CONFESSION ZERO

( Ben Heine - Art ) If we lie next to one another, do you think we’ll forget the world? If our fingers hunt like tongues, do you think we’ll stumble upon silence? The dream begins the same, I’m older. My mind and body, slower. The dream ends the same, you lying next to me, fingers wagging. If we rest next to one another, do you think we’ll fail to notice war? If our tongues search like fingers, do you think we’ll assemble peace? Naked, both shining with grief, we sense the other’s bones like a sniper, spin new selves with each innocent, (child, dream, mother, hope, father) slain. Tonight we’ll unwind nightmares, our imaginings, dreams, will begin the same, mind and body slower, wagging, tongues speaking the drama from slumber. Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

The water waits on us as we lay upon the sand. Waiting, waiting for our bodies to become one. You say, "I do not know how to swim” and I say, “I will teach you” . But that is a lie, it is the water that will instruct us both. We walk into the water until it laps at our stomachs, it surrounds us... our fingers, toes, breasts, tongues, lips, our naked bodies held by the ocean’s soothing caress. The water doesn't think of our fear. It holds us. It sways our bodies. The water cannot sense our doubts, our joy, it only senses we're there waiting within it, another tiny thing suspended in its grip. My hands under your back are like small hover crafts balancing you in the water that holds our smiles. Our lips and tongues meet in a tender and watery dance. The ocean doesn't know we’re smiling, doesn't sense our urgent breath, it is without conscience, yet exhaling with us. It could easily wash us away if it knew our thoughts, the evil outside of this moment, instead i...

I traded in my pen and paper for a new keyboard and left behind all my cadence and metaphor... My fingers gliding along her backspace and tab savoring, staying longer on her improper nouns than on her damp and present tense verbs. She yearns to feel my tap tapping fingers and my rhythm of enter, control and escape. She pulls me in with her forward tab and insert keys as I move victoriously across her caps lock and F8. O! If only the world had such a traversable face. © 2009 by mark prime

Of this moment what is it that you want? Her gallant nakedness clutching at flowers and shaking herself upright again. Her margins and chest filled with grand laughter at the things she’s most ready to do. Her eyes reading wonderfully tall and magnificent letters dispatched from all points of her reach. Her lips coursing a voyage over freedom with a blazing hope, shaking the limbs of all dread-filled faces. Her émigré colors moving together, loving, holding one another in luscious, tender whispers. To witness her thighs draped over our ready shoulders as we seek out her yielding flesh. The winged creature with her supple neck bent down, smiling upon her just desserts. Her rebellious shape hovering over the people’s hunger, steadying herself for eager tongues. That she rise up now, and with her flesh, wet and yearning, touch upon those most in need. Her long and loving hands opening up to us in freedom, lifting our sleepy faces to the sun. © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman...

She moved rapidly over the ground, alongside the Salween trench where hell dogs slathered their steel lips in conquest, beasts collecting the night’s wordless skies. She fell hard upon the scorched ground, her slender legs slapping the stony loam. I cradled her wet face against my chest to gentle her howling heart. She smiled and stroked my face, then her mouth leapt upon mine and our hands curved into flames as we pushed deep into the brush. Wordless, we spoke of our hopes and fears, the beasts hard upon our backs, the children and their mother’s shriek, the lifeless weeping stirred by the heartless. The sick and the dying were with us, between our moving lips and fingers, upon our union of sweat and flesh underneath the forlorn heavens. And within our merger of silence we knew, at long last, there was no more need to run. © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

If we lie next to one another, do you think we’ll forget the world? If our fingers hunt like tongues, do you think we’ll stumble upon silence? The dream begins the same, I’m older, my mind and body, slower. The dream ends the same, you lying next to me, fingers wagging. If we rest next to one another, do you think we’ll fail to notice war? If our tongues search like fingers, do you think we’ll assemble peace? Naked, both shining with grief, we sense the other’s bones like a sniper, spin new selves with each innocent, (child, dream, mother, hope, father) slain. Tonight we’ll unwind nightmares, our imaginings, dreams, will begin the same, mind and body slower, wagging, tongues speaking the drama from slumber. Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

I compel you to love your country. To draw her into your arms ever so tenderly, to embrace her softly, dearly to your heart, to huddle close, near together her masses and sense her least sustained yearning. I compel you to love your country. A nation that lifted the breast of humanity caressing it tenderly toward equality’s rapture with gentle fingers of selfless, searing desire exploring over her ever toward paradise. I compel you to love your country. Freedom lovers damp in stiff-limbed writhing stumbling kisses upon red-barreled bravery, softly probing her robust and supple liberty, heed now her cries of woeful sovereignty! I compel you to love your country. Between her Trail of Tears and Mount Misery she still waits upon the coupled plains of affection ready for our design and mastery of this worlds love panting heavy expectation upon her shape. I compel you to love your country. Perched upon the shore of Rolles Creek she waits with Mount Pleasant in reach of her ...