Fever

I’ve come down with a fever
My temp is dependent on a few numbers
30 and rising is the difference in degrees between us
and 86.7 are the miles keeping us apart
And, honey, it’s so hard
All I want is to break this fever
And smash my self deep into your toasty skin
You’re the only warmth I want seeping in
Squirming and writhing through this valley fume
Just to reach you, I’ll scale tasks and maps
I’ll span the schedule gaps
And launch myself into your lap

The seizures I suffer,
Aftershocks and twitches, my lover;
Your steam whispered hot…
I am finding this tougher to survive
It’s much easier to admit this
That all I want
Is to call in sick and
Suck your sweat
Into every damn pore of mine,
Break this fever
Like an egg over your lips
And quiet my convulsive quiver
Beneath those silky fingertips

So if you want to know
why I am glowing these many days;
burning and biting and restless,
It is that untempered temperature
My heart smashing arrhythmically
Desperate for a degree
That washes me with ease

The doctor said
My pharmacy is on a swift road west
I guess there will be relapse after relapse
And perhaps with frequent treatment
And your hands behind my knee bends
Together, we can beat, this.

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Published in: on August 18, 2018 at 10:12 pm  Leave a Comment  
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What makes people tick?

We’re all unique in pulse, pattern
syncopated ticks
in cacophony,
discord,
wild metronomes
pushing blood around
to the sound
of thumps in the night
sighs
to slow the rhythm
we can’t manage,
clocks to give us unreachable regularity
at such a steady pace
that impairs our confident and independent stride.
   
Tame tempos that suit your temperament:
largo, presto, adagio, allegro.
You’ll grow in cadence,
with licks of ocean tides,
join the crickets,
find the choir bellowing
tones in your bpm,
dance with winds
that make barn doors rattle and clap,
laugh until you’re out of sync,
ride the brink of gasps
fluttering and trembling
your throbbing core.
 
That cardiac pause looms,
eternities of pendulums
hanging still like retired drumsticks,
eminent windless dark…
Time does not stop at death.
It endures without a beat
to move with,
a paralysis of pulses,
no sound
to measure
breaths drawn.
 
So at dawn, arise!
March to your drum,
inflect and step 
into your OWN time.
 
 
 
 
 
Published in: on February 29, 2012 at 12:27 am  Comments (2)  
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