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Perspectives on Perception (selected poems)

Updated on May 17, 2015

Afflatus

Stillness.
I am alone,
the last to leave.

Prompted to action,
I locate the file.
Ctrl + P in short, manageable sections;
avoiding paper jams,
deterring suspicion.
A virtual gold mine uncovered,
now made tangible,
placed fastidiously into my bag
for transport.

Two hundred pages
of exposition,
now beckoning from my desk.
I sit before it,
deferent.

Reverently, I lift the first page.
Eyes move carefully,
consuming every word,
absorbing their meaning,
savoring the lyrical flow of expression.

A brand of worship,
not for the man, albeit
supplication to his words --
my muse.


The Office

Digits tap away,
promenading over keyboards.

A drone of vocal utterances,
mimicking temperance of pitch, spike intermittently--

muffled by erected barriers of professionalism--
a white noise.

Cloudiness breaches my consciousness;
thoughts growing indistinct, negligible.

I nod listlessly,
languishing, eyes drooping.

A telephone sounds resonantly,
piercing the diaphanous fog.

My head jerks spasmodically.
“How may I help you?”

Morning after

Summer sun pierces morning haze
permeating slats of bedroom window blinds

Arousing occupants to the sticky, sweet residue
of last night’s indiscretions
The perfume of dried sweat and ejaculation
engulfing awakening senses

Blue eyes meet brown
in warmly penetrating acknowledgement,
memories of flesh on flesh, a collision of bodily fluids,
in exploration of the unfamiliar,
yet furiously desired, landscape of
one another’s anatomical structure

Dressing mutely, exchanging sympathetic gazes,
reflections on this crossroads moment;
embracing the nirvana of hours past,
bracing for the reality of hours ahead

Little puma

Two yellow orbs
glowing
intense with focus
in a bed of sleek, black fur
covering
slender torso
rippling musculature
retracted daggers
in tiny, black paws
prowling with ninja steps
pouncing suddenly
claws exposed
broken teeth bathed
in tuna breath
breaking skin
on the hand that feeds

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