Naked Confession

As we lay spent, naked, and intermingled, he confessed.

“For years, I never had a girl friend. And, I had housemates. And, on Friday and Saturday nights, the walls would almost cave in with all their fucking. And, I would be sitting in my room alone. It’s nice to have somebody to love. Especially, someone like –” he garbles his last word as he lightly sucks my hip.

It sounded like he said “Cain,” but I know he said “you.”

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My Daddy

My Daddy used to always say no one ever won the Marlboro contests. They were all scams. I just knew the Marlboro man was more true than my old man.

My Daddy died of a heart attack when our shed caught fire in a surprise, summer thunder storm.

The smoke and flame seemed like another creature than on my Marlboro Red tips.

I lost my Daddy without ever showing him I was a winner.

Now, I think about him whenever I feel the clunk of my Marlboro thermos against my leg.

Red fire and hot coffee.

change carousel

daddy imparts

“don’t change horses in mid-”

sentences punctuated

with beauty marks.

 

moles develop;

ugly personal growth.

 

we

become

universal and magnificent.

 

apple honey scented candles

remain unlit as

we forge ahead forgetting

jubilation.

 

creative futility

drops.

 

word entertainment

suspended

as skulls twist

to

oscar.

they flee from me

i.

boundless,
unimperical,
free,
we misunderstand
limitations.

love transformers,
more than meets
the eyes.

ii.

our cramped,
furtive, desperate
ill-fated love
morphs.

a force entraps.

we discuss.

i determine you.

the aclu
demands
you cease
and desist
your false
advertising
and macho
misrepresentation.

you swat stinging truth
and scream,
“suck my patriarchy.”

abused and vengeful,
truth murders your
understanding mask.

ignored folk burst and
mock your nude face.

iii.

revisionists,
no one learns
from ancient frog
fables.

iv.

bodiless, virtual love
fills my throbbing
in box and
ghost writes
poetic screen
savers.

v.

pierced and sculpted,
your body mutilations
warm my
winter oak
melting iced trunks
into wooden wetness.

your ready bush hides
and drenches the dry forest.
the trees are barren.

listen.

they flee from me.