When Hearts Grow Fatter

Je suis de retour...


the pain through the arms
of he who strikes
the flawless note
of a violin
the strings though wrenched through spine
accosting tears hidden
clandestined to stagnate

the pain of acoustics
reverberating through every inch
of that which makes us be

the cries of plight
from the solace of deep within
burys the pleasures of a million silk beds

delectations as caressed
on the nape of the neck, the thighs
the calves and the space running down one's chest
as this note struck encompasses
and all is deemed lost but the island where the note is derived


the violinist's vehemence
upsurging the staccato
as the legato loses ground to the imminent triumph
the triumph of man
defeat the dark and the light alike


as a simple breath is drawn



in the big hush



as voices carry through the airs of neutrality

as hearts decimate in a din of nothing

the promise of love ensues from undecided truth...



the beauty, the pulchritude.







(I'll give you guys three guess what this poem is all about. Clue = fundamentals of procreation)

The dry spell is gone i am reinspired. and am reminded of the epidermic feel, the human contingence. Like cradling fragile crystal flues, setting them gently on satin, to the bulldozer-like motions our physique is made capable of. Brutal and beautiful all at one.
And the feel of hearts incontiguous. How i am reminded. How old i have become. Damn, a few more years, i'm gonna look like letterman.



one of the few i'm writing, happy.