-DI GUEUL ASS @digueulass-blog - Tumblr Blog

Identity

O Identity,

that old woman,

she, whose manacl'd mind

sings of being free.

How nice, she thinks,

it is to have rented

a mobile home-

one that stinks

and one that thinks.

But how much nicer

it would be

to have been born a tree,

and grow to the moon

at a calm heart's pace

instead of looking up

wishing for grace.

-ddd

#poem #poetry #identity #woman #tree #moon

a dose

Is the air not enough that I crave cigarette sticks instead?- man-made doses of fixed air.

when did my thumb become unappealing?

the touch on my lips and a steady inhale expanding my diaphragm

till it fills the whole city!

but these dreams are just that- picturesque fantasies, religious tableaux, Sante Davide and his cigarette pack in one hand and an orb of fire in another.

in reality, I'm actually picking my nose on a bench beside a plant with my rolly black suitcase standing in front of me.

-ddd

#poem #poetry #cigarette #inhale #reality #fantasy #religious

an expansion in my diaphragm

the space in a breath is infinite

the leaves of spring unborn

the smile, the grin of a spiritual boy lies lazily on his form.

Implore for God extract the whys and wherefores- inhale inhale the fetal leaves for you alone you alone aren’t you alone.

-ddd

#poem #poetry #breath #spring #diaphragm #space #expansion

Cremazie

a rainy morning in March at Cremazie metro on the south side waiting to be picked up like the other lonely janes here in their spring coats and winter coughs.

it's raining and every morning I've been terribly thirsty. I wonder when the earthworms come out. the early morning at a metro station is a sacrilege to the human soul. the worst of mother nature and human nature united waiting.

#cremazie #metro #poetry #montreal #morning #spring

a trip

Part One

the angelic voice in the metro hums along with the homeless whistle

divine Mundane!

Metro Parc, in it's spring and Sunday glory.

To the tired sitter-downers and adrift female pacers

today is the day! like any other

Part Two

the 94 catapults us along Iberville

the blue sky is hovering in pause

the eye of the storm is tomorrow today is still now

Part Three

back on the 94 but north head shaved a lovely afternoon brunch walk sex shaving - vibrations on my scalp

it was numbing.

the cerebral conversation speaks more physically than we give it credit for

the vibration of noise is in constant contact with the brain.

various kinds of very physical massages

#iberville #montreal #poem #day #bus #metro #parc #spring #daytime #shaved

Duty

There was no silence as I acquainted myself with the bright streetlight Outside his window. His snores were roaring like waves. His tongue was dipped with cocaine. There was no silence. I felt like my mother. I would reach out to rub his back, To motion my leaving- I could not sleep there anymore. And the rub would go unnoticed. I knew my duty! There was no silence When I looked away. There was no silence, When I turned towards him. There were snores

Crackling like a fireplace On the cold black bed.

I lay sprawled Like my mother- Delicate, dutiful, dying. I needed sleep that I could not find. I found silence. I found silence in the break of the waves, In my mother’s trust for my father’s body. I found silence to sleep. Woken with rods prodding flowers- My anus tight, rested, asleep. A kiss at the back of my neck. There was no sleep. Only duty! And when I got up and left him In his own snores, under his black sheets, When I got up and left, Like a divorcee I indulged in cold orange juice. Like a widow, I assured my love affair with God Was the only one worth pining over. Like my mother, I was downstairs on the leather Couch, resting in front of television lights Knowing this was the only meditation worthwhile. This is the closest silence I will ever know.

-ddd, 2009

#sleep #poetry #sex #snore #poem #gay #silence #mother #insomnia #duty

Coffee is splashin' round in my gut

Coffee is splashin round in my gut,

Seashell sounds escaping my esphogus.

Wish wash- ba-boom. Deep thunder Resides in nimbostratus gas Somewhere down. Electricity pounding Sinus swelling. It’s swell, it’s swell. I slash the streets, their stories cute, Little boy carrying an umbrella too big for him as his father tells him To shut up. And i slash his father so deep with my clown Umbrella, broken blue-yellow salvation army crucifix That i carry. I slash. O. How I slash The little stroller baby tucked away in yellow raincoat bag. How I slash burnt fresh bagel smells, car yells. Something’s rumbling. And Imma slashing. Imma teasing old horny French men sitting Out as if there was sun. My broken-thing caressing my anus Rumbling. And they smoke their thick cigarettes, cough out Grey stubble. I’m teasing, slashing, more fucking awake Than I’ve been in a while. Ain’t misbehaving. No. Cocaine blues- no. Thunder’s rumbling somewhere deep, And I’m punching thick air, sidewalk cement, and little Worms that dare to come out. Fucking hermaphrodites. Did i come last night? Pasty dust clinging to dirty underwear, don’t really remember If I fucked the cat. The one that licked the table and her Credit card. Meowing anxiety, my eyes heavy- want to fuck Him in the other room, but the black cat perches, perched Dust on her nostrils- did I come last night? Somethins rumbling. Don’t think i did. Christmas carols in my dreams which turned Out to be cell phone rings. Waking later, and owning The sidewalk dirty underwear sweat around my nipples Chalky lips. I own it. Somethin’s rumblin’ and I fucking Slash the streets. And you’re laughing maybe, and I’m still slashing baby. I sing for sarcastic cynics; And ode to open dicks who contemplate swimming with The cars below- but who walk instead. Who know the sidewalk Can’t support an extra pound but who press instead. The ones who think green leaves look better with a grey sky. Chalk smiles, dead byes. Toes awake. Stomach rumbling. Howling to the other motherfuckers, you know, the ones Who take a while to get their pants off. Don’t worry, I’m laughing too. Leaves the best scar.

-ddd