Today, shopkeepers seduced pot-bellied old men
with brand-new cars, sleek and fast,
with shiny chrome that rubbed their trousers
and kissed them romantically
and guaranteed to stop lonesomeness.
Erstwhile minds backpedaled on leather seats.
Stale memories surfaced and breathed new air.
Deals were struck in brown cubicles
under the breath of fresh coffee.
What she feared most kicked and scratched in the backseat
of a yellow Pantera,
wanting to grow big enough to crawl out
and seduce her all over again
while her husband and she waited
for his father to sign the lease
as wordy as Shakespeare but lacking any color.
She stayed away from the thing of her past
that once bit her crotch for the taste of her sex.
Some memories are the turmoil
of a soul knotted like hair in vomit
where forlornness and tumultuousness sting.
I don’t spend as much time online as many of my colleagues, friends and family do. Many of them are bold and brave and post a lot about themselves at Facebook and Twitter and other social sites. They have hundreds of friends and followers and perhaps a handful of stalkers who read their blogs and like everything they post. They have pictures of their homes, family and pets that they show off daily. They are the brilliant and courageous people in life who color the internet interesting.
Then there’s me.
I don’t spend much time online. I don’t have pictures of my home, family and pets that I show off. I’m not brilliant and courageous who colors the internet interesting. I’m quiet, thoughtful, and shy to the point that I rarely start conversations. And when I do, I rarely talk about myself.
When I posted vacation photos at my website years ago, viewers were upset because there were no photos of me. I’m not a selfie person, though I do occasionally point my camera or phone at my face … and cringe every time I do. I don’t give out private information either. For that, I’ve been accused of not being real. I’ve even been accused of being a man posing as a woman. The internet is full of crazies, and a lot of them spend plenty of time finger pointing.
Which leads to the purpose of this post.
Photos. Me. From childhood to adulthood. A few with family and old friends. Some of vacations. No explanations. Just 23 photos of me.
Maybe next week I’ll post photos of my children and our dogs. We’ll see.
You rub against me
beyond your knitted walls
Then run from the drum of my heart
and hide your empty stares
You are wingless
in your world of mocking corpses
You bleed broken knuckles against the door to empty stairs
Your shoelaces are the noose of a hanged man
whose soles are almost dead
You break the eggs of the future
with your fists of dead flowers
You watch me paralyzed until you take me
to the past of faded worlds
in your halls of feeble footsteps
You hide from the echoes of a life you’ve never lived
Your fingers bleed to open empty cameras
and nail me to the windows of your eyes
You lift me
Arousing and ascending my senses
You take me from reveille to climax in many ways
I come again on the crests of seismic waves
And cry in the cherished height away from the wounds below
The devil earth waits impatient and loud
Ready to pull me down where false lights are like headlamps to moths—
The big strip tease that pokes and stirs nothing there
So you lift me
Over and over and over again
The rhythm of our wholeness
From reveille to climax on seismic waves
Where I discovered inside perpetual absoluteness
The great heights of two people unselfish
Together in ecstatic love
Answers to last Tuesday’s puzzle, Child’s Play:
- His aunt gave Dennis the pipe bomb that no longer shines. (Answered in section 3.)
- His old lady/mother gave Dennis the tommy gun that now misfires. (Answered in sections 3 and 4.)
- His grandmother gave Dennis the grenades that now have fading paint. (Answered in sections 2 and 3.)
- His old man/father gave Dennis the thumb screws that have since cracked. (Answered in sections 1, 2 and 5.)
- His grandfather gave Dennis the dart gun that now is scratched. (Answered in sections 1 and 4.)