Accessorizing.A mustard yellow sun, the size of a bottle cap
Knitted with black sunglasses on.
Sliding clip released the pin.
I stuck the point through my shirt's fabric skin.
A phantom sound when it broke the surface once, twice.
Sweet Rhymes Dude.My self portrait wasn't counterfeit, although
You won't acquit me of some bit on death row for that.
You spat on my fancy handkerchief but kept it brief, the blood
smeared on the gold leaf; you gave some grief but held no flood back.
Attack with a smile that could only beguile the best of minds
All the while I'll claim the style as mine this time.
"Sweet rhymes dude," I said to mime you, feign strength
Only to stymie your upward climb and lengthen my wit.
Quicksand Mass Grave.I've led you onto some trail like this before.
The linen lines wave shirts and flow
Guiding you to something like a home.
I've led you on;
Your eyes speak soliloquies and roam.
An empty house on an empty sand dune.
The sunning lizard's tongue rescinds
Tasting you there on the wind.
And with your filth it bolts;
It's tasted your kind on the air before.
Limit to Lungs.We take a dip in the pool
And fuck with our eyes
At least you were fucked by mine.
You suck in a breath
Submerge your head
Sinking dead as bubbles rise.
I held you there
Skin touching mine
You are thrilled, eyes rolling wide.
Tripoli and Tripoli.
Drinking the sun in, the palm trees sway on
Four little islands above the sea floor.
Can the waves be heard babbling
Salt on the sand of a Lebanese shore?
No, but the archway sings with wind blow
As the Sunnis flutter and kneel.
Pine trees and mountains somewhere, forever,
Know how Muhammad truly would feel.
Not much further away, just down the beach,
A city ten times its size juts to the water.
Mediterranean blue touches streets of
Hobbled buildings slightly hotter.
Sharing the same name, a magnification,
Highlights the weaknesses of human culture.
Phoenician roots bind trees growing up
in the desert air roosting twin vultures.
And so as I realize the rarity
Of finding two Tripolis on one sea
My sense is dulled to the feel of variety
As I wait for another to make me less unique.
Bring in the Next One.Hipbones jut modelesque
Strut, dear, picturesque
Capture so risqué
The price we pay.
Develop polaroid eyes
Fading into diffuse light
Pastel pastiche pasteurized
And milky cataract foresight.
Mouth words we say
You are the industry
Or it's face at least
Barely time for play.
Croon your neck arched
An image chemistry
Imagined blackroom beasts.
Body perfection breaks the clocks
You are now eternal! beautiful! photo!
I Am Cataloging You.In your endless sunshine
I am cataloging you.
I hope that I can categorize
Your facial cues.
It must be of the mountains
That wildfire in your shoes.
(The blaze that makes you step quick on your sexy hiker's legs)
Icicle and cold white wine
Create the warmth in your eyes blue.
Island sands glinting wise
Tan your skin it's outdoor hue.
Incremental trips to the fountain
Built up your mind's natural youth.
(The muscle that is stronger than all, even those arms that held me)
There is this physical entity to you, this need to capture you in words...
I cannot explain it any way besides
Those lines that tighten under your skin when you walk ahead of me.