Jackal Sings

I'm an old lost jackal poet. I end every verse like it's a chase to the Sub-Saharan golden rims' edges of the end of the world.

[jackalsings]

Ablaze

It was forwarded

in the light of day,

from eons and epochs

to seconds and milli's -

that it was drawn

and written in stone.

What binds our veins

together and in every weather;

the afterimage of these -

blinding lightenings,

race past me

like the flashback

of a war hero.

I'm in country

looking for this perfection

in me; that I find in you,

the passion in your pupils

and the faith in your hands.

[jackalsings]

5 AM in Casablanca

Remember back in Casablanca,‬

when the stench in the air was just right,

while we were struggling to finish a stanza

as the night musk was so quite...

Repertoire of old blues

seemed to haunt these old bricks,

once again here they come

with all of these rules;

about how we can never play

with them sticks...

Wiles occupy my mind once again,

of drops dripping distilled sins on ceramics.

Another sunrise on a bodega bargain,

they fight for their livelihoods like manic.

I can't tell if I'm inhaling the saltiest air

from the Atlantic,

or the remedy of their hands

from the steaming durum wheat stew.

Much like the way

I sometimes struggle with the iambic,

that's what I usually find out unwillingly

when I'm at that corner places,

listening to an old retired

Atlas blues.

[jackalsings]

of Cigars and Dog Days

I go bust,

when the aces

line up just right.

It's just a 'bad luck' thing I suppose.

And no wildcards...

just a burnt cigarette hole

in a stack of cash,

a hot bullet casing

and a stolen art rack

all for my lovers and landlords.

A spasm-like gust,

it unwinds as it gives way,

throttle is my freedom

as I make love to it,

Thruxton in the backroads

dust in my trails,

foggy Ray-Bans and missed calls

is all I have left against my bank clause.

And, when it hits just right

the curvature of your hip

bending the space and time

dimensions in my hand...

I find the rythm every chance I get;

it's like a fusion of Buena Vista, Cohiba

and a bottle of Santiago de Cuba -

just to remember my Dog Days once again.

[jackalsings]

Apples

It's an orbit,

a millennium

in light years

through a wormhole

projected like an astral phenomenon,

you're basking

in the gleams

of our radiance,

every red lipstick stain

evident in the red lady fruit,

forbidden fruit -

temptation in the shadows,

seeds of my doing;

trecks to the end of the world.

It's a constance in the haunting;

a braille lead to your hands

on my body - on my mind - to my heart,

I'm yours, you're mine;

tempt me like the apple of God's dreams,

fallen like an angel in surrogate streams.

A sorry conversation takes place,

in the darkness

of our sheets -

all that was left;

were the stains

of our dried sweat,

and the bite marks

on an apple.

[jackalsings]

Rice

Contours on every pore

rich and raw as the rice

clutched in my hands,

reminds us of -

celibate bands

of hair strands,

at a salon;

never to meet my lover

and never to stay in demand.

It's the steam from your skin

that blemishes the stigma

of our lovemaking.

Like the smokes

of a fresh rice meal

juxtaposed by the cold

of these winter lands.

And then I'd take your hand

pull you towards me

as I inhale your glands,

like every piece of meat,

washed in the sauce

of our saliva.

Just like rice fumes

in the dunes

of our tongues.

[jackalsings]

Duet Memory

I reminisce

the musk

of the night,

I marvel

in the reins.

Ruins of our thoughts,

in bedraggled sheets -

upon a kingdom of clothes.

Like a scent

trapped in the dreams

of my treasured desires.

[jackalsings]

Lost in your Fingers

My fur

lost in your fingers.

Not the tips of your prints

nor the warmth of your breath,

ever tranquilized

the raging of my soul

searching for you

in the heat.

[jackalsings]

Beautiful Wanderer

I wish I could paint your eyes in the night skies of the Mojave. Cool air in the breath of this night, the tunes and whispers of this mirage is an absence of my ghostly memoirs drawing the lands of my home as these sands worship your feet. Your curvature onto the silk as the starry skies bend to your will compliments the very slopes of these dunes. It embarks to the whistles of the heavens, it sways beautifully like the rhythms of a ballroom and my eyes tear to quench my thirst when I think about you time and time again. And when I enter my den, fold into a ball and share the Earth's warmth like every cold and lonely night; I'll be still in the dreams of you - still climbing out of every footstep you take, still playing with the very knot your ancestors tied and still at the fragrance of your breath condensing inside my lungs. But for now I will follow you from afar - many, many Miles afar, beautiful wanderer.

[jackalsings]

Saboteur

Messier in the distance

it reflects on your eyes,

your almond eyes

in the absence

of quasars and stars.

You're the backdrop

of my universe.

[jackalsings]

Simulacra

Shadows draw perfectly on every grain of sand. I can see every particle of my fur, my canines, the curve of my paw and my tail following me everywhere I go. What if it's all fragmented and distorted in the depths of the Higgs boson? What if this most beautiful nature; where all I see are golden brown, golden yellow and a dark hue of golden stars in the night - is all but a turmoil of a violent hurricane of particles that not even neutrinos can escape? What if God were to roll the dice on the very geometry of space time and mass dimensions? What if it's all a finely orchestrated, an eon-long episode of nature in the grand theater of God's multiverses?

