aerialize easily

big proud silks bake bread

inquire freely

long shot brat head dead

summer loosely

rick told sick back pled

yellow million

toss dart cake tick bled

veined velvet

bloodshot

has grown insatiable

now nubile

and stretching

to seduce the sky

midnight

left only

the sweat of its longing

i wanted a storm

so i dreamed one up.

it was a delirious mess but i lived in it

still bitter and mad

at the raining sky

and at the wind for screaming.

you were longing for a lover

while me, almost a corpse

wouldn't let your hands restart

my heart for my remorse

I grew colder by the day

a depleting source of heat

and I left you like the sun in winter

regretting my retreat.

i felt love

you felt lust

we gave in to each other.

it sounds equal

except

you get to be inside me twice.

enter a dimensional orgasmic journey

woven with time and space,

bestowing you,

like crown to king,

to sacrificial momentary pleasure 

at the low low price of

happiness.

ride these highs often enough to forget

that they are

plunging depths of pyrite charisma

like Ted Bundy,

like Jesus,

like the mirror when it tells you who you are.

time folds in on you like a Mobius strip

and you almost don’t notice

that you are handing over your infinite past to

the hell-bent clutches

of a lie.

you are the pride and joy of a sociopath,

your willpower the arm candy of your own misery.

there are holes in your psyche

leaking fear into your bloodstream and

you can’t live without them.

          you are wound too tightly

to expend yourself

on lust.

          I am too preoccupied

to not.

          how did we end up

putting one obsessive-compulsive poet

inside another

without a contingency plan?

(or: "poetry prompt from drunk gay friend")

One morning in the wood came he

A twinkle in his eye

As twee a sprig as sprigs can be

His mouth was gaping wide.

In the great Sequoia forest

Entranced he was by size

“Daddy, it’s so big,” he said

It shoots up to the sky!”

As eager boys are wont to do

He begged his Dad for seeds

But his backyard’s not big enough

For a Sequoia tree.

Upon a stump he sat and cried

Unripe to bear the load

’Til “son, we’ll plant a smaller tree,

And you can watch it grow.”

Well twee a sprig (as sprigs can be)

He spun a roundabout

Inside he felt a burst of glee

And gaily pranced about.

Like any friend of Dorothy sure

No place like home he knew

Though ruby slippers had he not

A red maple would do.

Into the dirt they put in work

Digging in with a hoe

Tossing their seeds inside the pit

And covering the hole.

Sapling young to sturdy and stiff

The maple did yet rise

A hammock hung between its boughs

It was the perfect size.

But the maple heard the legends

Of trunks so thick and long

Ne’er a wanderer on the earth

to fit one in their arms.

Standing strong with reddened tips

Erect against the breeze

Inside still felt itself cut down—

The stumpiest of trees.

Tapped for sap to feed the boy

All the syrup it can give

It still felt drained and impotent

Naught but a hollow twig.

One morning in the yard came he

With friends he brought to swing

And climb and hide and play and jest

Hung on the maple’s wings.

“If I could be contented so…”

The tree mused to itself

“For if I had a larger trunk

Perhaps I’d be more help.”

Beneath its bark the biting thoughts

The boy would woe to see

The maple was his pride and joy

Arisen from his seed.

(Plus his backyard would never fit

A big Sequoia tree.)

In this nose

I’ll surely languish

useless and

not even fragrant;

I don’t know why

fate has picked me

to dangle here

eternally.