Strolling down Bourbon Street, centuries of pain and beauty beneath our feet,
Dancing on the heels of the greats to a rhythym the city seems to make from out of nothing,
à La Nouvelle-Orléans,
We’re alive, like the jazz, and smoke, and black magic floating through the air,
we’re wild, we’re free.
I love you, I love you, Je t’aime, Je t’aime,
Down by the Bayou, drunk on Rue Dauphine, on St. Charles Street,
Tracing the footsteps of Degas,
of Hemingway, Capote, Williams,
Sweet city beneath the sea,
Hold steady, hold on tight.
break down, fever thoughts spilling out of you, try/fail, love/hate, rinse/repeat
she kisses like she knows you
your bodies all too close
her lips a strawberry paradise
ducks move past you
you’re floating in the river now
a half light cigarette as you called him up the stairs
he tastes like dove and fresh regrets
but his hands fall in all the right places,
sins left all over the floor
sailing out to sea
skin glistening in the sunlight for the last time
the water devours you like a delicacy, slowly fills your lungs
break down, fever thoughts spilling out of you, try/succeed, love/unconditional, rinse/repeat
Sad songs soothe me, whether summer days spent soaking in the sun, or winters shut up indoors enveloped in a good book, warm blankets, hot tea,
My soul only knows despair with short intervals of joy.
But you can recharge my battery in the woods, the forest floor my corridor to some unexplained source of vitality.
That or let me breathe in salty ocean air,
Drown my old self in the cold, dark, blue of the Pacific,
Rise from the waves anew.
Born again and again in and out of your arms, watch me take off
like Apollo 11.
Balancing the day and the night, the light and the darkness, emotion and might.
Days swell into nights,
We toil away cloaked in civility.
No respite from this hunger,
Soaks into my skin like the last days of summer.
Coiffed and poised for a total takeover,
Obstacles, slowly but surely devoured.
Power in my sights,
Read my eyes.
Budapest’s very own, Terror House Magazine published two of my original works today. Huge thanks to editor, Matt Forney!
Click the link below to read the poems in question and discover more from Terror House:
while the perseids kissed the night sky
but summer heat gave way to cool breeze
Just dirt and a picnic blanket
yet it felt like the very definition of magic
Almost five years now
and still under your spell
bathing in the silence
solitude from room to room
he’s naked and reclining, like a Toulouse-Lautrec
lips bitten raw, skin clawed
recounting the origins of old scars
soaking in a glass of Malbec
soaking up the emptiness
wade through the emptiness with me, into the dark, absent of thought
nous verrons ce qu’il y a de l’autre côté