quirk I

some day in the breeze. i will build a pillar with swans. pleats. with carousel horse. and silver strings. twirled in fours. a ball of sophistication will roll down this charming delight. of the west village syncope. the candle flame. a-front my mug. tickles and giggles. chuckles and rhymes. dances in the smoke of coffee beans. the lights are dim. and horny men are walking around. looking. beseeching. craving a breast. or asinine hair. nestling. or other men. or candle flames. or spoons and knives. to cut and carve. or carve and cut. or drink wine on the illuminated faucets. that overhang a nimble vagina-rush. the mettle. the kettle. what's with the rhyme of illuminated faucets? and fixtures of overhanging candles. in the dusk. and sound of bodies jingling in a swoosh. you see through curtains. half-wanton. semi-sexed. an aroma of amour. clamor of wine bodies. the promiscuity. you say. those whores on the boulevard are promiscuous as fuck. diseased. and battered. left without morals. but did you know. you married womb. that your lover of sorts. is caressing a boy. a sexual hunt. hush hush. let's slow down. and whisper. i am married. but i want your flesh. she will never know. in booths. and alleyways. in the toilette combs. this is morals. i was told. them republicans. makes me laugh. right? where was the bible? no wait. it was temporary. there wasn't love. there was sex. she would never know.

in the village. i observe. the trees are swinging. talisman man. and bejeweled lady recline in a love seat. wax automobiles singing hymns. in chimes and grunts. here a thud. there a love. winks. the leaves. gyrate and land on the wooden flask. automotive stretch of fumes. spraying green sweat on hugs and bones. slender legs. lagged with hair. and twinged with lust. that estrogen. that fat. the memory making fumes. i don't know why. i am in love with the carousel on wine bar. like a midget that entangles. and disentangles. like a polemic olympian. holding a torch of iodine vapors. so volatile it makes me smile. what has happened to my mind? what has happened to my fingers of purity? the sweet smelling honey that used to trickle down my eye lids? the chastity of a little boy. growing up. not grown up yet. when does one say. i wonder. i am grown up. this is it. this is the maxima of my growth. this is my allure. no more. from here. there's only the downhill. the re-caving. disintegration. when does one say. i am mature enough. there shall be no more maturation to my uppity process. i dictate to the children. in the drapery of neverland. more or less maturation? so subjective. subjunctive. creative at best.

obsession with pulsation goes a long way. the paradigm rhythm of a heart sound. of stretch and squeeze. of what we say pulsatile. is alive.