Twinkle Toes
Drifting soft
Down the aisles
Like a singular
Sprite...
...Bring this
Glad heart to
A boil, as
I thaw at this sight...
...Of your Mambo in
Motion...
Foxy bottom on
Point!...
Moving like your on
Fire!...
Flushing up like a
Match!...
...Seldom pause
From your
Tapping,
As I bat a free
Lash
At your in concert
Gestures,
And your unequaled
Charm...
Plunging throughout
My night dream!....
...Rising up from
The pool
Of a sensual
Memory
That I keep close
By rule...
...All the droplets of
Water
Clinging onto
Bare skin...
How I adore you!...
...Wishing that you'd
Appear...
As my love has grown
Hungry,
And you chase back
My fear...
Sweet treasure of
Nature!...
My love, and my
Curse...
...What we shared
Is forever!...
By Heart's language
You're versed...
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
Reclaiming the Electric Thing
Yea, I'm one of those
Who just gets lost,
Without a hope or prayer...
I'm one of those
Anesthetized
By the power-driven
Glare
Of the
Television,
In all it's glory...
...Breathing down my
Neck...
Is the world
I've put on ice,
Tonight!...
...I'm beginning to
Suspect
That all is wrecked,
And gone to
Hell...
I'm always too
Far-gone to tell.
Yea, I'm one of those
Who just gets lost...
...Help me, please,
From my defeat!...
I'm one of those
Who just gets lost...
...Leaving no place
To retreat...
...But to your arms,
And to your legs,
And to that purse
That throbs...
...Electric accents
Come and fade,
In the shadow
Of it's knobs,
I lick the spot
That makes you
Shake...
...I bring you
To convulse!...
...And now we are
The Electric Thing...
...Charged, and ready,
With a pulse!...
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
Woman by the Sea
Woman of the hilltop...
Woman by the Sea...
Seen from afar...
...This well-
honed
Sleuth...
...Engrossed in her
Mystery...
...On a reef of
Dereliction,
She's intent to
Guard and drift...
When birds sail
Past this
Place of refuge...
...Two lovely eyes
Abruptly lift.
Woman of the hilltop...
Woman by the Sea!...
...Seen from
Afar,
Her well-honed
Beauty lurks
Amongst the
Fickle trees...
...A Bird of Paradise
Emerges,
As I intend to vaguely
To search...
...Bare-throated
Bellbird
Hovers near...
...Belts music from
Her
Sacred church!
Exotic, elemental
Dreamer...
...Lady who takes care...
Guardian upon
This hilltop.
...Her dreams thicken
The air...
I might have only
Dreamt her
Presence,
As she seems
So far removed
From everything that
Once existed...
...She's throwing
Out the
Book of Rules!
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
A Holy Mess
Heavy tears...
Tumble, and descend...
Hit the dirt,
Stirring
Loosened lives
Again.
Skies flare
Up!...
Irradiate the
Trees!...
Mother earth...
Making her
Unhinged
Pleas...
Don't I realize,
Sweet abiding
One!...
Poison persons...
...Tainting your
Sacred sun...
Turned you angry,
And in desperate
Needs
Of deserved tender-
ness...
...Infinite wonders
Gone to seed.
Heavy tears...
Tumble, and descend...
Hit the dirt,
Stirring
Loosened lives
Again...
...Convulsing walls!...
Dumped like
Rockets
From a plane!...
...Tears of urgency...
Demand we peer
Back through
Our brains...
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
The Drama and the Tragedy
My skin is
Paper thin, but I
Cry out to
Your platform!...
...It's hard to know
Where dice
Will fall...
...I haven't been
Informed...
Sinking in these
Rows of chairs...
...So frenzied
By the sights.
Witness an act
In this playhouse,
Now, almost
Every night.
So troubled by
The magnitude!...
...The grandeur has
Impressed
Me to the point where
I can't move...
...Embittered life,
The test...
Has seemed so distant
From my mind
Since I've come
Here to stall
The drama, and
The tragedy,
That sneaks in
Like a squall.
I'd rather breathe
Through fill-in lips,
An understudy
Slave...
