Monday, March 22, 2010

have you no urge to give it
a dignified sea burial?
that heavy lead promise ring,
rust stains on your finger,
shaky hands glued to your sides.
chums under supervision,
sanctioned by your sponsor,
your old lady, your lord,
who your lethargically wrestle,
three to four days a week.
animalistic races to see,
who gets the happy ending,
uninspired coitus interruptus.
have you not grown tired
of this methodical match?

Thursday, March 4, 2010

bare skin above kneehighs
grazing the cold metal bones of my desk,
i am locked into this dunce cap cage, where
rubbing hands up and down goosebumps
can never create enough friction,
to combat this ice box of a room,
which serves to keep anchored eyes
from sinking into sleep.

he is caged in his skeleton,
a matter of six inches of electric energy,
between my plaid skirt and his pleated pants,
wide-eyed day dreams end abruptly when i feel
a touch from an idle hand with a not-so-hidden desire,
to carry out his solitary vice.

and i, in my young body,
accept hands under my uniform while i,
drag a finger along text and keep my eyes glued
to crucifixes and cups of blood and brothers of God,
and how to ignore the pleasures of the flesh.