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12 April 2014

New Posts..

Please find all new material re-directed to, a web domain all of my own.. Thanks for checking up on us here; in the future, all new posts will be done at the new website by the same name.

03 September 2013

Strange Dancers pt. 7

7. Cadence

Mirage or not
 definite or not
 object or subject
 even It does not
 pretend to know
This Mirage 
 you'd not know
 until a chance moment 
 so only they are left
 presented in trespass
Those unskinned figures 
 redivided into themselves and playing
Naked and whole in the 


01 September 2013

Strange Dancers pt. 6

6. Respite

She finds me on the quiet and dark shores 
Which with no luminous crown overhead
Lets the fossils in the quarry walls
Remain in their calcified age
Kept from that same verdancy which this body too lacks
Without which I am made a sibling of these fossils
The shore has given up on me and the kneading sea
Reaches towards my stilled form
Prone and exhausted of motion
The tide knows only time stands before its claim.

Her hands find me in each space she assesses
Crawling up my calf and prodding my knee into reflexion
She seeks something I have lost or misplaced 
Within these confines her fingers trace a path 
Up my thigh and examine my pelvis
She is as rhythmic and measured as I am 
Unconsciously firm as always happens and
She laughs and clucks in Thai for she is not Malay 
Having been brought here as much for her skill
As the absence of inhibition which compels it.

I am transparent beneath her fingertips.

Her fingers find my collar bone and
Throat still stiff all over with locked nerves
She is tumbling through this labyrinth, me
Her fingers carve through knobs of
Unresolved days along the planes
Of fascia which hold me rigid
My whole body swollen with
Unwilled tumescence ready to be

Her fingers sand away unknot muscles 
An callused edge of her thumb is her carpenter's plane 
Its many decades, many they are
Her gravity at least as present as the lines which score her face
Wisely apportioned as she leans into her strokes 
She kneads a driving force as she planes me
Soft and level and smooth as though she knows my contours
She toys with my ears and brow
Her fingers explore my lips and tongue
Finding jumbled combinations which lock me.

She creeps into my cavernous mouth
One digit at a time until like a fish dumb and gaffed
Hooked in her grasp her hands caress my throat
From within and under pressure 
An ancient breath forgotten within me bellows out
Her elbows widening my jaw
My eyes flickering as she is
Surgical in her diagnoses
She slips into me completely and I am paralyzed
With another form fully within my own
I am the skin she wears as she unfolds herself 
Into my each and every limb and extension.

Her dive into me complete and
She seeps into my marrow
Her fingers dissolves and like
Gossamer filaments flow outward
Infusing intracellular space
Outward from my cells and in sweeping
Brush-fronds like coral feathers she sweeps me out
With gentle pressure she filters my blood with her
Ten thousand feathery implements as she breathes
With me she converses freely as well as those others who
Lie in remnant memory in myriad forgotten spaces 
Only she bears witness to those who were once company.

She withdraws slowly from this costume
She makes me breathe through the cramps 
Withdrawn she shakes off a magnetic ash
Of inorganic matters caked and flaking off her own skin
No baser denominations than these which from me she takes.

Her fingers probe my pelvis and
She rolls me over limp like a rubber mannequin
Face down flat and folds towels across my hind
She applies oils which glint of starlight upon me
Thighs and all and leans her whole self upon my
Unrepentant joints.

These joints pop and my inner atmosphere gasps
She reads the pressure trapped within my ears 
Behind tight ringing eardrums which remember gunfire.

A toe at a time under her pull
And she kneads me at the
Waist and runs rings around
My anus with the pads of her
Thumbs and loosens me slowly
At a wrist's depth I feel her caressing a 
Frozen bladder and stoking my liver 
Warming it and then kidneys responding
Slowly she untangles my lymph
Its rivers commencing to their tasks 
Of hormonal titration once more.

At an elbow’s depth her fingers appear 
Pressing outward within my belly
Reseating my sternum next as
Her second arm enters me
And gripping my ribs she pulls
Herself through stirring mucous finally
Wakened and viscous and warming
As her toes disappear within
My ribs are her ladder-rungs
Upwards into me and this tumescence
Is expressed in mechanical orgasm.

She is finished
I am emptied.

She trickles out in drops
Stringed together with a cohesion
Long absent from a disjointed
Narrative to which she has
Restored my faithful articles
And objects and refreshed the
Distinction of my subject
She withdraws and with that adhesive trail
Strings wet glimmering drops like stars
On that diaphanous veil which reminds
Her of her abandoned mythology and origin.

She maps me out plying skin with her palms
She spreads my scrotum between a thumb and forefinger
Reading veins like a fortuneteller
Seeking the cause of my catatonia.

Taking my limp stamen between her lips
She suckles me to stirring
She laughs and clucks and with two hands
Kisses my crown and shares with me in being

Newly rejeweled.

30 August 2013

Strange Dancers pt. 5

5. Supplicant

Aisha fucks in pornographic style
Legs astride what may be our own flesh
But to sleep-bleary eyes is as likely her own
Bronze breasted like a statue her patina is glossed 
Clarified as the sun returns to its office of
Eleusinian distinctions amid a fugue of hallucinations
Bronze skin aglow again with sweat as she fucks
Herself as she leaks coconut milk, its clear serum
Punctuated with white liquids somewhere between flesh
And fluid prenatal
Fist and forearm snaking into her depth
   Fuck you for making me do this 
She says
   I must fuck myself as I've no one 
   To do the favor for me
She says 
Pregnant and milk-breasted and as a hermaphrodite in dispute
Under the watch of the Mirage which creeps like night 
Around us blocking the whole of the sky save for
The punctuation of the sun flexing under its reluctant gravity
Its halves drawing apart a millimeter further with every crest and trough
Of our physical dispute with hands slapping and grasping
Slipping with sweat off the other’s body.

