El príncipe negro,
estoico inmortal...
cuerpo guerrero,
cicatrices encalcadas,
talismanes de Orishas,
Escudos y lanza,ls...
cachivaches elocuentes,
que divulgan ya una historia...
en la ruta, y en la vida,
luminarias ancestrales!
El príncipe blanco,
mimado y sublime...
frágil silueta,
de porcelana y miel,
rodeado de tesoros,
faldas de lino y seda...
son verdades infalibles
de secuencias patriacarles,
insulgencias tan vulgares
impertinente charlatán!
neal muzak hammers the microphone
like lionel hampton building a woodshed out back
so he can sneak the rabbi's daughter
into the sin of synagogue
more science than humanities and more
art than anything
he is a student of the pencil thin mustache
if you look up neal muzak on youtube
you will find girls jumping on trampolines
and doing splits
you will find mythology. . .
a man who is the son of bending light
he is billy collins eating william
carlos
williams plums
with the juice dribbling
down the thigh of art center
debutant
he owes you tuesday and
will pay you on friday night
the vapor light slips from his poems
like morning humidity on the asphalt
there is no crank in frankenstien
no plight in a piano slip n slide
and at one time i was somebody
that was three thousand 27 poems ago
o yea, cha cha chaaa
i'm gonna close my eyes and tilt my head
back and forth --- slightly - - - - remembering
the gulf and the sun dipping into the blue
taking the hue of the evening and mixing it
like van gogh eating a dreamcycle
check your pockets, half of thursday is missing
and that sun set a hundred times
and that sun set a hundred times
and that was the setting of torrid good times
neal muzak wears a leather jacket
he is a crock pot on the counter making love
to the sun as it simmers in her own juices
money grows on trees
but neal muzak picks the juniper berry from
your gin and tonic and
paints watercolors in the world of make believe
he whispers honey in your ear
honey made from killer bees
you lean back into a dance of limbo
paying him with fingerprints
taken from red headed strangers
the pluck of cock o doodle do in the morning
and when the dawn comes
Tinkering with screws that seem to loosen from my grip
and slip in crevices of metal frames where fingers cannot fit,
I’m learning to outsmart myself and organize my thoughts,
like wires neatly spiraling around my brain uncrossed.
I know that where my synapses all gather ‘round to meet
would overheat, if not for cooling systems fitting inbetween.
The whir of cooling fans keeps me content. I’ll have no need to vent
as long as power flows uninterrupted and nothing dents
the blades that spin and spin and spin relentlessly.
Pretty shiny nails glisten
piercing soft skin
leaving a lonely trail of destruction
life dripping out slowly
creating beautiful patterns
of self loathing and sweet
oblivion
cleansing stagnant hatred and useless
reslessness
there is a ramble around
the room
that falls at your hips
with pornography of
your kiss
drinking dubious
endeavors
spilling over with
bedroom whispers
when things unravel
there are slivers
and there is the
shivers from
connecting flesh
when things are undone
you are curled into me
and perspiration
tries to escape in
to the humidity
slipping off
the excitement
of a day and
translating emotion to
nocturnal murmur
scotch and water
in the wilderness
panties muddled
somewhere under
a sleeping bag
consuming your thighs
tasting like lake water
where we defied gravity
and floated in sensual
composure
sipping slipping
and sliding into you
wavering on
the evening
zephyr
let me throw you on the table
like blue plates from the dollar store
unfolding your intimate napkin
with playful design
flipping you over with spatula desire
tipping your breasts
smearing my lips
devouring your cuisine
with fingertip delicacies
exploring the curve of your spine
that serves you up like a soup spoon
finding the pleasure within
that slips like a salad fork
through your marinated dressing
let me
i will empty you
like a chalice
with a brim full
of delight
My sister said that some days I wouldn’t want to fight it
And that she’d do it for me
Except now she's gone
And I don’t think I'm ever going to call
Just to say that I don’t feel like fighting it today
If I just breathe
This will all pass
And I will wake up
And know it's not a dream
for night...
dark winged angel,
cloaked in shadowy robes,
as silver twinkling stars adorn
her hair.