this time around

it fluctuates within the waiting arrogance protrudes when present
similar she flys by shyly waiting for the rain to fly by
could you try? y'think? it's time to bend the will of
ignorance into a thesis ramifying similarities
it's rare to see a triple bypass passing by
don't cry please little daughter
try, you really ought-- er,
how can this exist
when all this
insecurity
is pouring down now into what you had imagined though supposed impossible and now in front of you, you're blessed.

-ZL

Garden Eros

He came in from working, hard, all dirt and sweat and gorgeous exhaustion. Bright outside. Digging, lifting, hacking, ... loving every moment. Gorgeous exhaustion.

She's been watching him.

She still is. Prone, exhausted, wet, breathing, salty bodies, the musk of that much sweating, and the smell of fresh-gardened dirt, and of various plants and vaguely of compost-- a man in such a state never really knows how
attractive he is, how primally must-have he is... It's the Brad Pitt effect. His body's being used, beaten to pulp in Fight Club and Snatch, dashed by the sea in Legends of the Fall, sweaty embearded and smeared with dirt as he digs the grave in Kalifornia... That's the way to see an attractive man. That's the smell of an attractive man-- and now's a time to...

Well, first of all-- he smells good, yes-- but she takes him to the shower.

They become clean together-- "Innocent" as the character of Anais Nin keeps describing it, her sexual relationship with Henry Miller (and June) in the movie Henry and June. "Make me Innocent."

We become innocent, we lovers. Madly, beautifully, dirty, sweaty, sometimes dangerous, always hot...

Exchanging selves, immersed within another, he becomes touched, she is squirming and breathing quickly, not in control, neither is, how could either want to be--?

Ecstasy has a reality, is not just an idea... some of the lovers currently making love in this world as we speak, know it. Well.

-ZL

(so-called) fact

Hipster mangling my reply he's do or die and I'm not buying
all this tabulation leads to nonesuch weirdos sipping tea and I'm through trying
all the lying bastards and their keepers and their groomers, their advisors pointing everywhere but
Who're they? And who're you and what you think you're doodling on this hollyhock-infested ride
You're feeling pride of course you've run this course before of course on blinded horses
You've no problems seeing through the lies we stew in battered cans and
Underpants gone moldy in some distant, too-close corner smelly still
and all the whining, shrill so insect like in eardrums and the dogwood blooms in
August I believe
So fragrant
Don't you know?
Your row to hoe
Will take you where you go
That's truth, intact,
Well almost
Got your youth
and that's a (so-called) fact
and something's gonna happen
you can rest assured
it always does.

-ZL

How does it feel?

And why should we care? And where are we staring and can't we compare...? It's unbearable sometimes and last I perceived it was mourning in motion emotional ride through these torrents persisting in places I'd never imagined I'd go wouldn't choose to to lose you or any of all these events have unfolded me into a canyon of tears and the years are now stretching me sometimes and retching behind open doors into living rooms only imagined by others and slowly the tempter presides over whimsical musical kingdoms I hasten to say I relate and the paths these things lead me down holler approval or worse and I take every morsel it's killing me slowly or not and the rotting inside don't smell pretty and creases increasing and pains evermore ever moreso it's killing me makes me morose and so morbidly drawn-in like Ian Curtis wasting infinity biding my timeless complaint til you manage to rock me.

ZL