After Brunch

Like the quiver
Of a cat whisker
It shudders subtly
The feeling of remoteness
Forgotten bewilderment
Caring even less about
A remaining balance
Like sucking clean the fingers
From the sweetest hand fed meal
Delicate in taste
The most sacred piece of cake
Or an insatiable appetite
Uncovered by a lovesick fool
Naked running through the forest
Would you have me then
Would you hold my head
Would you caress my feet
And when would you premier
Before me dancing first
In your best circle of flowers
Picked out by the wind and scattered
About amongst the branches
Aligning twigs into a bed
To make love with me in
After brunch

© GÄ

At the Door

The red birch chair
My underwear naked in this seat
That feels entirely too cold
To fasten ass in

My pattern of effect
Has lost the luster
Often stretched
Into the meaning
Found in every moments death

Kind and distant waves
Fish and swim about
Airs rage
Wind caught gasping, gaped
In tolerant behavior

A soundless sigh
Exhales the universe
Almost forgotten
Before the first
Is leveled out
Across the bank
Of indication

Proud-like roar
The cane like floor
That bothers to abandon
At the door

When the push
Is flaccid posture
That desires
So much more
Will awakens
Bound to break
And scold release
In lacerations
Cardinal to the making

The candid richness
Of a song
And gone
Before the breakfast table
Sets itself to feast

The bitter china
Still and quiet
In my cabinet
Cannot bring
The mean and matter
To displace
Where spoons and forks
Have always known
They had a place

© GÄ