NonSequitur's blog

I am lashed to a gypsy boy

by one colossal sky.

when this universe becomes a cage

I remember that his eyes are

black holes, magnetic dripping wounds,

and through them

we could probably tunnel our way ascendant.

I will miss you, gypsy brother

on the sometime day when

your pain is no longer a false alarm.

if nothing else,

remember the morning

I swore it was just one of those in-between gigs -

a nice fiscal pick-me-up between my English B.A

and my philosophy post-grad.

But there's no demand for nattering Nietzscheans, it seems,

so here I remain,

making martyrs of the brats whose hall passes I deny,

and confiscating gum from the ones smarter than me.

In their skinny jeans and gangsta pants

those kids are brewing the next sexual revolution.

Your particular neurosis is oddly placid:

the lukewarm tension of overwatered coffee

with a streak of malice

like chai too brutally peppered.

Sodden in the dregs is an aching sadness:

like the gin you tipsily told me

you needed to get through the day.

Your lips were slick with gin when

you pushed your tongue inside of me

as though the marriage of sex and drink

had birthed a drug slightly too lethal for words.

love me down like a bone

like a harsh moan

like a punch thrown

   against those cold bones

   from bitter ash so gingerly sewn

kiss me down where bile is grown

smack me down on that ancient throne

and torture out

   a long harsh moan.

dear fairy godmother, i wished too hard on a dying star:

give me back my workaday sunrise

and every view i no longer see

since my prince's smile shattered mirrors

and narrowed my world to the scope of his arms.

give me back washtubs

and village children slinging berries

and the freedom inherent in never being seen

ivory towers are much darker on the inside:

my dreams play out in a room with a view

but i'd settle