Rock n Roll

We've all had that moment.  You can't tell when you look into our eyes, but we have, trust me.

We've "needed a moment alone," or "had to do something," or "taken a quick break at the bathroom."  It's a low moment, when it happens, but it's a soul-restorer and power-giver the instant it's over.  We feel like we're on the verge of heaving, and more times than not we actually do fill that ratty porcelain throne with things we'd previously ingested.

And for a split second, our entire history dissolves, our image - of which we are well-aware - is nowhere to be found in our consciousness, and our concerns number zero.  We exist, almost as another person entirely, in that moment, purely alone and purely at peace.  We're wholly absent from care about the opinion of a single other sentient creature, and we exist purely in that tiny haven.  We are glad to be alive, not from fear of having been dead, but simply from utmost relief and being so comparatively comfortable, tender from shifting twixt these existential sensations so rapidly.

We flush the toilet, wash our hands, take another swig of whiskey to gauge our level, slug a few pegs worth of water to trim the sails, and place our hand on the doorknob.  The transformation happens, from the temporary vessel of random humanity back into whoever we are.  Then we're ready.  We twist the knob and step through the portal, greeted by compatriots, embarrassingly transparent wannabes, advisors, and select genuine comrades, all refreshing our momentarily forgotten personality, all unaware of the horrors transpired behind an unassuming door.

We're champions once more, immortal for having purged signals of our weakness, gods shedding their mortality.

Impractical Lovers

My hand wants to grip that wood
or leather
or in dirty cases even plastic.

To take her out
first being gentle
letting her warm up

giving her the time she needs
to get comfortable.
For her to be rightly lubed
cooled
warm
but cool
for this dude.

And once she gets going
she likes to run
even gallop
Three hundred some wild horses
chugging and loving
under my thumb.

She's strong as a dragon
but sensitive to part of an inch
and she'll bite
right when I won't take it
knowing I'll be back
'cause such beauty I can't not forgive.

I love our wrestling matches
but I don't ever want to fight.
Anyone could be a sadist for such majesty
and I pity he who couldn't,
he who prefers comfort
over alertness
and values simplicity in seduction
over reward of success.

The street runs both ways.
I turn her on
slowly
wondering how much she can take.
She returns the favour
Accelerating my pulse
as fast as I accelerate hers.
Our breaths getting denser
as the strokes mean more.
She screams with pleasure
and I can only amplify mine
by pushing her further.

Some ignore
some sneer
some double take
and some give compliments
to which I cannot instantly respond.

But some know
and acknowledge
and give a smile and sign
and I return the same
to them & theirs.

Ends justify the means
but I pity him
whose doesn't see enough romance in the ends
to justify impractical means.

Younger Than You

When I was young

maybe eight

or ten

I had a conversation

with my mother

at the club.

“Two times in your life

are strange”

she said,

“the first time the president

is younger

than you are,”

whereupon she paused

affecting drama

finishing:

“and when first the same

could be said

‘bout your doctor.”

I believed.

It sounded strange

and far off.

Something

about which I would know

nothing

for a very long time.

Those days are yet to come

while one she failed to mention

has already come to pass.

I speak of the day

when you first know

you’re growing older

The day the pornstars

are younger

than you.