I am the Woman

I work the locks until they sweat
the metal handles the turned keys
the testing of the hinges
the push and pull of the door against the frame
against lock against wrist
the judgement of the sounds of resistance
the motions between
the noise of surface on surface
distraction demands the process
at any one of the above phases
to be repeated
on all the other doors and locks
the dance of the torch in the darkness
of the hall-ways walked all night
until finally collapsing
the interspersing of shadows
into and out of one another
ceases thru exhaustion
I am the woman
after having assassinated the arterial tension of his cock
consents to be
to be for beings sake
then recreates herself alone
to silently communicate
to recreate his obsession
with inanimate objects
by means other than words

Dreams are not for Debutantes

blinded I lift my palms
these songs I can’t bear to hear
are they enough to last my life?

the Muse precipitates Madame Bovary
shorn bare of her mortality
driving me to the brink of words
I claim asylum, begging for an anaesthetic

oh loan me your clarity of purpose
I can't be a poet with astigmatic
self propelled chemical intuition
I hoard your inspirations
and can loan me too your aesthetics

this incendiary of words
accelerating panic, I’m burning up inside
drink sad heart these altered states
the promise of some great work
that will rid me of my warring selves

I pace the distance of angels
my nomadic thoughts
throw crescent shadows across
this last un-naming of the beasts

night by night signs pull at my eyes
this torn fabric leaking the dawn
weary with dreams a dust of words
settling on my abandoned schemes

Titians Red

I walk the corridor with you in profile
desire is the silver of the mirror
always a question of escape
capricious in what it reveals
on a tightrope between Cezanne’s apple
and Newton's fruit of gravity
anatomical head-sockett plugged into
an unbroken flood of voracious hair
a cameo of sensational red
eluding every photograph
more beautiful for its unknown transience
free from black or whites tidal zones
hidden from probing eyes
and the habits of routine
divorced from the profane fingers
with their erotics of sweat and grease
still my fatal acquisitive voice despairs
denied that flash of filmic gleam
a random access to the bodies perimeter
as great desire demands great restraint
a single word a fleeting touch
become a constellation of stars

and what if this life is death

and what if this life is death will i lack the courage
to love this death as much as i have loved life?

i am afraid something in me is terrified/sick/broken/unable to follow it to the end/to merely die to cease to be or exist outside of the sacred/Don't obsessions replace the fear of God?/I hurl forth the depth of my being only to have it forced back on me by the profound idiocy of the crowd/even five people can make up a crowd if you are used to being alone and just as intimidating even if the act independently in their hate and arrogance towards you they join hands in their despising manner/This penetration of the silent self is to be found only where innocence adorns itself with the platitudes of virtue/desire is like the rain driving in yr face you have no choice but some to accept atrocious defeat or mutilated freedom withdrawn from yr claws by the machine fetish of phyla/Mouth on fire would this be yr sorrow knowing that the single instant wants to be lived rather than prolonged to another time of anticipated space/Anxious to elevate yr ruin accelerate yr collapse/ Soon yr hell will cover the universe/ Do what you know without expecting it/she slapped his face yet again prey to deliriums and at the sight of his restless desire/as rancid as a open sewer/Return to yr life each hr which is a joy and a logic of minutes/I like to think thoughts which exhaust me she muttered thru the rough linen of his trousers/in total darkness they floated on the lagoon in a whole artificial silence/ For Sale Woman's Tears/Fatality to sleep deprived it is our vital terror to survive time’s narcotic scanner /

THE ETERNAL ADVANCE OF THE NOMAD

for in love we anticipate eventual departure
rejection/the black tents folded and packed
the hour of waking together in the broken darkness
hidden tones of habits that have lost their meaning
clever words now full of curious mistrust
the apparition of yr powdered face
leaves me too much alone
there are letters to write and books to read
such a life is worth dying for
precious endearments no longer spoken
but still felt deeply in the clarity of hushed lips/

you touched me once with yr passionate erudite words
are you now alone also?/
My Daphne/my vanished moon flower
my unholy saint my sonorous queen
how soft the wind that lifts the steel dust
who kisses those fingers
runs wild thru lustrous hair
to vagrant to rhyme
i tell you yr a woman that still makes me sigh

space verses intensity

space verses intensity
language collapses under extreme pressure
into a sense of stillness at the end of a chase
loves labours lost and prepares itself for immortality
on the margin of this Century exposed
by a moment of visual attachment
you arrive
and light introduces its graduated triumph
cloth clings to you in desperation
at its inferiority
you accept my ranting with such style
some things never change
the beauty of flowers
drunk on the enigma of seasons
its Spring late in the 20th Century
and the garden fills with perfumes
yr fingers break the translucent stalk
and then you leave this night
I almost feel calm enough to follow....

LeeKwo.  Lee Beckworth, writer and musician from Krate City, Vic. AU.  myspace.com/Bizzare Device