The Wind Comes In
And tells my nose that there’s rain on the way.
I sit in my window seat, thankful I remembered to unlock the latch.
My knees are against my chest and I’m staring out, hand out, waiting for the first drops.
The winds are strong this time of year.
Perhaps if I ask, the great gust from the north will carry my kiss to you.
Please let me know if you get it.
XO
To A Former Lover
Remember that night we took a walk on the moor?
I remember how warm you felt when my icy fingers were entwined with yours.
Do you remember me telling you how you outshined the moon and how I saw galaxies in your eyes?
I remember you trying desparately to find the deciet in my words
so you tried to see if you could taste silver on my tongue.
Remember that night when we pledged to love only one another?
I remember there was an eclipse that night. We vowed our love beneathe a moonless sky.
I remember we sealed our oaths with our souls.
Or at least I did.
I remember how my lips and neck burned from being touched by your flame.
I remember my fingers getting tangled in your firey red locks
and I finally understood how volcanoes felt when they erupted boiling magma.
Remember how I looked up at you from between your thighs?
I remember seeing more than galaxies when your gaze locked with mine.
I saw the entire universe in its beautiful chaotic glory.
What happened to us?
Since we are both female, you said we were just a phase.
How could you say that?
Was every breathe, every heartbeat, every tear, every kiss that we shared nothing to you?
Was I nothing to you?
How can loving someone, even for a moment, be put in a category where most only see regret?
These times in our lives are often looked on with hatred because they are experimental and many do things they normally wouldn’t otherwise.
Am I nothing more than a regret to you?
Phases are called so because they are viewed as terrible and they are always temporary.
Yet you promised me forever.
But...perhaps it’s my fault.
I should have known from that night on the moor.
When I saw galaxies in your eyes and you couldn’t find a single star in mine.
The Breaks In Streets, They Summon Us (Multiple Realities, You Dig?)
You, pronounced brave...
...Placed and stacked to split
In front of a night bus,
And stalled...
...The world's
Lengthy shadow,
Chucked at nightmare
Speeds from
A cracked
And drafty port!...
...You flew,
Screamed 'til pink
In burnin' agony,
'til hot nodes in
Your furnace throat
Had burst, and
Bled profusely...
...You,
Who were pronounced
So brave,
Engraved
In the imitation leather
Daisy chain arm chair claim
That was ultimately
Your alternate grave...
...Peel yourself
Up off the badly hexed
Sideway sidewalk slant,
And chant...
...This ain't where you
Get off,
No!...
...That shit roads' for
The marketers, and the
Pirates of the
Last squandered haul
That is at hand...
...It's on demand!...
It's the whole damn,
Writhing
Ball of tainted wax!...
...Also, there's
Burning hair we've
Yet to care about
That's left sealed
To the bottom of the stove...
...Some damned poet
Left it,
When she was drying
Out her clothes,
And burning through
The paint
That had settled
On her sheets...
The streets,
They summon us!...
...But what will
We be
Subject to
Next week?...
©
3090
Bunny Villaire
Shake it Up!
Man, o, man!
I get more respect and love
For my poems on Facebook
Then I do on this wasteland.
I guess it's true that
Where money, and greed
Play in,
Things get crooked.
Don't flush your values
Prose
In the pursuit of
The all mighty dollar.
It turns people into
Freaks,
And your ads reek
Of desperation.
Friends are less
Inclined to help
When they think
There's a money
Angle,
And competition
Seeps in...
...Let's begin
To examine ourselves
Better.
I see that not paying
For this site,
I'm on
The bottom
Of the pyramid,
And I AM paying
In a different way,
Because people assume
I agree with these new
Actions by Prose
Because I post
Here...
...Well I
Fucking don't!...
...Only here to shake
Things up!...
...Don't forget to
Shake things up!...
It's our world,
Not theirs'!...
They think they can
Slap
An ad on my behind,
But fuck that slime,
I won't wiggle
When they won't even
Provide
Proper info
For their
Decline.
©
2018
Bunny Villaire
You are the ash that remains after a smoke.
You are the mud beneath my feet.
You are the clouds on a wet day.
You are the wasp, the worm and the pebbles in my shoes.
You take my words as insult. Seeing everything as beneath me or an annoyance.
