Posts Tagged ‘Neil Ellman’

When My Cunt Stopped Living

(after the digital print by Louise Bourgeois

in the Do Not Abandon Me Series)

 

It stopped, I stopped

the maddening flow

it dropped old petals

from a dying rose

 

I held you in my arms

your fingers touched

my lips

and I was numb

 

nor could I speak

the usual words

made silent

by your fingertips

 

it died, withered green

In the garden of my hopes

came winter

passion’s fall

 

the end of it

that gave me life

and gave me you

in our heat of youth.

 

 

I Held Your Sperm and Cried

(after the digital print by Louise Bourgeois)

 

Within me

like a million worlds

waiting to be born

I held them all

the issue of that night

like galaxies

inside my skin explode

between my heart

and mind

the two of us

between each other’s thighs

made a universe

I held them tight

and felt them grow—

I cried that they

should ever live

in such a world as ours.

 

 

Come Unto Me

(after the digital drawing by Louise Bourgeois

in the DO NOT ABANDON ME SERIES)

 

Come unto me

again and again and again

into me

with your nails

scratching profanities

and heart-shaped words

upon my back

through the thin bark of my will

 

your wait and mine

are older than the sun—

stay this night with me

to see once more

our moment come

like Venus rising

in the morning sky

to fold us in her arms

and make us one.

 

 

Prove you love me now

lift your skirt and close your eyes—

not a soul will know.

 

The slit in your dress

undiscovered land in sight—

there I’ll raise my flag.

 

Like a stone in flames

diamond-hardness of desire—

fire so quickly spent.

 

Silly girl, don’t speak!

your eyes say what I should know—

now, silence is best.

 

Let you and I suck

on memories of last night—

manna of the gods.

Alone Again, Naturally
I can’t believe that no one
not a single soul
not even one unpublished poet
(or some unsuspecting boy
seeking solace and release
but finding only me on the net
and my poem concerning
aliens occupying my pubic hair
and stretching my penis
across the face of the moon)
wouldn’t send a comment
neither pleased nor dissatisfied
pleasured nor aghast
to your humble site—
doesn’t anyone read
great poetry anymore?

The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade 

I watched as the huge balloons passed by
pumped full of helium and their own significance
Bullwinkle trying to escape its ropes
and fly where no moose had ever flown before
and then came Shrek in his polyurethane skin
filled with the self-importance of a movie star
wishing he were somewhere warm
and then Superman dodging the light posts
to avoid puncture and preserve his dignity
all a bit bored with the same old route
and annoyed at being tugged from right to left
by so many indifferent hands
past children not at all concerned that Mickey Mouse
would soon be deflated, folded and stored
in a warehouse in New Jersey
the ultimate indignity for a great balloon
and bagpipers making those wailing sounds
followed by marching bands from Midwest schools
tubas as far as the eye could see
cheerleaders glittering without a glimmer of cheer,
floats with Miss Something-or-Others waving
wanly to the waiting crowd
all wishing they were watching themselves on Channel 4
and then came Santa Claus riding to town on a flat-bed truck
perplexed that he was at the end of the line
but comforted that he would not endure another
crying child in his lap at the mall:
It was a wonderful day at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
and as I left Kung Fu Panda took a leak.    

 
Unspoken Love

You were not what 
I thought you were  
when I saw you on the street                                                                                     
innocent, aloof, demure,
Audrey Hepburn sexless
swan-like waif in petticoats
but then your breasts
so small
in my mouth so large
and I grew big
and you accepted me
without a word
from you or me
we spoke in groans
and gasps
you never said your name
but who you are
is what we did
unexpected
unspoken love
in the backseat of a Ford.

 

The Queen of Fellatio

In high school
she was our best friend
one at a time
all the time
in the back seat
of my father’s car
used like her
 

at Coney Island
after dark
in the balcony
of Loews Kings              
anywhere dark
 

she made the rules
as if we could
for such a friend:
“No talking, not a word,
don’t touch my tits,
be still—
I’ll do all the work.”
 

Not a pretty girl.
You know the old joke:
“Put a flag over
her head
and fuck her face
for old glory,”
and we did
to our best friend.