stacking the sundeck

on the rabid red sundeck at noon,

slurped a few neon green popsicle puddles

with a crow haired amateur illusionist

I’d met at my adrenaline junkies

anonymous meeting last week.

 

her miraculous constitution shimmered

like an oily hallelujah beneath

the devil’s own heat lamp.

 

my beached noodle looked more

like a piece of dry grilled chicken

that had errantly fallen into

the steamy steak tub

at the Happy Warrior Buffet,

 

but, I figured that, through practice

and dedication, she could, eventually

turn me into some-sexy-monster

long enough to fire the rusty cannon

one more round!

 

she was squawking dented dirges about a schizoid dove

eating a white rabbit inside of her purple top hat,

but I was too busy ogling a sugar cube-

sized trickle of salty yumminess

slowly swimming the length of her Promise Land.

 

then the moment grew horns.

holy buffalo!

this rose was actually about to bloom!

 

felt the dream demon giggle in my belly.

thoughts swung hard, from green M&Ms

to red air raid sirens in a matter of shallow breaths.

 

thank the ghost of John Wheeler

I wasn’t the only unstable jar of chemicals

on that sizzling shelf.

 

manic silence fell like Aphrodite’s golden panties.

soft hazel eyes turned to malachite aflame.
we both morphed into mid-day werewolves,

and tore the flesh from one another’s drumsticks

right there in our private spotlight.

 

after our healthy psychosexual fireworks fiesta,

she limped back to her den

for a beer buzz baptism &

some shallow fried Eucharist.

 

and, here I am,

joyfully stagger-crawling my grateful corpse

back to cave 107 to reconfigure my wiggly cells

and, if I can find the gumption,

call everyone I know to tell them

that my wounded pet tiger

whom I’ve been mourning for half a month

still has a drumbeat left

to his dusty symphony.

 

best day off I’ve had since

that novice blond bullfrog surgeon

put the hop back in my ribbit

last November.

 

just wish I were a better pleasure hunter.

need more wild love, and less tame aggravation.

perhaps I should join a congregation;

heard those sweaty church people hump like dragons

and talk like stones.

 

tally-ho!

salvation awaits!

“see you in Hell boys!”

Reviews

[roarke]

ok, great piece.... needs a bit of space, stretch it a bit so the rest of us can catch up if not keep up... lol.

Aside from that, this has LOTS of stuff, juicy stuff that the reader's mind just wants to run away with. Take any one of these stanza's? and you can create a page, a chapter, a whole novel from it just with a single thought.

btw..... explain again where and how you meet these nymphonic love demons.....talk slow, I'm taking notes

[Kenneth The Poet]

Been a while for me. F*****g excellent brother, you write borderline schizophrenia like I write math.

[WhiteWillow]

I'll have what he's having...

[Brad]

let me be the brothah to stand up and give you an oily "HALLELUJAH!!!!"

testify!!

[Ruth]

I think I have just experienced the oddest combination, I am listening to Enya as I read this lol
Well...that made my day...as always when I read a post from you love, I am challenged for the next few hours to think of anything else...perfection! xoxo

[jennifer little]

good job well done

[Poetic Beauty]

I love this piece from start to finish. Gotta love those moments and then its like wait it could have been better. Ahh and lets not get started on church people. There are people who are spiritual and then there are those who go to church because they think that will get you into heaven simply because you sit in an uncomfortable pew for a few hours. Not happening if you just sit there. The details are funny at times but are a bit true.

[EMF]

Where do I begin? Tradition dictates I start at the beginning, but I'm not one for tradition. Errect left stimulation. Head around bounce images tactile. Wonderful. Damn hard to do it backward. Stunning mate. Simply stunning

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

It reeks of emotional turmoil and pre-dated relaxation, well done, good read.

[freelancejouster]

the endings always get me. be it last line or last few stanzas. "sweaty church people hump like dragons and talk like stones." brilliantly. i laughed but it must've sounded more like a yelp because i had a few classmates turn, concerned, in my direction. can't exactly explain it, can it?

you tell stories like my alzheimeric grandfather does, though in completely different words. he speaks strands that weave within eachother and some are completely irrelevant and a lot of it doesn't make sense but i love hearing them and they're incredibily interesting.