freel

freel

to feel raw

uninterpreted

advice

any advice

opinion

comparison

story

is a judgment, an attack

"this is truth. how dare you not know it already"

or is an idol

"this is truth. here is the value and the power"

when we do not know

feel

trust

our self

notice

I notice my behavior

when I come upon a person

along my way

and I have no particular interest in this person

I don't know them, our direct paths do not interact

there is a force

that pulls on my neck

and on my eyes

to look away

sometimes I feel a little curious

what is this person like?

What are her legs shaped like?

what's behind his hat?

what's that color design on her shoes?
what's that dimple like, on his face?

yet a force compels me

to look away

to leave them be

like a rubber band stretched out in their direction

tugging at my face to look, to face somewhere else

to signal

"I notice you, and I have no further business with you"

and to avoid signaling

"I notice you, and I want you to notice me too"

a habit from fear of interacting

of picking up the other's attention

the dread of feeling the

"I see you looking at me. Why are you looking at me?"

inner dialogue in a flash of anxiety

from not knowing what this connection

might be like

and other fictions the mind may live

leaking cheese

the funny thing about funny

is no one gives a shit
about the unnecessary filth squandered
in those holes of unused that gape all through our being
swiss cheese of fluids
leaks everywhere, we know not how
to be our own plumber
and we wander around hoping to stumble
against some other leaky surface
and our leaks find a cap
somewhere among the other's leaks
by soothing happenstance
like bumbling teletubbies unaware
of our being's true design

leaking cheese
moldy fluids
crying infection and please take a look
and please spare a second or two
to open you and treat you
emotional peroxide
yes it stings
and yes it bleeds
and yes it cries
and yes it dies
just on the surface it needs a scar
please give me a scar
the pus drains me bit by bit
so long has it hidden
ragged, filthy, bleeding in the basement
where we deign not sink
oh no i'm past that
i'm over that
while the maggots continue
to eat my child alive from the inside
that still cries out from the basement
give me light
and hold me tender, i can be alright
just not tonight. tonight
i'm a rotting ghoul
and i can't not be that
if i stay here

her smile

what is it that it seeks so desperately
when I see the graceful smile
the smooth skin

the eyes drenched in meaning
drenched in secrets I feel a
primal urge to discover?

is it her softness
that malleability to touch?
my knowing that in her I have a sweet batter
to mold, shape and prepare
as my own cake to savor?

is it her smile, that powerful curve
that shakes my insides as a
storm does a young tree?

do I seek that fizzing tumult
that makes me want to push your buttons again
over and over
and feel your sweet smile tickle me
forever?

is it her warm embrace
the ardent battle our skins wage
when they meet each other like
long-lost best friends, yearning for eons to play?

is it my holding her close to me
her willingness to be held by me
like my child and I hers

to know and tell each other silently
"I'm happy next to you"
and need then nothing else?

is it the smell of her head
just above her temple
among those subtle spirals of fine hair
that sweet aroma that melts my will
and makes me want her as mine
the deep feeling of hidden fatherhood
the sweet longing to care?

or is it the wild intoxication

I dive headfirst into
when your aroused smell enters my nostrils
and I know your body cries out for mine
that willingness of your softness
to yield to my form
to my will, to my container, my desire
my longing to hold you and care you within
as the mother nurtures a child?

are these urges those that pull me
that steer me from my core and groin
is it all of these, or any

the might, perhaps, of their powers combined
combines into a larger, wholer shape
whose edges I merely begin to
understand?

this power can see me become a drooling slave
to her, it might seem, but no
a slave to my own pulls

wild winds that beat my sails haywire
sometimes a willing slave, even miserable
for perhaps the desire truly
is for that ecstatic exhilaration
I feel when tossed and turned
even broken by her winds.

sweet hair, bird's voice, warm heart
I long to feel them close
I note, with clear knowing
that what I long for is not the closeness

but the feeling.