A Man’s Respect and Admiration

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I admire the muscles of your arms and the flatness of your stomach
I respect the softness and length of your neck and your legs
I have nothing but respect and admiration for you and your eyes
the bridge of your nose, and cheek-bones
your lips and the metal stud you sport with such class

I would respect you in the morning
In the cold light of tomorrow
with tonight’s make-up faded and smudged
I would admire you as you waited for the bus home
With your panties crumpled and soiled and crammed in your pocket

derrek-gores-recycled-magazines-collage-art-1_2th8t_11446There might be shame creeping at the corners of your face

But don’t let it take you over

You are nothing but beauty and desire

And I have nothing but respect and admiration for you

Even as I came into your mouth

BSB

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Hunting Ground

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Lights shine artfully from towers that stab the night sky. That’s the key. The fill light seeps from lamp-posts and taxis and pedestrian cars. The darkness becomes the subject that’s framed in heroic personification.
Alley-bound prowlers become protagonists in the urban ballet of apathy and compassion. Smoke emits from gutters to languish. Ambition puts root down on street-corners, seeking to sprout adventure.

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The Korean joint in the square vomits superstars into the downtown air. The courthouse leans on Howe, and around happy-go-luckies still desperately preening to the twilight chill.
Everywhere pulses with desperate desire. Everywhere thrusts. Men prowl the street. Women seek the light and warmth. Downtown is darkest jungle.
-BSB

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When death lurks on your morning stroll

baked by the fresh, morning sun
the streets reek of boredom, panic, and piss
decide to practice increased tactility

practice keeping my head from bowing to track my shoes
practice my breathing
practice regulating judgmental tendencies

achieve temporary reprieve
enjoy a brief taste of peace
until I remember that there is horror

horror and death, that floats above us all
ready to set upon us at will and whim
there is danger, and blindness, and strokes, and insanity, and…

and then, I remember women
I remember sex with a woman
feel myself growing lighter, in shade and weight

feel myself getting hard
and suddenly
I’m not thinking about dying, anymore

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liberate your sin

Fair figure wrapped in veil of fragile skin
Soft visage kept in shade from ray of sun
The posture of your legs moan, “Come on in”
Meanwhile, your rolling eyes do much to shun

For men of flesh and blood and not of tin
Can forage far and wide intent on fun
But only when she liberates her sin
May that intrepid gent boast battle won

The maiden fair may not be quick to lay
On quilted bed or plot of grassy ground
She may not rush to cast off virgin’s mask

Unless she knows a man is there to stay
Until she’s sure a husband’s what she’s found
On that day, all he need to do is ask

my imagined life

she tells me she wants to be a baker
I taste her cakes – she does not lie
her dream is to open a shop
delighting sweet-seekers of the city

I imagine waking up to the smell of baking
reading over pages in the sun room
she walks in with a tray of fresh goods
a kiss on the cheek
how’s the book coming, sweetie?
here, try these

she tells me she is an artist
asks me if I could write books
which she could illustrate
well gosh, why not?

I imagine rising late in the day in our studio
we paint our naked bodies by hand
and roll over blank canvases
she takes a brush and finishes the piece
as I watch her and scribble down poetry
and we fall asleep making love