Until then
There's this perfect scenario in my head of the day we'd get to see each other again.
I'll be in a hurry to catch this new local romcom movie of that one actor you like so much and you will be there among other movie goers still lounging in bean bags. I would catch you staring at me from a distance and holding your gaze for what would be the longest three seconds of my life — but I would feel nothing. Then slowly, real slowly, just like in movies, I would turn to look at the face of an angel whose fingers mine are latched. I would smile the same way I did the first time you told me you love me and we'd walk away from you without ever looking back.
I want you to know that after all you've done, I am still capable to give the same extent of love I gave you once.
Although sometimes, I would picture something totally different. We would hold each other's gaze until a smile forms in our lips and our toes lead us to where our fingers could reunite. I missed you, you'd say. Then for what would feel like an eternity, I would bury my head in that familiar space between your shoulder and your chest.
What took you so long, I'd whisper.
Tacos
I want tacos. Boatloads of Tacos. I'm talking racks and racks of tacos. Don't judge me. Or do. I don't care. I want crunchy hard tacos, fresh corn tortillas, and fluffy flour tacos. Baby-sized street tacos? Bring 'em on. Blackened Mahi Mahi, grilled salmon, Bang Bang shrimp. Come on. Crispy Tofu? Yup. Veggies? You know it. Make them over-flowing with toppings. Fresh lettuce, shredded cheese, diced onions, cilantro, thinly-sliced cabbage, (i'm serious, slice it thin or you will endure a severe side-eye glare. I'm not joking. Do it.) and shredded cheese. Did I mention I want shredded cheese? Sour cream? No thanks. Save it for the guy with a baked potato fantasy. Hook me up with that salsa too. You know how I like it. Don't skimp out on me now, things are just heating up! Hot sauce. For real. This is a hot date between me and my tacos. Time to spice it up. Is this getting too real for you? Ok. No problem. Let's cool it down a bit. Squeeze some fresh limes on top. Damn, that still sounds hot. Company, you say? Your probably thinking I want my closest friends and family to join. No thanks. I'm not sharing anyway. An audience? Maybe. None of this live-streamed nonsense. Take me to a studio with stadium seating, high-quality lighting, and camera guys. The whole shabang. I need a wheelbarrow too. Roll me away into the sunset when I'm done feasting. Cue applause and tears of joy. End scene.
But fuck it. I’m still a believer.
Fuck this
quar·an·tine
/ˈkwôrənˌtēn/
.
(pee-ri-ud)
Parenthesis.
Parent thesis.
I mean it.
(mean(ly))
Justly,
just apprehend it.
The world’s in rehab.
Captain Ahab
trying to grab
the Moby Dick.
n
e
t
f
l
i
x
.
And chill.
Fuck the pills.
The Art of the Deal?
Mental farts are what I feel.
Going
c
r
a
z
y
Muppet Treasure Island
CABIN
F
E
V
E
R
But fuck it. I’m still a believer.
