numb, I sit here
the fan drones
my ears ring
my stomach revolts
it is forever now
the darkness embraces
not again
not again
I was past this
I’ve found it again
my frailty
my longing
my guilt
they are all here
with me
again
again
Take these gifts..
This bone that grates beneath the surface
begs to support this body you test
This blood that surges throughout my limbs
licks rage that chases your wicked hand
This breath that parts my quivering lips
brings mute whispers of worship and pain
Take these gifts…
This hand fights to grasp air you exhale
and longs to feel the flesh you deny
This heart flinches with every demand
that softly escapes your dark lush mouth
This heat I produce deep down below
fuels the tirades of love that I plead
Take these gifts…
This sight brings visions of anxious nights
spent writhing within your magic weave
This sound, so sweet of stiletto heels
heralds the purity in your stride
This scent of your sex shines sharp focus
upon mysteries of my servitude
Take these gifts
All I truly own
A salty humble edifice
To a woman
Owning the darkness
I discovered her body
a Magellan of skin
porcelain perfection
archetype of sin
She moved with conviction
shadows and grace
sensual severity
a viper in lace
Angel in black
forgive this shell
light my way back
lead me out of hell
Gripped by her philosophy
twisted inspiration
architect of my
eventual revelation
A brazen libertine
enemy of fate
amazon vampire
queen deviate
Angel in black
forgive this shell
light my way back
lead me out of hell
Quenched by her chaos
forged abyssal lust
a house of cards
stacked with lies of the just
Glorious turmoil
one moon in her thrall
shards of broken love
down a mirrored hall
Angel in black
forgive this shell
light my way back
lead me out of hell
Razed by the flame
of fear’s subtle war
fought among machines
of life’s secret lore
Mourned my destiny
conceived by cruel stain
born through apathy
nurtured with pain
Angel in black
forgive my sin
you’ll never come back
please let this end
Cloaked deep in swathes
of night
a dream weaver, her ember burns bright
A pit fighter both healer
and sadist
a beautiful ghost with soft lips unkissed
Shattered echoes of erotic
deeds
with reflections of caressed needs
At once, she is everywhere
and nowhere
a morphing, phasing, harlequin nightmare
She taunts and teases,
then scurries away
and laughs at fate as I ask her to stay
Smoky and translucent,
an intangible goal
my wispy soul’s owner will soon take her toll
The universe, and us, are arranged in a mirrored union
of veracity and obfuscation, both macro and micro.
We are starstuff and antimatter, flowing, fragile
and focused on fighting against fate.
There is a cosmic convergence
…and then there’s candy
The Big Bang, which gave us our celestial bodies
infused us with crystalline dust and the memory of a thousand
suns, burning, blinding brilliance and fueling our desires,
eventually leaving us with the detritus of our existence.
There is a cosmic convergence
…and then there’s candy
Conversely, we are composted, like sweet music,
of all manner of infinitesimal quarks; she’s Charmed
and bottom, I’m Strange and Top. We’re swirling with
unseen forces, influenced by gravity and circumstance.
There is a cosmic convergence
…and then there’s candy
Somewhere out there, or down here, there is a Unified Field Theory.
It will bind our being with one complete universal truth
that answers all our fears and heralds our ascendance,
but until then…
There is a cosmic convergence
And her lips taste like candy.
Mechanics of Flying
Have you ever noticed how real dreams seem while you’re having them? How all of life’s mysteries are revealed as nothing more than smoke in a gentle breeze? As if the universe sees fit to offer up the bounties of imagination in short moments of brilliance, and then, just as suddenly, take it all away…
Several times I’m in my dreams and I know how to fly. I swim through the air like I swim through water. It occurs to me that if I could just remember the mechanics of flying that I could fly when I wake up. I always wake up. I never remember…
If dreams seem so real while we’re in them, then how do we know that we’re not dreaming now? It stands to reason that the difference between flying and being earthbound could be a static state of mind. Perhaps anything is possible if we sever the mind’s restraints of consciousness, and reach for the clouds.
This tower of solitude
created brick by brick
from lonely nights and respites
spent without Eve’s kiss
This solstice of my soul
grows colder with the winds
of intricate covetries
over unions of my friends
This sandstorm of fate
chokes my blackened lungs
with breaths of past lovers
and seductions left undone
pity the
lonely
for they are
caught in
the elements
Return
Grace of Movement
Snow in December
With Borrowed Flesh
Return
A Temporal Knight
Celestial Spirit Code
Gravity of Conscience
Return
Soul Keeping Machine
A Fractal Unfolding
Old as Stars
Return
Serpent Swallows Tail
A World Dies
A Baby Cries
wine in a barrel
the wind could never stop
the end of all time
a man in a cell, raging against machines
ice in a martini
pain
man
rain
fellows of a great nation
tides
needle phalanges of smoke
the world had eyes
to taunt the uninitiated
kill me anyway
to burn was welcome
space is your friend (or is it?)
answers
time had no meaning
a frail and lovely thing
pushed in my nose
sorrow in vapors
a crusty piece of toast
confident
in her depravity
silence
flesh versus leather
frightened
with quivering lips
slick
with her juices
whimpers
eyes closed to the world
pleading
he grants her release
shining
saliva and ecstasy
surrender
a warrior, knighted
Sweet Submission
Sweet submission, I state
like a rose that proffers
both fragrance and razor barbs,
visions and loss
Sweet submission, I state
as if those two concepts
enthrall the essence of all
your anima
Sweet submission, I state
because I know so well
what evil little pleasures
this path will bring
Sweet submission, I state;
a smile, and the wisdom
of all things that would die and
all that would bloom
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Contact me: dirk@dirkhooper.com or P.O.Box 6027, Moore OK, 73153 |
| Dirk Hooper is a published writer of comics and poetry, and a regular magazine and online columnist. His work is inspired by the worlds of goth, fetish, fantasy, science and his own dark imagination. He is currently working on a novel, a book on web promotion, a new comic project and continues to enjoy poetry writing. Dirk lives in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. |