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To the winos and the connoisseurs

But you must already know these things, no?

Then have a little titter at the expense of this neophyte initiate.

When I drink, it’s usually a beer or two (rarely three).

Upon a time, it was good rye whisky-

neat, please, and room temperature.

On Christmas past, someone brought a one and a half litre bottle

of Black Tower Rivaner Rhine wine.

It’s been in my fridge since then, unopened,

until a day or two or three ago.

At which time I felt like a drink.

Not used to wine, I gulped it a bit.

But then, you know,

it left a pleasant afterglow.

And so I sipped,

coating my mouth with the perfume.

Taste buds as erect as chilled nipples,

sprouting new branches.

Such fine detectives.

No need for sudden buzz, now.

Savor.  Lengthen.  Make the glass last.

But alas the glass did pass,

save for a single drop perceived.

Wet the tongue tip just once more.

Fire up the city lights, I pray,

A’fore one last lullaby.

It was a dark and stormy night…

Storms don’t bother him any more.
The rumble and tumble of distant thunder
brings a modest smile to his face,
and one could guess, from his inward look, its peculiar comfort.

In his mind are the blankets of his childhood bed.
Dirty grey and dark inside,
but soft and safe.
Safe with his own private sun.

Muting giants’ voices
perhaps until the morning.

Always there to hide his fearful tears.

Unattainable

I don’t understand your face.
Its beauty is not in my eye,
and I am the beholder.

You are statuesque,
with a long and slender neck.
It permits a gracious tilt of the head
so your excellent nose is in the air,
and you can look down it.

I am sure you must have an uncommon sense of smell,
because your chiseled lips are pursed in distaste
most of the time.

I glance by chance
and you register recognition.
Liking the attention,
then deciding on disdain.

I feign nonchalance
and check the apples for bruises.

We are both liars.

27: Electric babyland (may offend)

I got lotsa babies in here she says to me.  Her voice comes from the ceiling, but I can see her lips move.  Yellow teeth.  No irises.  On the cracked linoleum floor she stands, in stained sweatpants and a T shirt that goes to her navel.  She shifts from one foot to the other, as if she needs to go to the bathroom.  She drums her fingers on her tight beachball belly.  Lots.  Inside here.  

No smile, though.  She looks angry, crazed.  I lie on the floor, bound and gagged, while stark Tesla trees of pale blue crackle and branch about the ceiling.  She kicks the side of my head with a bare foot, and, just before I black out again , I see her turn and walk down the hallway.  My swoon is only seconds, I think,  because I hear the sound of someone peeing.  Then a flush.

The slap of bare feet comes closer and she reenters my room, this time wearing only the T shirt.  She squats and bows her head, greasy hair dragging the floor.  There is no moaning or groaning as she gives obscene birth.  Only the repeated sounds eck, eck, eck.
Small wet things dangle and drop.  Sharp yellow teeth, no irises.  They tear at my restraints with piranha frenzy.  I gain my freedom, but am paralyzed in stiffness and horror as they set upon their unwilling mother and begin to eat.

 

All in the mind

[Person]         What are we?

[Other]            Children

[Person]          Why are we?

[Other]             To grow.  To love.  To explore.  To find.

[Person]           To find what?

[Other]              Your way to me.

[Person]            Are there others like us?

[Other]              Myriad.  Legion.  Uncountable.

[Person]            Why have we not met them?

[Other]              They will come.  Some to deceive.  Some to teach.  Some to save.

[Person]            What is our place?

[Other]              A place of lovingkindness.

[Person]            But where in the Universe?

[Person]            Wait….I feel….I feel so strange just now.
There is a touch.  A presence.  A promise.

[Other]              You are always with me, to the end of ends.  Always in my Mind.