james-luscombe.com

The Hopeless Prowl

Another broken down lounge and the hopeless prowl

Hunting for something that nobody’s got

Some part of yourself even you forgot

Like keys on a ring, misplaced upon the nightstand

 

In search of self in another’s face

In eyes unknown

Open window to a different soul

 

Meeting ground of minds and voices and passions

Both pure and otherwise.

What’s your name? What’s your sign? Got a light?

Hipsters and shuysters and the broken hearted

Congregate under scattered light

As a million shards of mirror spin their yarn

Like a bad dream sequence

And everyone smiles and swallows another lie

 

The hollow cheer of an empty glass is soon replaced with another round of inebriated laughter

And satisfaction’s on tap as long as you keep tipping

And everyone knows your name

As long as its Joe or something

 

Your shadow got lost in the gaps in the plank wood floor

And your soul left to mingle with whisps of cigarette smoke

And so you’re alone with yourself and a couple of lines that you’re not even buying

And everything becomes jumbled together

The faces, the sound, the smoke, the booze

 

Tonight will only be replayed in fragmented consideration tomorrow

Over toast and coffee and a dash of regret

But even regret is temporary

 

So justification can remain self-contained and viable

Like the sweat that sparkles on the face of a fresh pint

And then another

the Desert

 

Deceitful expanse

Your face like death, is teeming with life.

Invisible existence

Hidden away behind cactus and stone

Cowering from the light that brings life to all

The hawk holds its patient circle

As vultures swoop, converging upon empty shells of life

Stealing that which cannot remain for long

You offer no apologies, no excuses

Simply host the dance of life and death

The spectacle of mortality

Empty and full in the same instant within itself

watermelon

I moved my lips slowly onto the wedge of soft, pink flesh, as though to kiss it.

My mouth, bathed in it's delicate sweetness.

The sweetness of a novice lover's touch.

For each bite that I took, it gave to me. 

A cool trickle from the corners of my mouth.

The cool summer breeze conspiring with the sticky, sweet nectar.

A chill-tingle on my skin.

The taste lingered, long after each morsel had dissolved into me.

Quenching the deepest of needs.

For the tongue too, it carried rewards.

Treasures, deep and private.

Flattened, black jewels. Trinkets galore.

Gliding and flipping about, each being filed away in the tender pocket of my cheek.

Then, like angels taking wing, they each popped past my lips and soared.

Euphoric, before going to rest in the great, green carpet of Kentucky Blue

As is often the case with lovers, without warning the affair was over.

The sweet, pink meat that had sustained and nurtured me, had raised me up to see the wonder of it, was no more

A bitter taste was all that remained.

I stared at the long, unusual shard in my grasp and wondered about it's heaviness and strange, green striations.

The the moment passed and the rind was on it's way over the fence.