Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

(2004)

i smoke the hyper perspective
from the imagination of repose,
my head laser aimed at snap
precision, your automatic
erection sprung like bees from
a hive, completely rendered
by the sky song you sing,
indiscretely embezzled,
sped like jets
upon the belly
of an instant.

at first i was resistant
to such ploys... boys will be
boys will be boys, toys will be
toys will be fancied by the young
and the rich and each time
the mist of a quick list pulled me in,
i reconciled myself with the sin
you so offered.

i am rich, infested with your fire,
my desire for frenzied rapture
tells stories.

will you listen?
will you listen?

all birds sing like lutes and lyres,
incessantly quagmired with the intimidation
of spring.

let me take the ring
from the carnival carousel,
merry go round the game,
grab the shining
and put it in
my mouth.

i am on fire, hot like the stolen
penny ante weight guesser,
each win, a neglect
draped in see-through
night garments.

give me your truth
and your worse than liars
and i will hear
your stories
clear
into
my
in
ner
ear

straight
up straight into
my aorta while my neck
is pounding sorta like a strained
catholic confession,
purity lost
beyond
a distorted glass.

nirvana ain't got nothin' on you, baby.
i reach the pique of fragility each
rich and young fancy moment
of imminent spring.

this
is
my
calling,
my earth.

i give birth to untitled documents
because of you. because of you.
because smokey perspectives
tell me why i love
your stories.

you should have given this a title, doreen peri