“A Long Musk”

“A Long Musk”

Let’s go down to that secret place.

That place where you can be who you want to be.

Who you are?

Where we can revel in the glory of attraction and anticipation.

Bated breath.

Sweat.

Chest to breast.

Bold biology.

Fulfillment.

Elbows, lips, pliable flesh.

Pink, purple, red, mocha.

Salt kisses, fingers submerged.

Dainty fingertips gliding along the periphery.

Sweat, warm wetness.

Pushing through.

Resistance.

Momentum.

Breathless butterflies.

Connected solely through electric fingertips.

Fingerprints intermingle, DNA altered.

Traveling towards the event horizon, no reset.

Skillful ravaging.

Contentment.

Certain.

Invasive intimacy.

Waves, waves, waves.

Eyes locked.

Final approach.

Hushed encouragements increase the urgency.

Swollen to a point of burst.

A civilization in its ascendency and decline, in one moment.

Palms slapping the top sheet.

Final advances assured.

Bucking.

Thrashing.

Grinding.

No stopping the launch sequence.

Liftoff.

Traveling up into and becoming one with the atmosphere.

Eventually escaping gravity, and floating.

Floating…floating.

A sweet reverie, wrapped in languid limbs and surrendered kisses.

An expanding universe that ends and begins in the loins of lovers searching for meaning.

“Inhibited”

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“Tundra” © C.P. Hickey 2017

 

 

 

“Inhibited”

All of the words.

An expressive and bitter, “No!”

A sigh.

A wrinkled nose, from unkempt nose hairs.

The minute my hands are involved with dish soap.

Doggie scratching on the door.

The mail carrier ripped important correspondence shoving it into your cast iron mailbox.

Molded plastic breaks when stepped on, and finds soft tissue on a foot sole.

The bus escapes the nearest stop, just as I turn the corner of the driveway.

Gone.

Absent.

Left for life.

Left for dead.

Depot driven.

The long cold walk.

Concrete sprawling out, out, and forever.

The river’s edge.

Depths of frozen sleep.

The sky suffocates my passage.

Doesn’t recognize or care to remember my boot imprints in the snow.

It melts gradually, and meets the sewer grate for the trip to the harbor.

Halfway house spectacles line the corridor leading to transit.

Coffee and cigarettes substitute for harder gravities.

My hardship brethren walking the walk.

Life is hard for all.

It’s hard to set parameters for yourself, when they’ve already been set well in advance of your arrival to this fucking circus.

“Timeshare Chicanery”

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“Woods Hole Harbor” © C.P. Hickey 2009

 

 

 

“Timeshare Chicanery” *

 

Come at once!

Make haste, you’ve won!

For your time,

a handsome sum.

You don’t have to buy,

despite our best try.

You’re free to go.

Just a moment, though.

Sit inside this hotel multi-purpose room,

and listen to our pitch.

You can have a free blender,

even if you ditch.

Let’s share some time,

and time some share.

A few weeks a year,

now that is all we ask.

Are you and your new spouse up to such a task?

Imagine, yourself in a warmer clime,

just sign here,

upon this dotted line.

Floridian, Caribbean,

abroad in some exotic place.

If those aren’t the weeks you want,

you simply trade your space.

Our industry depends on you,

we value your inability to say no.

Once we get a foot in the door,

it’s nigh impossible for you to go.

So, come at once!

Make haste, you’ve won!

You’re luckier than most.

Sign upon the dotted line,

and enjoy a sunny coast.

Two weeks a year,

is all we need,

to puff our bottom line.

We depend on rubes like you,

you are our favorite kind.

*seeded from a phrase offered by, E. Vickery

“Slugnetta”

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“Blue Monday” © C.P. Hickey 2018

 

“Slugnetta” 

 

What do you see, when you look at me?

As I stare at my palm, so passively.

Do you guess, like the rest,

that I’m searching to repress,

the pain?

 

Yes, the pain that my brain can’t escape.

I still can’t escape all of you.

What to do?

Express and redress, amounts to running on ice.

 

Take a closer look, then.

It’s an obstacle illusion.

Full of pollution.

An act of contrition, my life’s mission.

Submission?

An admission, with permission,

pull right, hard!

 

Decision making ability, impaired.

Fighting to fight, swinging at those in closest proximity.

Victimizing those that take the time to care.

At what cost?

I’m nimble and sober when taking the piss out of others,

somehow the mirror in my palm leads to denial.

 

Toll evaders eventually get caught,

even if they think they aren’t guilty.

In truth, the silt of guilt collects at the bottom,

but can never begin to fill the emptiness.

“Home”

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“Roaming” © Lissette Alvarado 2018

 

 

 

“Home”

 

The furniture is worn.

The toilet is clogged.

The countertop is sticky.

Children live here.

 

Chocolate fingerprints on the couch cushions won’t come out.

It sounds like a busy bus terminal most of the time.

There is the dreadful quiet moment when a realization occurs, it is the sudden realization of being within the “they’re up to no good” moment.

Children live here.

 

The wood floors have scratches.

The door hinges are loose.

There are teeny tiny LEGO stalagmites left for dead.

Children live here.

 

I found a jelly bean, a piece of popcorn and a fork inside the couch cushions.

The toothpaste cap is missing.

There’s a pair of mittens over there, full of potential.

Children live here.

 

There are sleeping toddlers.

A sleeping baby.

Mommy and Daddy awake.

Children are loved here.