[jackalsings]

Braids

My paws

lost in the sand,

I'd take pride

in the tracks I left.

Let the music of the wind

carry me for another eternity.

But I'd rather sink -

and sink some more

in the silk

of your braids.

Every grain pours

out of the pores

of my hands,

out of my sorest

out of water; it's driest.

In her absence,

it's incomplete.

With her touch

my cells -

they deplete.

[jackalsings]

Frank

It's soothing

in the coffin-silence

of this night.

The blues of its humming,

the fools' delight

night is still beckoning.

I either sway

to the endless ghost

of the saxophone.

Or I sip this bourbon,

until I sooth my glands

to unbothered sleep.

[jackalsings]

Exhumation

Our longing

was that of the event horizon,

wormhole of lightyears

between our atoms

along the thin film of our realm

entrapped between the blinks

juxtaposed in every second -

while I hear your breath

in the yearning particles

around your beautiful statue fabricated in my mind

blurring in the most

radiant of ways and paths...

it was lightly regarded

the entropy of your shade

is a warmth I longed for,

not the braids and single sways

the constant rubbing of your

most delicate elbow

at the touch of my palms

and you turn to me

I'm a heart-halt in the attic

of your summer stares,

I'd like to play cards with you

in the dead of night -

the disconnectedness occupies

every facet of my mind.

The repertoir

of your most beautiful semicircle -

Entraps me on subdued mental states

as I merge with you

into the aurora

of our dreams.

[jackalsings]

Sweetnesses

The contour of your skin,

the bent arches of your neck muscles

protruding into the silence of the night.

The curvature of your cheek bones

angling light at distorting refractions.

The temperate sounds of your breath,

humming molecules into sleep.

the splendidly fixated arm

on a lucky patch of silk,

worshiping your shape,

into a permanent

yet temporary state.

It drunk your skin,

at every bend it did

I swear I could feel the air,

condense in the heat of your playing eyes

As they scan your feet -

reflecting the dimming lights

upon your polished toe nails.

Just when I held you and lost my sense,

The kiss that was once my bid,

now turned to an aftertaste of farewell.

[jackalsings]

Mojave

Jupiter is caressing,

with every star it's missing -

with every turn - it's a blessing,

the rill, delta and the shore are kissing.

Moonlight on your eyes,

I wish I'd paint the mojave -

and all of its fireflies,

embellish the canvas under volare -

and the entirety of the Sierra,

while tracing the stretch marks;

on the side of your thighs.

[jackalsings]

Theory of Everything

Your beauty delays light

in the orbital reception

of my eyes,

the glow you send

bends space time

like Einstein's relativity as it lies.

You excite the electrons

in my heart,

like I'm re-entering the atmosphere

of a habitable planet.

I crash landed

and it doesn't hurt,

the rush of this anticipation

for all its worth,

adrenaline and rocket fuel

replace the blood in my veins,

as I trek for you in light years;

with a lot to lose but everything to gain.

[jackalsings]

Photon

Your nail polish bent light

at satisfactory fractions,

at will – playing into the night,

refracting alcoholic photons

distorting colors in a strange way;

complimenting the dying Winehouse

in an elaborate estrogen-fueled fumes,

where the melodic haze fogging your aura;

I thought it was a chemical imbalance

in my mind, eyes and taste buds…

It’s believing my lie; the simulacra,

or it could be another illusion –

inside of a Sub-Saharan mirage.

But it was the juxtaposition

of your Eastern skin,

fading into a aurora

of dreamlike patterns,

cradled me onto the trut.

The broken tungsten –

intertwined with your twilight,

well into the early hours.

The hollow and flanks

of your delicate tabletop hands,

sat under luminous;

interrogation-like sweat,

I could see the glands,

warming the air

around every finger

escaping the furnace

of our holds

a subdued variable

evading eloping sprawls

like that of the inside

of a wormhole.

And, much like the Pacific;

your presence evades tranquillity

like radio waves

of a distorted band.

And, when we hit land,

between the bedsheets;

it was like the salt deposits

on our ship’s mast,

was worthwhile: the decay.

Calcium fractures

with a half-life

of about 500-years

are on my elbows

from carrying your weight,

slipping from the lovemaking sweat

trading the fluids on our bodies,

without any breath and no rest,

the only inhales I get

are just momentary –

seconds and molecular

from protrusions –

between our dried interlocked lips.

That’s all the breath I needed, really.

The perfect dead leaves of crevasses

on your lips; fit perfectly on mine

as we are split by only shells

of our beating hearts,

dehydrated while tiring to the rythm

and immediate space time disturbance.

Then, when they discovered our love;

the Matrix thought it was a glitch…

Your hair sticking to your skin,

the mascara tattooing your neckline,

the fluorescent painting your curvatures,

it rains – all of it; the sweet manna dew,

Blake pictured you,

Keats wrote you

and I found you…

Let’s not tell the key master,

instead let’s fade away for a second,

and forget about everything that is true…