Easy Street
I’ve seen hypocrisy in all its forms, shaking, sweating, writhing on the floor, crying, “Mary, mother,”
all she wanted from Man, her second husband, was honesty, “hot coal white lies burn faster than gasoline,”
without money to feed her children, she had nothing,
running to Laocoon, telling his children, “be honest,” loquacious until he leaves,
by the end, justice was never the means of love on pavement pillows dragging sleepless teddy bears through sex caves,
i may never leave this place at the edge of the water,
with sunbathing mermaids wearing snakes over their shoulders,
slithering into West Hollywood bathrooms, promising fellatio friendships, transactional lips cashing fraudulent checks,
another name defiled on graffiti walls, shattered teeth until he falls,
comatosed in liquored conversation and ketamine, weightless words floating on Palatine Hill side Emperor penguins sleep waddling
above the city, my vision blurry, beanie babies smoking cigarettes over pool top balconies, celebrating an American birthday they barely know the president of the house
they drop acid under starry blanket skies, liquid lubricants fill blurry eyed men intent on pounding bare-chested banana hammock boys, professionally dressed in bow ties,
comrades of cock shooting bittersweet blue-collar-chit-chat,
spur the horse to greener hormone pastures where compliments shower from crumpled paper-headed presidents, bowed in prayer, hands squeezing
rosary-bead-G-strings,
Great Buddha bellies bouncing in the sand, washed up Siddhartha panting, spent seed dripping, glistening, forever studious at the courtesan’s feet, truest lover,
he’ll never leave this place,
i just wander around blind,
wings made of wax, soaring over balding romantics in Camus t-shirts, chatting politics in a bathtub mortuary, doors closing, crowd thinning, milk mustache nose rings kiss glossy Sephora lips, moist finish, exhale, blowing hot creamy yacht money,
set sail,
subconscious climbing, hand over hand, up the Great Wall of Garbage, fresh cement wildflowers, jack’s beanstalk sprouting up the gate, the only way out, past the security guard smoking, scrambling higher, to the clouds, where the air is thin and the giant sleeps beside his golden harp playing Chris Brown, serenading sweaty lumberjacks while they cut the tree down, in montage, i fall on my face, the Camus bros walk by, laughing, pour me some tea while i'm down here, English Breakfast please, the ants want some too, just a sippy-sip while i radar the next arthropod, tip the driver, “be a good man and drop me at the nearest scooter,”
vroom vroom, over white powder telephone lines, no signal,
somewhere in Juarez, i hit a K-Hole, painless, guiltless, everybody skips the toll booth
on the way to you, push the scooter down, traffic lights flashing, i present to you!
the narcoleptic trapezist!
flying into...
pothole contusions,
for a moment, seaweed lovers dance in storefront reflections,
with different colors, but the same gentle smile, every window passing,
a new set of eyes tempting memory,
Get up,
honeycomb hair, baby curls, the one that broke your heart, the one that stole your heart, the one you did the same to, the one and only, yours truly,
lost in mirrors,
she’s not there, just a missing smile, my silver streak phantom, dancing, illusive, just out of reach in recent memory,
her rose petal lips, Athena’s aegis, shielding me from love’s shadows,
lost in high tide hips rolling gently outside Calypso’s cave,
not yet trapped behind the glass, old mannequin models, stripped bare, colorless flesh
zipping by, I’m chasing heavenly quarry, to her apartment in the sky,
free of mirrors, at last, to the last great hideout at the edge of the universe, her bare legs’ embrace, waiting,
one block away, two hundred and fifty feet, the STOP sign flashes red at the corner of Easy Street,
When I get there, I may never leave
-Los Angeles, 2020
#california #freeverse #poetry #easystreet #shortstories #challengeofthemonth
(read another story, published at Everyday Fiction)
https://everydayfiction.com/coke-bottles-over-golan-by-austin-treat/
Conversations with the wind
I feel the wind in my hair,
Pushing violently as if to protest.
"Hush" it seems to say
But I have not yet cried for the day.
Perhaps it cannot see the bones under my tattered coat.
If it could, it would understand how hunger tends to gloat.
"One last dance
One last chance"
The wind sings a song of madness,
Mocking my tone of sadness.
A push
And I'm off the ledge.
We swirl
And I'm forced to dance.
I fight
And I've my lost my strength.
The wind howls
How dare it rebuke me?
I howl
I'm hungry, can't you see?
I'm cold, can't you feel?
I'm alone...
I'm tired...
The wind stills
I feel the warmth of the sun on my clammy skin.
A last gift.
"Let's fly little bird"
And together we fall.
Making The Most Of Every Opportunity
Something moved making me wake up. I need to get out of bed right now. Quietly, like you know how.
The good thing is that the light is off. Become the shadows. Your body is small. You fit anywhere. Pick a spot where no one will look. The heat pole, is it on? Yes, but the heat is only warm. The floor just creaked. Climb!
Thank God I didn’t wear socks. It made the climb easy. Stay here. Don’t move. Breathe slowly, quietly.
