I am a creature created by narrative.
Every time I emerge from the pages of a book,
I trade a small piece of my soul for a piece of theirs.
I emerge rejuvenated by heartbreak,
Heroism,
And happily ever after.
A fundamental renaissance. A metamorphic reincarnation
Formed in the fires of fiction
Under the pressure of imaginings, that to many
Are nothing but falsehoods.
As light as a handful of feathers
The pack is strapped to his back.
The heat of the summer sun
Reflects off the world around him.
So sure it will work he steps off,
Weeks of planning and a million
Dollars in research say he can,
The ledge of the forty story building.
Falling fast, as he passes floor twenty-eight
The It Dies Today ringtone
Sounds from his pocket.
Maybe he should have waited to hear
The results of the engineer’s final inspection.
I take no credit for the image. I found it on Google images search.
An expanse in the shape of an hourglass;
With all the angles of one too.
Up the center grows a porcelain tree.
Its branches, the definition of symmetry,
Are the perfect frame to drape ivory flesh upon.
At its base, two dimples as if
A maker’s mark for man, showing him
The best place for his hands
When he holds her.
I take no credit for the photo. I found it on a Google images search.
Hanging from hip bones.
Flat, sloping flesh.
Flexing inward.
Begging for the touch of my lips.
Framed by the low-ride of his jeans.
Leading me south toward his virility.
Petite poised person
Resplendent in red,
A simple a-line apparel and
Hellishly high heels,
Before a behemoth of
An abstract
Pollocked painting.
A contemporary cognitive contradiction?
Or a cherry colored canvas clear
And ready for ravishment?
642 Poems and More 