Dangerous When Naked (Rated 'R' for language)

Not since Pan had chased Syrnx across the sand had this guy washed Road off his puss, and he stunk of clock tick and rue. He crashed into my head around midnight. I was clean. No Beethoven screwing my veins,this time, no booze just boredom softened by milk at midnight.         Ennui was squeezing out my fucked-up lusts, like frosting on an old maid's cake, but it split when that bastard, Chaos, the Pullitzer poem blew in, unwashed,  from the steppes of time and space.           Sure.  It had been a bad move to open my wallet where Jim's picture lept out at me, grinning that old smelter of light and heat, 'cause that man was gone-packed up his meadowlarks,Sunday drives, and unconditional love- and split down the celestial trail without me, a helluva thing for an old broad to get knocked around with, in an empty house, at midnight, in winter. So, when I turned around, weak with hunger, and saw HIM there slouching up against my walls with the butt-end of my days in his teeth, a naked poem with over-the edge metaphors bulging out of his eyes, I grabbed     the handcuffs of pen, and lunged to haul him under my circle of light for grilling.  Faster than a wet cat in a jacuzzi, he slipped out of my feral fingers, and was gone in the night.  "You'll never get me!", he taunted; and he was right. A schmuck like me would never snag him. What did he leave behind?  You guessed it - the usual. . . the gut ash from his opium images on rainy-grey parchment, and that stench of burnt syntax. I'll never shake that look in his backward glance, that in-your-face thrust at illusion, a couple of similes slung over his shoulder, naked as a kiki bird - not a twitch on, just that lean body taut to the bone of time and space, and ready to fuck. Written January 2nd, 2002 © on Jan 02 2002 03:00 AM PST, Carole Dudley   0 • 14