Desires of the Phoenix

September came with

a sting at the back

of the throat

and such a harsh longing,

deep,

vibrant,

kept me up tossing

till 5 in the fucking morning,

hungry for

the night’s sweet touch,

for she was the only one

that seemed unafraid

at the prospect of my

fire skin consuming her,

phoenix licking my wounds,

even though sometimes

she couldn’t find me

through the storms

I formed and

circled round my eerie head,

hiding me from view.

Slithering through

the open window,

you flitted over

my aching body,

I sigh to the

north and east,

patchwork paces,

haunting on a continuum,

re-tracing soft footsteps

of my childhood Michigan winters,

magic frosts flowing to the rivers,

through the trees

we gather together

our senses,

hot sex rhythms

thumping the

top of the skull

to the base of the spine,

echoes repeating out

vibrations from the vocal chords,

sounds that came

up through the belly

to the head and

bursting out the top

of the brain

in moans erotic,

top hats taken off,

roughly thrust

to the ground who indeed

got a rush

from the thought

of hands and

fleeting frenzy fingers

stretched out to the angels,

gasping in pleasure,

casting me out of my

sorrow bones

which kept me

looking downward at

my bloody toes

most evenings.

And then there was the Sphinx ,

ever watching,

woken up on a Thursday morning,

to feel a sandstorm

round her waist,

and she thought to herself:

the wind seemed angry as of late,

a tinge of tabasco on the tongue,

vinegar dripping down

the earlobes.

Frenchmen leaning

out their windows,

shouting down

to the ladies in the street,

they turned and

gave him the finger.

Seduction should’ve been

a sultry swing,

Thelonious Monk

on the phonograph,

candles oozing and winking

in the cool twilight,

tender lips run along curves,

breath slow but then building

to heavy orgasm sounds and electric quivers

that shook the rafters

of even the most sturdy houses.

But in these tempest times

we settled instead for harsh tire squeals

and a short siren thrill,

pick your poison,

chug it down,

slosh around,

fuck hard and rough

without a hint of passion or embrace,

slink out from under him

when he fell asleep

and squeeze through the floorboards

before he remembers

what he whispered

to me

in the undertow.

You were a unimpressive liar:

women faking stupid,

men faking apathy,

the joker was the only one

found laughing

at the weary games we play.

I watched

cigarettes stain teeth,

apothecaries abandoned

with a shudder

for to bend and contort

to the idols of pharmacy

and forensics.

Media mayhem ate us up,

spat us back out

as gnarled stick figured blond barbies,

to mouth agendas for

Halliburton and Disney,

tango with the demons

of industry,

then tossed aside into mass graves,

screeching for sanctuary.

Oh please,

break the veils of ego

honey,

it isn’t always

about self-promotion and

what you can get out of

every sinkhole situation,

vampires in their cages,

gnashing teeth together

in time with the organ pipes.

Poor dear,

I could tell

in less than

the time breath took

to sink into the lungs

that you still loved her,

a flash of thirst in the eyes

as she walked by

and didn’t even care to notice you.

I could always recognize

a face hiding heartbreak and

it tore at my insides

to see the pain

you hid

and thought only your nightmares

could see,

but no,

I wept for you

in my dreams as well,

kind stranger,

and hoped for healing

in the dawns to come.

Tis so strange and wild

the way heart valves betray us

and how we are really all the same,

wanting to hear our names

shouted out loud through street crowds

with love and craving,

and hands on my hips

in the early hours of the daytime.