This world would be nothing without these things... you're everything.
Strange World By the Ocean’s Tide
Criss-crossing in and
Out
Of conscious thought,
And a native land...
...I'm hearing flutes,
And whistles
Calling,
And I'm wary
Of the sands
Of passing time
Which falls asymmetrically...
...It's hard to diagnose
When the skies are olive
In the early bright, and
Ivory as the ghosts
Of evening who now visit me...
...I am truly petrified!
How was I carried
Without thought
To this world
By the ocean's tide
That seems so far
From what I know?...
...Somewhere
Far back, near my street
I must be splayed out
On the road
Decaying
From some maddening feat
That left me dead,
And draining!...
...Now I stare
Out at the gleam
Of waves
That are receding...
Going backwards
Like a scream
That's swallowed by
The same void
That now plunges me
In gloom.
This strange world
By the ocean's tide,
Where the octopus's
Zip
Up, and down,
Along the beaches
Like they had
Never took a dip...
As lions, and
The bears
Swim freely
With fins,
And scales,
They dive!...
...I'm not sure
How I got this far,
But it's here
Where I reside.
©
2018
Bunny Villaire
666 (and other kinks)
It ain't a bad looking number!...
...I like the way the numbers
Twist...
So sexy, like a spiral...
...9-9-9, or
6-6-6...
...It's like the swastika,
(or the 'whirling log' for Native Americans*)
It's only evil if you inject
Your own hocus pocus
Hatreds.
Just like anything,
Things get putrified
By vile perceptions,
An X-pectations...
Words and numbers
Are like those
Troll dolls
That use to freak everyone
Out in the 80's...
...Now Trolls are a C.G.I.
Movie because their
Recognized as
A cash cow!...
But then...
...I remember as a child,
People wouldn't wanna
Fall asleep with a Troll
Staring at them...
They're only empty vessels
O' plastic,
But we attach things
To their emptiness...
...So pass me some
XXX
Vodka,
And I'll take 666 sips
Of it,
While I stare
With my binoculars out the
Window of the 13th floor
At a black cat walking
Underneath a ladder...
I'm gonna suck the
Living fear out of
What ails the lot of us
If it kills me!...
...You mark my cursed,
And blasted
Words,
Goddamn it!!!!!
©
2018
Bunny Villaire
*"Swastika is Sanskrit meaning 'well-being'. Throughout most of history, it has been associated with order and stability. The unfortunate association of the swastika with Hitler understandably makes some people uncomfortable when they see a similar symbol on Native American baskets, rugs and jewelry.
To distinguish Whirling Logs from Hitler’s Swastika, some try to make a distinction between which direction the figure appears to rotate, clockwise or counter-clockwise. But if you look at a whirling log on the outside of a Native American basket and it is whirling counter-clockwise, that same design will be whirling clockwise on the inside. Similarly with a woven rug – each side of the rug would show the symbol whirling a different way. So that is not distinction."
---Dottie Indyke. “The History of an Ancient Human Symbol.” April 4, 2005. originally from The Wingspread Collector’s Guide to Santa Fe, Taos, and Albuquerque, Volume 15.
Prose Don’t Care (It’s Their Production Line, As The Whistle Blows A Forlorn Tone, And The Rich And Poor Separate Once More)
"Let's weigh 'poetry product',
And see if that shit sells!..."
...It's about the shiny whistles,
And freshly polished bells...
...Force people to read
Crap Ads that shouldn't
Ever be there...
...It's a thoughtless thought,
And it's well misplaced...
...Perhaps a vote should
Have been shared...
..."O, don't worry,"
They'll say
As they
Sneeze up our sleeves...
"Your susceptible minds
Won't be
Ripped off by thieves,
As we've done so much
So far
To leave you at ease..."
What you've done, Prose
Is place
One more wedge
In the gap!...
Draw a line in the sand,
And then
Never looked back...
...One more slap in
The face
To the ones who
Are poor...
...Thought they found
Them a place
Where their faith
Was restored...
...You should be ashamed
Prose
For making words cheap!...
...I doubt this will
Move you...
All the dust on my
Street
Is blowing on through,
And I still feel betrayed...
"Let's weigh 'poetry product',
We'll see if that shit pays!..."
©
2018
Bunny Villaire
