seem to cotton up to having their ears pierced. They favored those clip on ear-ring things. I was fascinated by how a women would remove said ear-ring thing when answering a telephone.
Each ladies technique was a bit different, but they all had their own style and grace. I believe this was my very first conscious erotic understanding. And it’s never left me.
