poetry

drifting

two warm bodies pulse
into the black night
two brains
shimmer in between veins
of streetlamps

tonight he straddles
the fuel tank
underneath its engine
gurgles and mutters
like an actor
lost in monologue

they pour onto the freeway
four eyes pump and ignite
with ecstasy
the road stretches
like a careful corpuscle
headlights and cabins of steel
shuttle past them

her arms are woven into him
he feels stronger when he rides – she says
they share a heart
they share the air
crawling through the arteries of their egos
and slowly it will coagulate
into the depths of their minds

when it’s over the purr of a heart
continues through chapters
of slumber
two chests rise and fall to
the rhythm of dreams

By Kalen Bloodstone

By Kalen Bloodstone (Click on the image to go to Kalen’s DeviantArt profile!)

PhilosopherPoet

Standard
poetry

midnight

in the evening he slides
onto his motorbike
it bristles with angst

he carves through the road
(as supple as a tongue)
the stars jostle
passed pious heads
of clouds

his iron stallion pauses
at the throbbing traffic light
impatience quivers inside
his throat

a green ghost oozes
whirls briefly before
the stallion soars
through the ether

his eyes are open
or even alive to pulses
of motion that fall
grip
wring
swallow
collide
into a sublime being

who dances
in the face
of the fuel tank

 

 

PhilosopherPoet

Standard
poetry

alone

he stands above the sink
and drums dumb thumbs
into the plastic pebbles
of his mobile

it is 10pm the cats are
nestled like miniature kettles
on the couch

he looks at the warm foam
floating in the sink
he ate
two burgers
tonight
gnawed at them
with intent

he leans over the sink
and washes
the grazed faces
dirty smiles

a claw of ketchup
curls over a finger
like a savage comma
reminds him
only the lonely have scars

only the lonely
ones dream
of days flaking
off the skin
like old food
thin memories
melt between bubbles
and beermugs

he exhales
sighs attempts
to muffle
nodules of tears
which swirl
chatter crumble
scrap and gurgle
into the plughole

Standard
poetry

the nighttime singer

one pill
nothing.
except for the ether
fragrance rising and falling
between the pages of absence
caught in the blankets.
his head lies, his eyes
continue to swim in
the gyre of midnight.

two pills
flicker.
the curves of the ‘s’
fall off his tongue and
leave a spiral on the ceramic.
the morning will slobber
its honeyed tongue, and the
toast will jump
up and panic.

three pills
somber.
those voices sucked up their
cold hands. the shadows
buried the cuffs. because
the evening wears clothes,
clocks tick time, and tender
ghosts morph into my bones

tonight.
i hear the soft sounds of the
Nighttime Singer unfurling
the notes of slow chamber music
deep into my veins. my glued-focus
watches the slow dance of velvet
darkness hold me. She unties my
consciousness – still hanging on
with a white hand – and tells me
to rest, and let the liquid night
wash me and slowly evanesce.

PhilosopherPoet

P.S. – This poem originally appeared on this site: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/PhilosopherPoet/556247/

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