The door knob is turning slowly, without noise. A tall shadow. A man. How did he get in the apartment?
My arms are beginning to shake. I need to move. Now, before he comes into the room!
The heat of the pole against my legs feels good, but I don’t want to have sex. Who is this man? If he finds me and sees my penis, he’s going to think that I want sex. Stop thinking. Just keep still. You’re in the shadows. He won’t see you. Just breathe deeply, slowly, quietly. Become a statue. Keep still.
He checked the closest and under the bed. He’s leaving. He left the door open, good. I can hear when he goes. Who gave him the keys to the apartment? The sound of the front door. He’s mad. The door shut loud. Who was he? Just a few more minutes.
*******
The door is locked. This chair under the doorknob will keep people out. The windows are closeed.
I don’t care if my aunt and cousins beat me later. I don’t want sex. Not with strangers, not with them.
Where is mom? Why did she leave me here? Stupid fire! Why did it have to burn our home?
Mom, where are you?
*****
The neighborhood seems quiet today. Joining the neighborhood watch is giving me the satisfaction of being able to use my hypervigilance constructively. Too bad I can’t share this with the therapist, he wouldn’t approve.
Hello. A mugging? A sexual predictor? No matter. Clearly the girl is scared. Brass knuckles in place
“Excuse me!...”
the story of moving orbs
.
he’s the calm , stands still
a fire that hides within . under that skin, he holds the sun
she’s the moon, the night, the pain
all the unsteady screams that hold his solid ground
dancing, twisting, bending, circles, never-ending circles
hands lift within the arms, she swirls between the trees
faster and faster branches scraping her skin, blood drips ( steady crimson against the blue moon ) yet she keeps on turning . always turning, can’t stop a soul from bleeding
bruises on her arms and legs, faster and faster, can’t stop, can’t see
his face is a blur, his lifted hand a quiet sign of his longing for her, her safe harbor
yet in the night even the starts can be unseen
but she can’t understand . eyes in a daze . still dancing, still turning
a reflection of the silver glow in the eyes made from waves . her only compass in the darkness
( oh, why is it so loud ) feet scrape, bleed . he’s there yet she doesn’t see those lines that carve his essence, a light spreading under his chest
her body pulling towards him, an invisible needle pointing to him
but she can’t stop, ( so loud child, too loud... please wake up )
he is patient, those fingers reaching and just before she is gone... she reaches for him too
light changes and filters
the sun beneath him and the moon in her raging veins
they create shadows to hide in the light of sounds, and now she stands calm, not moving, his heart dancing for them both
enlightenment caught in moments, peace inhaled through lungs that hold no lies
only truth melted within the pulse of the night
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsH0WFUgr58
music inspired
Wicked Magician
Oh wicked magician,
Latest victim died at dawn,
For once she was there,
And next she was gone,
Oh wicked magician,
You perform on four stages,
The fourth being hopeless,
Death locked up in cages,
Oh wicked magician,
How beguiling your act,
Your tricks undetected,
Your surprise without tact,
Oh wicked magician,
How long is your show,
Two weeks, ten years,
Your intentions unknown,
Oh wicked magician,
What age is your unwilling volunteer,
Did he turn sixty seven,
Was she to turn three next year,
Oh wicked magician,
Your wand grants me no wishes,
Though it does make me dream,
I'd had time for more kisses,
Oh wicked magician,
We fight but you ruin that too,
Fighting is tethered to I.V. poles,
Told there's nothing we can do,
Oh wicked magician,
Up your sleeve lies a cure,
But you prefer martyr's,
Lined up at death's door,
Oh wicked magician,
Pickpocketing thief,
Stolen hair, lives, dreams,
Your pain bares all it's teeth,
Oh wicked magician,
Like your flowers, tumors grow,
Growing bills, growing saddness,
Growing to kill us, your foe,
Oh wicked magician,
I know one thing, your name,
Your name is Cancer,
No one wants you, but you came.
