01 October 2008

gary beck


I cannot leave you
yet untasted,
whose bones, flesh cover,
proffer perfumed breasts
reaching for my hands.
Your beckoning loins,
hot pronouncements of desire,
mine for the taking
merely in exchange
for soft touch,
winning smile.


How to avert madness
the schizoid cries,
trapped in the confines
of his fluttering head.
His search for sanity
is only postponed
by sheltering drugs,
hollow words,
professional regrets.

gary beck

Shall I go unsinging to my grave,
littering the callous wayside
with a childlike lament?
I would chant rivers, mountains, people,
soar far above the atmosphere,
if I could only learn to conquer
my betrayal tongue.

lust song

Can I sing
that I covet your body,
with a tender lust of power,
dreaming you perfect,
wanting to rip into you
my imaginable longings.
My eyes of desire
creep your soft thigh,
tiny insects of June nights
hoping to feed their hunger
on the swell of round flesh
gathered near your belly,
until sated,
I drift off.

No comments: