beading

i pierced the couch with a violent eye

and passionately tried to thread beads

on a leather string

suddenly a fervent rage overcame me

and i started to fuck the glass balls

with a cord too thick for any such hole

i screamed beneath my breath so as not to

wake belle, and punched the sides of my head

like an angry gorilla during heat

be it the lack of cooperation,

stress, or old perfectionist tendencies,

but i had cracked, made a slave to a handful of glass

that was when i knew

i needed less wine, more structure

and an art project that didn't require nimble fingers.

no cuhunas

i knew you with balls

but took a recent census

and found your grove

had lost its nuts.

call it middle age,

or the be-witching

hour, but what the

heck happened

to the bone

that broke

your

self respect

and now you

only ring when

lady bird

flies da coup.

i miss those

prophecies of

i, self,

divine

and hope your

cuhunas

return home,

once again, brother.

anticipated

i'm waiting and

compulsively tugging

the half inch too long

hair on my neck

perhaps i've always

felt yearning in

greater magnitude

than most

but right now

feels like the first time

i ever wanted that call

from someone

and it's silly because

i wouldn't know

what to do

with it anyway.

phone sex

i wonder how many times i've called

and asked, "whatcha been up to?"

where you replied, "not much and you?"

when but seconds earlier

you were in the throws of

fucking yourself

so hard that

upon answering,

you lost momentary consciousness.

it's been a long time since

you came honestly

in my ear.

hmm...

rain wonder

hit

mute

to find

rain,

refrigerator

humming

hymns.

no room

to write

lately,

boxes,

lawyers,

kids.

so soon

contemplating

mantras,

underpants,

biz.

girl titillating

a new moon,

a fresh man,

mist.

knowledge

for too

long,

and

too sure

of

becoming

just

this.

thank you

for knowing

me

rightfully

as

is.

here's to the journey

with belle

in the bath,

i study

the lines,

the smile,

mirrored in

my image.

there i am

that infamous explorer

drunk and wild,

riding the north star

into storms

and heavens

only adventurers

know.

my first mate beckons

from a sea of bubbles

and i know it's time

to travel downstairs,

downstream -

to find our port and name it

with pen.

goodnight my

sweet love

may the wind

always be at our backs and

the sunshine warm

upon our faces

now

until forever.

shootin' hoop

i've been

engaged to a

mr.

and we played

one-on-one

in a closed court

but that hoop

hung our

knuckle ball

and my dish

ran away with

a spoon

no honey do

list here -

just a, to do

because i'm busy

shootin' free throws

to score a better me

and wonder if mrs.

will ever be a trophy

by my bed