Heaven Used To Be Her Playground

How can I compare?

When you’re used to the eyes in a Deity’s stare

How can I exist?

         When you’re used to the kiss from a God’s lips

How can I begin?

         When you’re used to the words of cherubim

How can I believe?

         When you’re used to the promise of eternity

How can I sate?

         When you’re used to ambrosia on your plate

How can I trust?

         When the Gods could not satisfy your lust

Heaven was your playground

         On cirrus fields you’d chase

Heaven was your playground

         In lakes of mead you’d bathe

There wasn’t pain; there wasn’t shame

There was always light; it was never night

         Whereas here, it cannot be said the same,

                                    It cannot be said the same

Mercurial Rising

Bluster of the simmer code// arranged-mister- perfuming harbor-harbormaster, vigor, vignette, vinaigrette, and VOICELESS aggregate

Pejoratively pejorative deprecatory//tersely trimmed: rations built by polyps scantily besperpled all about. Strewn the streets in voided locks

Bluster of fluff and the unsubstantiated cavalry of somersaulting tambourines.

His daughter was a merchant.  She wished to be an actress.  She dreamed in fairy tales- worlds furthest away from a chastising, cigar-wielding boss of a man.  His daughter, dressed to Sunday’s best, skipped the service talk, jogged around the holy block, dress flocking to the wind, upskirt sentimentality, pickets picked for curls.

To the boys in the corner shade, she searched until they no longer could evade.  She earned the sum.  She sold the goods and now a merkin she would own, to guard her pretty.  (All the result of a dumb magazine story, where “you ain’t getting nowhere in Hollywood until you got the goods, and if you got the goods-then you’d be best advised to guard them good.”  Well she thought, I’m a merchant as much as anyone else, I got the goods.  But to defend- well that she could not pretend.

Tautologies- again and again, over and over

The Diagrams of Venn are missing a few relationships- they can’t account for those unknown.

Oh no, the vang broke- snap, snappity, snap

The ambrosia was made especially for you

But there’s still dessert

Barely able to take another bite

Everything was so delicious

Like seltzer

She settles me

She makes the ordinary beautiful

Fork to plate-fork to mouth

I can’t stop watching her

My eyes can’t focus elsewhere

Eye to eye again

How does God choose his blessings?

Times like these I wonder

 Cheeks redden both

                                             Eyes meet steady long

Perfection meets me at the door

Wretched, Beloved

I never was,

I could not be,

Meandering in a bloodless flow,

What’s obscure for you, is clarity to me,

 Upfront,
Determined,

This woman would not let this go,

Quietly I refute each advance,

Yet she forced upon me a recant,

Persistence is a pestilence to the uninitiated,

And its vaccine firmly rests upon her lips,

 Ever obstacle, every stage,

I could not avoid,

Impossible to evade,

This wretched, beloved,

Intent on saving me,

I hate this, countless regressions, dispossessions of

Powerless ambivalence,

I love her, each day more than the one before,

Succumbed to this portent rising, an impetus

I still don’t have an answer to,

A question I’ve lost long ago.