Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man ! My man !
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan ! Io Pan .
Io Pan ! Io Pan ! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady !
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and styrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
......
I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping
tongues of old men, licking the breeze.
......
FLOOD-TIDE below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face
to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious
you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning
home, are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to
me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.
......
***
1
they would divulge
his archetypes were nicotine fetishists,
sluts and alcohol drudges, indulged by stimulants,
the witchcraft of which, results in a twitch
flinching submortem, enriched by the glitch into screeching
...
......
Many are making love. Up above, the angels
in the unshaken ether and crystal of human longing
are braiding one another's hair, which is strawberry blond
and the texture of cold rivers. They glance
down from time to time at the awkward ecstasy—
it must look to them like featherless birds
splashing in the spring puddle of a bed—
and then one woman, she is about to come,
peels back the man's shut eyelids and says,
look at me, and he does. Or is it the man
......
Lust glows slyly in her eyes.
'Your eyes are your soul's mirrors', they say.
I cast a stare inside those clear blue lakes of hers.
What hidden desires sleep deep within you
My little-innocent one?
Inexplicably her flaming gaze pierces through my skin
Boils my blood, quivers my heart.
'I can't sleep anymore!
I think of you! '
......
This heat, confrontational;
chips carried on shoulder.
Never breathe, think,
speak, drink till closer
bringing itself in you.
Addictions begin to
blossom. Whore house
posse; optics lopping.
Spun room; coughing.
Hid moon. Tossing.
......
These are heretical poems about God, religion, the Bible and the Christian religion.
When I Was Small, I Grew
by Michael R. Burch
When I was small,
God held me in thrall:
Yes, He was my All
......
You've got the cans,
and I've got my hands on your face.
You brush past my breast,
can't wait for the rest.
Can finally feel this heart beating
Whisper in my ear about leaving
They all know what's happening.
Door buzzer. Butterflies flutter.
You shout Baby through the intercom
......
In the sacred silence of this moment,
I kneel before you, my Lord,
burdened by the weight of my transgressions.
My soul trembles, confessing
the sins that have stained the fabric of my being.
Oh, forgive me, Almighty,
for straying from the path of righteousness
and betraying the values you have bestowed upon me.
I have succumbed to the allure of fleeting pleasures,
......