February 2002 | back-issues, Bill Wunder, poetry
phone rings.
he wants me,
I can tell, or
is it those red shoes?
sounds made
by high heels
on reflective,
wooden floors
bedevil him.
I am someone else
in scarlet spikes.
my skirt swirls
freely
in the warm air
surrounding me
like a swarm of honey bees.
my legs, longer
in those red shoes,
belong to a seductress;
a stranger to me.
I am rhythm.
my breasts bounce
upon the off beat.
he is at the door.
my pulse quickens
as I slip on those red shoes,
and one thing leads to another.
February 2002 | back-issues, Patrick Seth Williams, poetry
I am a compass
on which polarity
has been reversed.
I move in directions
I feel I should move
and do not bother
to ask if it is right.
People question
my feet as they
propel me backwards
and my feet scuffle
along, concentrating
too much for
idle chit-chat.
They will not
ask me to my face
because they cannot
find it. For the world
has many eyes, none
of which can see.
February 2002 | back-issues, Patrick Seth Williams, poetry
I’m through measuring
my life by pounds
and inches. I come
to myself humbled,
asking forgiveness
but I will not listen.
I pour the last sorrow
down the drain.
It is the new year,
my glass is empty,
the half-full moon
urges me to celebrate.
February 2002 | back-issues, Patrick Seth Williams, poetry
Today I move
without rising
to my feet.
I think without
being conscious
of thought,
and act through
the inaction
of my soul.
The world is
a series of
complications,
focused on
now, past,
and future
none of which
is relevant.
I plan my day
by planning nothing.
February 2002 | back-issues, Patrick Seth Williams, poetry
My thoughts are only
of your eyes when
you said you loved me
and I believed you.
I can trace the outline
of your iris in my mind,
piercing blue like static
electricity. As you scuff
your feet across shag
carpet and touch
something metal,
the shock dulling
nerve endings long
enough to forget
how cold the surface
is underneath.
January 2002 | back-issues, Bill Wunder, poetry
Breathe me.
Part your lips,
draw me in
deeply.
Hunger for me,
want me,
I am all
you require.
Taste me.
Lick my salt,
I lie thick
on your tongue,
like ash spewed
from a volcano.
Feel my tremors,
thirst for me
in the desert.
I am like rain,
I will wash
you clean.
See me,
watch me
love you.
Close your eyes,
feel me enter
the temple.
Love is religion.
Religion first appeared in [i]Coil Magazine[/i].