Under the watch of the Mirage which creeps like night:
   Here is your shame

Aisha impregnates herself, autosexual
Her cock thick and massive like a banyan trunk 
Turned inward upon the lips of her own wet space
Which a tangle of black wiry oilslick hair
At once conceals but compels notice
Adorning what must be hidden and unmentioned
Peace being never upon it in this land and it is
Her only weapon so she brandishes her pilose mound
Like razor concertina black with venom Aisha dares any other 
In her convulsions to take the place of 
Her own bronzed scepter, enveined
And it is then I see we are joined at the knees and 
Growing out of one another like mirrored images
It is I fucking her either prostrate upon her or on my back reclined 
But no ground forms a bed and we are aspatial
Only the position of our shared perception creates 
A horizon to which we may refer
Divorcing us from the possibility of masturbatory emission.

Aisha’s eyes crease in tortured delight
Her ejaculate covering our bared muscle and bones
Nerves resheathed in foundation but as we are
Made whole those three who complete our entangled trident
Find themselves ejected like splinters of sun above
It is a loneliness less strange than any company I have known.

This is a procreation beautiful even before the Mirage:
   It is vulgar

Aisha and I resplendent in orgasm as her
Pleasure milks supplication from I her partner
Our joinery all that separates us from the Mirage 
We are both besieged by this watching form:
   Holy though are we
   Loathe are we to admit
   Our divine arousal

Thus ends the image and the division of the world complete
Hewn by the fissile sun split now fully and our shade
In perfect accord with the boundless expanse of the Mirage 
Two suns overhead in darkening correspondent halves
Over this contested land and lightning brighter than the day 
Tears and grasps and slaps the neon ocean and beneath
These fissile streams of electric filaments I am
Dissolved beneath the sun.

This is apocalypse
This is apocalypse
There are reverberations of breath
This is apocalypse

And it is breeding.

27 August 2013

Strange Dancers pt. 4

4. Witnesses of the Dialectic Convulsion

Here is a moment:

The sun splits in half above the recovering Mirage, each fissile
Drawing itself to full height and sending spindling fingers sunward
Its sloughed skin finally too thin, the solar corona absent
Its gravity finally defeated by its luminosity
It renders us bare of skin at last with atomic compulsion
Sundering magnitudes of astronomical space
It splits with a vacuous howl which only our eyes witness 
Blue sky bending to violets and reds in its wake, Platonic
But which all present, Mirage and subsumed populace and we four 
Cognize as though it is our marrow boiling
Our diatom-scoured trident fuses in fleshlessness
We are one now 
We are one
And as Aisha lifts herself to steadiness
She sees wind bluster ash-spots on the Mirage
They blend into a reformed perfection
Which seems now faded by its exposure
Less the perfect midnight shade it was formerly.

Listen: there are eyes upon us and
A flash throughout the sky is a
A rejoinder to the flickers of moments before.

And now we four who are one in fleshlessness
One body alone but strange inbound mingling invigorates us 
Within this body still is the shore and the argumentative ocean
In its final moments
A voice overtakes us, we friends of this one body listen:

   Is it true you are critical of us

Mirage qua Reporter beneath heavy glasses 
Like insect eyes and black shadows pulled into a balding crown
Its white prism gleam a shining head like waxed linoleum and liver-spotted
And we are in a space floored with hard carpets like sandpaper
A ceiling instead of a sky, and flaking asbestos tiles 
The fluorescent bar-lights having replaced for a moment the splitsun
A flashbulb recovering as our dilate eyes recover from its optic clap.

And now we four who are bound in fleshlessness
One body alone but strange intercourse invigorates us 
Within this body still are the sands and the ocean’s troughs
These moments are infinite as our end approaches
A voice overtakes us, we friends of this one body reply
In chorus we reply:

   For none born into submission to capital or chrism
   Nor those to a yoke empowered state
   Nor any less those who inherit the
   Insights and crimes of others
   Can we be responsible for them or
   Rewarded on behalf of those
   Secondhand efforts

We are returned to the shores which host our dispute.

The Mirage is upon Aisha as the sun continues its split 
It is as a jewel under a hammer, these suns
Laughter from the Mirage even as it coughs and sputters out
Whatever of Aisha remains within its depths 
As the sun cleaves its halves and shards
It slips and splits apart, spat words and cackles
Ensconced in a bestowed light from sweat and the fire which threatens
On naked bone and exposed anatomy beneath the fissile sun
At thirty three degrees above a gross measure of heat we smolder
Aisha’s breasts swell with milk, splinters of sunlight transformed
Her collarbone catches light as its spectrum shifts towards 
Unity whether indistinct or undifferentiated
The light such that even prisms cannot
Discriminate the content thereof
As such her sweat refracts only umbra.

The remaining strength of the sun’s halves 
Creating darkness as they radiate their last
Aisha’s body lit like brilliant oil, her brilliance
Pours from within her as she in her lambency
Divides the form of the amorphic Mirage, it courses 
Regaining Its mass of shadow even as
Its cohort threatens to be laid bare by 
Radiance which so tests our travelers' carapace 
And the Mirage’s thinning opacity.

In this solitary body
Four pairs of lungs will not help us cry louder
Eight eyes do not bear truth any better
Eight arms and attendant digits no better articulate
This strangeness descending from the perverse firmament 
Of our world our shadows have split and have we mimicked the sun
Its shards and glistening remnants slicing through empty space
Transmuted to milk in a lambent virgin.

The Mirage licks its cavernous buccal ingress
Seeking to reclaim its dissident emigre.