That rests in rows
Of empty chairs,
Unless tonight's a
Rave...
...Then everyone will
Soon return,
And wear their make-
shift glee!...
My skin is thin,
But I'll mix in...
...I've hooked them
To believe
That there is nothing
Strange, or odd...
...I'm just another
Cog.
The drama, and
The tragedy
Has settled in
The fog...
...But is it settled?...
Are we clear...
...Or am I to assume
That there is any
Room to breathe
In this stifling tomb
Of entertainment,
And deceit?...
I'll be swept up
If I don't beat
It out the exits,
Before red shroud
Has toppled down,
And made his proud
Insistence that we
Have been tricked...
My skin is paper thin...
...My wit
Sinks down into these
Chairs...
...This is my rock...
My cross to bear....
...My drama, and
My drain...
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
The Weeping Well
I've been confounded by
The Weeping Well...
...The Seeking Well...
...The Peeping Well...
I've been confounded by
The Weeping Well...
...The Seeking Well...
...The Peeping Well...
...Cat caught my
Tongue...
...Now our hour
Is done.
...Though there's quotas
In which we all fall...
...Come now
To claim lives
All according to
Tables,
Though you dreamt it
Was wise
To attach flaccid
Cables...
I've been confounded by
The Weeping Well...
...The Seeking Well...
...The Peeping Well...
I've been confounded by
The Weeping Well...
...The Seeking Well...
...The Peeping Well...
Outside my storm
Window,
I see many eyes...
...In the seedlings,
And branches
That initiate sight...
...There's truth
Everywhere,
If you just read the
Signs...
...Your beauty
Revealed,
Radiates under
Light!...
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
[continentals]
this cross to bear,
bending, graceless —
sun rising over budapest
through a round
aeroplane window.
wilfully ending
warm light, cold days,
constructing bridges out of
pipe dreams,
and lying beneath them,
pretending not to
love the stars.
only stillness:
still remembering
white snow melting in
the rain,
while the sun
is just too loud
and incessant.
before a gasp for air,
these bodies carried so far
from shore,
so we cannot
have funerals for terrorists;
such shallow earth.
if those are silhouettes,
then touch them — go inside,
try to make love
to what is
not there.
and april lays down
between these foam-green
fenceposts,
where past is blurring
into the sound
of cracking ice.
last night, i couldn't sleep.
i took the a line
to the city centre
and took photographs
of the mist.
this is how (not) to love her:
I.
when she looks at you,
keep your eyes on the lighting panels.
adjust aperture. refocus.
she is just colours
on a white backdrop, a green-screen,
and not yours to touch.
II.
when she laughs for effect,
blink away the stardust in your lashes.
capture the moment. undo it.
she is just a studio body
in greyscale on a freeway billboard,
and not yours to have.
III.
when she turns fabric to skin,
don't look past what you're paid for.
shutter-speed. ask her to move.
she is just waxed skin,
gleaming sun-bronze in warm light,
and not yours to want.
IV.
when she spreads her legs
for the camera lens, remember
to avoid overexposure.
she is just santiago,
and blue hair, those grey eyes,
and not yours to love.
who were you not in love with?
the wild that rose up
from a bed of ashes. which was
surrounded by chrysanthemums.
and there was
all quiet around it. all summer,
it was the video games and black tea,
and who were you not in love with?
it was just july, only
the seventh month of the year.
yet like lighting lines of baking soda,
nothing makes meaning out of life.
which imitates art, and is
not dependent on what meaning
may be extracted. may tolerate
a misspelling on a napkin
as innovation, because
everyone knows success is stagnation.
play house with a half-box of trojans.
you think that's maybe why mornings
look like bacardi-lolita-fractured-flashes
of shameless moments and briefly loosening
to find the spring has disjointed itself.
now in parts: chrysanthemums, dry brooks
dry ashes. but where was the fire —
and who were you not in love with?
the startled that rose up
from an unloaded nest. where
the children are asleep
in the tip; memories of what is
in the future, which is august.
that is not spring
anymore, or approaching.
that is not feeling, or even aware
of an existence of meaning.
and who were you not in love with?
