solitary confinement

(Match flame of violet and flesh

seen in the clear bright light.

it is not night and night too.

In Hell, there are stars outside.

And long sounds of cars.

Brown shadows on walls

in the light of the room.

I sit or stand

wanting the huge reality

of touch and love. – Michael McClure

 

The cars hiss by my window

Like the waves down on the beach

I got this girl beside me

But she’s out of reach

Headlight through my window

Shining on the wall – Jim Morrison)

 

the long strand dangling from a spider web

dances in the flow of the fan,

glistening in the lamp light

 

it is late at night

or early morning

depending on your relationship

to tomorrow

 

i cannot borrow

when no one is willing to loan to

someone who cannot pay them back

 

my fingers track the area of my flesh

which was the last place she touched

 

i use to concur that love is a crutch

now i want the whole hospital

put me in a wheelchair

and cart me in

 

till there is skin upon skin

no one loses, no one wins

curled up with more than this notebook

and another pen

 

the shame of my nakedness

covered by a soft, heavy blanket

 

i’m not much into material

but my bed set me back

a few royalty checks

and all its accessories

accentuate comfort

 

sleep is never a good thing for me

nothing but nightmares

so i offset

with these accoutrements

to make some part of the experience

inviting

 

there are no females in my contacts

no little black book

those who have sown with me

have reaped badly

and would not respond

if i were to text

 

by this i am not perplexed

i am a soft breeze in the desert

the momentary pleasure

is your most desperate need

but then i leave you

to bake in the burning oven

of a scorching sun

 

which is why i’m the only one

under this blanket

some have even let the currents

carry me back for another caress

but their desire becomes less

when each time they’re left

in the aftermath of an

apocalyptic love

 

i am after all

completely egocentric

crafting a conglomeration

of conjunctions

but that’s what you do

at quarter after two

absence of alcohol

cause, lately, i’m bored

with that too

 

i do not know where the web’s maker

cohabitates when it is not in its tendrils

but this room is so quiet

i could probably hear its footsteps

if it would only crawl

 

my words are a shawl

over my exposed membranes

insane or contained

are just definitions devised

by those who haven’t realized

there is nothing to which we can hold

 

order is a fairytale told

to children

to delay their fray

into the chaos

and i’m only at a loss

because there are no distractions

from this subtraction

a female form to take my mind off

the distant percussions

that echo through the abyss

 

***