Greetings, friends, romans, venusians, flap dancers, hurdlers, streakers, and other assorted merry-makers,
I'm home!
I've been away a couple of days at Mardi Gras where I drank more than was wise, and spent some truly blissful time collecting stranger-gropes, nude photos, and strings of plastic beads that people go after as if the things are vials of antibiotics in the midst of an epidemic. As a matter of fact, i DID have a blast! Pictures will go up in the next few days.
So paint me doubly happy because Clean Sheets Erotica Mag (www.cleansheets.com) recently published my poem "When Can We Meet Again?" to their site! February rocks!
So until my next journal entry, I offer you the following lyrics. Viva la you!
Hurricane Marti
By the light of covetous Bourbon Street gaslamps,
I am king of the damned and daring.
My sacramental latex wench bows before me,
Eyes afloat in libidinous libations
That glow in invitation
To swing and rise upon shooting stars of sweat
That traverse her cosmos of flesh.
These regal raiments of
Torn fishnet stockings
Compliment the coarseness
Of skin that has known her kind of love before.
Ensnared in her smoked glass claws,
I am damned behind my mask.
I am daring within her steel-pierced heat.
I am the skin of nightmares
That prowl the French Quarter
In black stiletto battleflags
Raised like virgin ass, like warcries.
Once upon a time, I had a soul of gold
Or something like one.
It itched so I scratched it naked and hard
With bucking hips
And ferocious visitations with passionless strips of wailing meat.
But zydeco regrets are all the wealth
The ageless may possess,
Agree Starlight and Moonshine,
Wearing colored bead halos.
So they whisper that I am the assassin of virtue,
And my cursed saint sheds tears of everclear,
Martyrs her knees, and swallows my pride,
Sucking aging joy from a shell.
Copyright Anthony Beal 2003
I'm home!
I've been away a couple of days at Mardi Gras where I drank more than was wise, and spent some truly blissful time collecting stranger-gropes, nude photos, and strings of plastic beads that people go after as if the things are vials of antibiotics in the midst of an epidemic. As a matter of fact, i DID have a blast! Pictures will go up in the next few days.
So paint me doubly happy because Clean Sheets Erotica Mag (www.cleansheets.com) recently published my poem "When Can We Meet Again?" to their site! February rocks!
So until my next journal entry, I offer you the following lyrics. Viva la you!
Hurricane Marti
By the light of covetous Bourbon Street gaslamps,
I am king of the damned and daring.
My sacramental latex wench bows before me,
Eyes afloat in libidinous libations
That glow in invitation
To swing and rise upon shooting stars of sweat
That traverse her cosmos of flesh.
These regal raiments of
Torn fishnet stockings
Compliment the coarseness
Of skin that has known her kind of love before.
Ensnared in her smoked glass claws,
I am damned behind my mask.
I am daring within her steel-pierced heat.
I am the skin of nightmares
That prowl the French Quarter
In black stiletto battleflags
Raised like virgin ass, like warcries.
Once upon a time, I had a soul of gold
Or something like one.
It itched so I scratched it naked and hard
With bucking hips
And ferocious visitations with passionless strips of wailing meat.
But zydeco regrets are all the wealth
The ageless may possess,
Agree Starlight and Moonshine,
Wearing colored bead halos.
So they whisper that I am the assassin of virtue,
And my cursed saint sheds tears of everclear,
Martyrs her knees, and swallows my pride,
Sucking aging joy from a shell.
Copyright Anthony Beal 2003
Having a great weekend, I hope?