Fire like a soft persistent rain on an unsettled night: We sit in ripples around the warmth, drinking manmade sun, drinking quiet conversation. Soaked sweaters heavy with stories burning through the skin, drinking in.
If you can’t beat the heat, greet the beat. Retreat from the sizzling concrete and steep in dizzying, busying, beat. Spicy salsa, mango tango, hot spot foxtrot, merengue marangue – Overtures of soul so bold our minds perkolate while crumpled limbs unfold. Steaming grooves leave you free to move. Keep refrigerated after opening? Beat doesn’t tire, stop, or expire. Beat races a pace to inspire with graceful desire. Fan jammed? Get jammin. Thermostat blew? Boom a boombox tune. Photon filled and sun-stuffed, dance until the summer’s up.
This is the first poem I ever wrote [5/2010]. It’s supposed to be spoken word, or “slam poetry.”It doesn’t matter if you get fatter. And it wouldn’t matter if you were “flatter” What matters is your love of cats, your orange-rind snacks, and your irretractable, burning lust for learning – cause that‘s what attracts. So I’m going brains, or, bust. And while I’m yearning I must clarify; that this bust (.)(.) just ain’t enough for me. I’d rather discuss Newton’s apple than new diet gluten-free Snapple, so GIRLS! Get your mind off the scale, and for God’s sake it’s OK to be pale. This focus on mass times gravity results in weighted depravity, and fleeing from your skin tone leaves you even more prone to cancerous tumors of unvanquished rancorous rumors: “Am I too tan? Pale? Tall? Or too frail, too big, or too small?” There’s only one correct answer that I’ve ever heard. I wanna hear you say these three words: I love me I love me I love me but even ten thousand times a day doesn’t pay respect to the expectations I detect and next time you inspect yourself, go more than skin deep and keep dreaming, keep gleaming, because from the head on her neck, to the souls on her feet, you’re the one that I seek. And if you CoverGirl her up, I’ll peak right underneath, cause anything other than the real you just doesn’t fucking matter.
Your eyes two lanterns glowing green
They warn of troubles in the seas
Pursuing the enticing gleam
I lose myself at sea with ease
In search of shore I choke on foam
The waters’ secrets stay unknown
Protective ice becomes your shield
Your thoughts and contents tightly sealed
Touch only to freeze
Grasp only to bleed
Lapping waves I share alone
I’m starting a blog I guess! It’s gonna have all kinds of stuff — from little thoughts to big ones, varying in degrees of poetry.