Tuesday, June 06, 2017

Writer's Blocked

It isn’t measured in units;
its cost or removal does not exchange with any currency;
there is no sum to its infinite angles;
it has all the weight and none,
matterlessly it matters;
it frustrates everything by doing nothing;
no map can be shaped or draped or drawn around its edges;
it comes and goes without ever passing,
like the worst parts of a kidney stone;
it blinds with blind intention,
a mute cacophony of monotonicity;
…capricious and fickle and unchanging…
wet nurse Cerberus to the stillborn;
it is the arsonist in the firehouse and the hole in the donut;
the significantly signified screaming silence overtaking all the sound and the fury;
the one way roundabout with closed exits on life’s highway;
it is the undug grave next to the church whose foundation’s first stone was
laid long after we killed and buried with our bare hands the last gods;
it is the optic disk in your vision test;
the vibration in your pocket when you know you forgot your phone;
the “out of order” sign that comes up after you used your last dollar for a Coke.

The only way
out  of nowhere
is through.


Longing and lust
and inflamed
senses, ideas, and dreams
dancing expanding visions
floating organic geometries of
inverting and inter-secting
forms that drive and dive
and push and pull and pulse
and plunge and ride;

gasp and grasp and grapple and grab
all hungry hands and mouths
and skin and sheets and nails and teeth,
searching interlocking exploring fingers
tongues and deep
connections lubricated by sweat sheened
lines which lie between
begin to leak and streak and bead
becoming the coming consuming
fire, fueling flares, fanning infatuating fantasies
of fantastic orgasmic quivering shaking
moaning exploding
releasing eternities.