Sunday, November 8, 2009

getting to penelope

I am a scaly godzilla come to part your waters.

I do not sense the cleanliness of my absence.

I do not notice the gone piles of dropped clothing,
the missing stacks of papers that might have
inked the tiled floor, the hardened preserves
and butter scoured from the kitchen counter.

I return boisterous and frothing into your shower
stall daydream thighs, incensed by scalding
jets of spray, lips made moist by fantasies
of monsters.

Forget the dusting, the scrubby fucking bubbles,
the violin lessons that are ended but not mastered,
the monkfish that blackens as we clash.

I am a man. I return for one thing and one thing only.

Let me slide across your soapy beaded pantheon, gore
your vaulted belly with my horny claws and worship.

Let me bleed a little with your tidy blood, scraping
your heaving cheeks with a day old beard.


Jenny said...

Brilliant Gerry!

Keep on running riot on Flowers of Sulfur. You are such a talented original poet and I am so glad that you are now an author/administrator here.


Akeith Walters said...

Powerful, great use of imagery.

Jon said...


Loving the Ulysses slant here. I've been going through a Homer and James Joyce stage lately, so this piece resonates... thanks!

Unknown said...


Well, the Arkansas traveller can sometimes lay his fiddle down. If the transition from work to love can be a fresh delight, than what can one say about your lovely ecstatic.? Thank goodness you have met the day with the passion of the night.

Your poem is worthy of our hungers.