Experiments in the Art of Mastering None
Thoughts go the way of the music, Feet sway the way of the crowd. Mouth moves the way of the stillness, Red river stampeding loud. Wet jazz, silt between fingers, Shadows that drift the way of the dunes, I search for your rhythms In atonement for pleasures That vacate the body too soon. … Continue reading The Way of the Music
I first got a seedling of an idea for “Miss Cherry,” a short erotic romance, a few months ago. Below is an excerpt from the beginning. It wasn’t until he’d intercepted the third portion of the manuscript that Rex Lawson decided to write back. It was there, within that volume of unchaptered pages, that the heroine, … Continue reading Miss Cherry, Part I
I began composing the following lines as an introduction to a (now forthcoming) post titled, “On the Eroticism of Everyday Life.” As I wrote it, the section seemed to take on a life of its own and, in its entirety, appears more like a preface to a much larger work than the introduction to a blog … Continue reading The Used Life: An Experiment in Making Meaning
I. The hot flow of your hands softens my curled up edges irons the crumpled pages of my little leather notebook. II. Your mouth is a bridge of speech and lightning that shelters my belly from the quake. III. I read the typography of your thoughts on an axis of bent … Continue reading Four Untitled Poems
For as long as I can remember, my relationship to my creative endeavors has been marked by a strong desire to recoil. This is especially true of writing projects, past and present, and very well may include this blog post, which I might never look at again after I hit “Publish” (although, truthfully, this type … Continue reading Flinch.
Taken I want to enter the den of your thoughts Like a snake slips into a birdhouse. I want your fingers to comb my body like a bird, You breathe a ring of smoke encircles my thighs. I want to scale you like a mountain. I want to pulverize you like hot stone. I want … Continue reading Two Poems: “Taken” and “Man at the Bar”
I shall call myself the madam of a house of literary prostitution. – Anaïs Nin I am the chattel of the sensual, mistress of the ecstatic, servant of a ripened imagination. I shall call myself a seductress, a courtesan of temptation. I am a voyeur of the most violatory order. I am a maker of … Continue reading Pillow Talk #2: Madam
