It was only a reminder
of what had to go
loose pockets, empty jars
tail of the alligator
cheeks worn slowly
from the hooks
I bore you slowly
I made your face
The whole guru talk tends to get irritating.
What does anyone know? What do I know?
Maybe a Guru is just another version of the nipple. We keep sucking and just can’t let go.
Maybe it’s good, it’s hard to tell when and how the milk -or the attraction will be there- is the problem.
Only the blind bat knows where the black sky goes. Only the mistress can cure His heart. It’s impossible not to see the Guru as mommy. Or, not to love God as daddy, now that gets tricky doesn’t it? Feeling sexy and confused little princess?
Exactly what I’ve been trying to reveal all along.
I think you know where this is going…
the slime before the foreplay.
the heat before the crime.
the forbidden love isn’t dainty at all.
It isn’t a pretty -romance novel style.
This is dog on dog. So get used to it.
That’s why you fight all the time.
That’s why he sits with his head drooping down at the dinner table shoveling in food while you sit there smiling. Your kids doing her math and you feel like everything’s just fine.
Fine and combustible.
It’s the flammable war. Why men are angry and violent and why women despise them with every hot wiggle of the hip, with every flaming red lip, with every ounce of smoldering cleavage they’ve got.
Honestly, it’s because they aren’t getting it on properly. And it’s nobody’s fault but yours.
We’re pulling out weapons in the wrong war.
We’re contradicting ourselves…because the Sex Pain is overshadowing our ability for pleasure,
for peace, for thinking straight at all….
This is the most spiritual thing we can ever do together-go into the place we really aren’t supposed to go. Because you know that we need to, you can deny it -but it won’t change a thing…and we can think of nothing else but how to get inside….
how to make it go our way. How to organize the plate. How to fix our hair or lose weight.
Animals don’t care! It’s all just scent and adjustment. A little more open heat.
It gets really intense and bewildering flirting with all these taboos in our lives, never quite close enough to touch the velvet or to feel the silk. Never deep enough to reach the ending or the beginning.
Where can I take you and what can I do for you?
What do you want from me? A whip or a hug?
Maybe She’s going to be the one who does it Her way. I don’t think you even thought about how far down together we can go.
You know it’s bottomless once you get in…
you won’t ever touch the spot you dream of…
oh, but you’ll keep trying and some call that devotion or ecstasy but nothing and nobody’s coming but the Dream.
Is She enough? Is She in there-cutting you in two? Is He man enough to launch God’s rocket straight into hell,
ignite and burn -way down under? But aren’t we shooting for heaven? is it God really down there? Pain. Bliss. What is it?
Does God have a rifle? Does She eat men for lunch?
I don’t know about you, but these are questions I ask myself.
I know a lot of people who are together but not really. They’re actually apart but have a business plan that holds the “union” in tact. They sleep in separate rooms and talk politely or sometimes she screams while he rolls his eyes. They say it’s because they need “space” they say it’s because they’re beyond the dirty deed. They say it’s because they just don’t feel it. They live separate lives emotionally and the friction is fully contained like leftovers in the freezer (nobody is ever going to eat them so just throw it away)
She believes he is faithful, like that matters?
He believes she’ll stay “safe mommy” forever.
Many have children in the middle of this scheme.
Boys and girls who know more than you think about the problem between mom and dad. They’ll have theirs too- leftovers-
down the line. How do we know? because WE’RE THEM -opening the freezer- looking for yesterday’s food…
This is the calling, the feeding and the purging of our lives. The authentic merging.
To see and feel Sex Pain.
It’s a worse torture to not enter the darkened room at all. We must do it -and we must go where others will not. Break down the door. Break out the whip. Put a leash on him down on all fours. It doesn’t really matter as long as you are sincere. As long as it means something to you. I’m not advocating any wayward fetish, or encouraging sexual misconduct (however you see that)
because seeing goes a long way into the process of total unraveling of identification and condemnation.
Excuses mean nothing. Neither does insecurity and uncertainty.
I know the guy is limp and she’s lifeless.
I know nobody is interested in each other anymore.
THE REASON IS THE MAKER
of all your lies and turmoil. All the reasons you don’t know why.
And this is the reason why:
You closed up shop before anyone even got to
come inside and take a look around. Full length mirrors and a drawer full of change. You had the right idea all along.
So who and what is this Guru?
The Great One who holds the dream of leaving all this filth behind us?
Of making bad things fade and making death a happy place?
Or is it just you hiding in the corner looking at someone else on your screen?
Death and Sex are in your eyes and nowhere else. Pain. Wreckage. Casualties. Redemption. It’s the salvage yard. It’s the vultures in the sky circling and swooping.
That’s what I see in your bedroom eyes.
The Sky Burial of my love.
But since they’ve called it quits and are politely co-existing, the air conditioner still hums in the corner and nobody sweats or ever gets uncomfortable. It’s a perfectly livable, sterile cemetery- with a roof and mowed lawn-disguised as the new mom and dad- with the new baby- that isn’t just you all over again…
We’re doing it different this time. I know the waters black. Whose underneath you keeping you floating? Whose nibbling your toe this time?
I could be eaten by something big and sharp.
I could be right where I started.
I could be a pervert hooked on the rats.
I could be a rainbow beneath you.
Night Owl, you could be my midnight star.
We could be creation without shame and fear.
We could finally know each other- but instead we settle for the moonless night. The black blanket of the Guru. The whore of Babylon. A game of strip tease poker.
You asked for it though didn’t you? A voyeur in a whorehouse watching Her dance and play around you like you were someone big and dangerous. A housewife cutting up the moon, chewing off her foot, doing ANYTHING but you….
“The Guru is God you fool!”
yells a voice from the bedroom.
Now all we need to do is find out who God is…
and let’s STOP FAKING IT -if you know what I mean- because- THATS NOT GOD FOR SURE!
Hunted by Death
blades of light
heart ticking thin
I walk upon the surface
deep thick pain
over grown and tangled
His fingers from the earth
I cling to love uncertain
in the fast throat throb
heart bursting wide
into sweet sounds
and syrup wine
clots of locusts
diffuse the moaning
until She turns around
and bites the beast
She eats the surface
of his laughing face.
And- before He falls -snuffed
and wasted -He opens His dark arms
calling Her His Foment Queen.
“Hasten to the wild jilt.”
Where do I stop and you begin?
It’s all for the end so no one know…
and we probably shouldn’t wait to find out.