innocence amorous virtuous sensuous yearn and return repressed stream of consciousness permissible trips stain his kissable lips and he ghosts the tips lest his secret life slips on a dissonant grace obsessed across nations his innocent face is repressed revelation disapproval incurred by his indiscretion a removal of words is that a confession deletion implies there was something to hide you complete the affair when the truth is denied is message deleted admission of guilt this lesson repeated by tears that are spilt
Tonight after haunted days of painful painlessness a siege of sirens comes to serenade, seduce and succor… to simplify… to supply me with solace as I drown beneath waves of mutilation (with apologies to Pixies).
My Aaron sings to me his soothing tones which are less like music; more like verse… strumming my ribcage beneath salt water seas, we swim naked for hours through tears we’ve not shed.
The other Aaron, the Aaron between us, he haunts through photograph, text and memory, echoing across time and geography to be one with us again.
There are naked hungry men beneath those shadowed depths, those sombre shades of green lit by melancholy movie soundtracks.
The mermen dive for pleasure and breathe truthfully through gilled fantasy lies which excite and entice me before dragging me down to my death.
In amber and glow, through fogged glass of sunken ships she is weeping her mermaid crocodile tears.
This is not truly Jamie; this being is not my sister or my therapist. The former doesn’t speak to me, even on land and the latter will soon be lost to me – just as I left her (unforgivably) in the haste of my waking nightmare.
She will forgive me this unforgivable sin.
She is strong but she is wounded – like me, underwater – like me, and she will rise again – like me.
Could this truly be her after all?
I smile and wave goodbye to her but she can’t see me until Thursday.
Mermaid simulacrum smiles just the same… but here my visions come to an end.
Afraid of the water but desperate for memory dying for liquid blue and sun daze of historical bliss; we split the difference and now there’s only the gathering and it’s aftermath.
The express train is overwhelmed and runs local. A wise, if inconvenient choice.
Monsters lurk just out of view but they’re old friends and I would embrace them if they dared step into my light.
Man at my right reads all as I scrawl but looks away shamed at being so named.
It matters not.
The monsters are still there. They want to burn down my simple joy but only because they’re cold and lonely.
“Come. Join my fire. No need for us to be enemies. We are brothers of the same trauma; pieces of a collective whole. Our birthday approaches. Coalesce. Experience. Rejoice. Weep. Remember when we were only one little hungry child? Adulthood comes for us all. Don’t fight. Face it with me. Can’t leave you behind. We are stronger together.”
Reading old words written by younger self with partial memories stirred, fleeting moments recorded, stolen experiences lost in time, with these bone fragments left behind to ponder / decipher…
I thought it quite hopeless: the sinking of sailors this future of men historical failures regardless of numbers of men you’ve seen naked when love is your goal then truth is what’s sacred.
You find what is right divided your vanity profound and forthright provided profanity your life can be balanced to challenge insanity your strife can be silenced by licensed humanity.
Confession is destined to threaten the legend with ill timing rhymes keeping time with suggestions of paradigms mined which cheapen perfection: to deepen my crimes I ask myself questions…
Can vintaged affliction for starters be shagged?
Are satisfied victims just martyrs in drag?
Yes what of those sailors you suckled in waves?
That fleet of men cuddled then left to their graves?
Each master troubled by freedom from slaves…
Beneath the sheets struggled bereft of enclaves.
Can seamen be free men unshackled from lust?
Can jocks with the cocks that tackled love, trust?
make the muse leave return here tomorrow sleep beneath seas or on Kilimanjaro sleep among stars or men who are nude don’t let the muse prevent or intrude into what gives you strength and what calms your screams your muse will return inspired by dreams
