by Chris Vaillancourt
I feel the pain of these nails
in my tongue whenever the sleepers
invade my moments.. soft honeydipped
words that reach out to melt across
the heat of your waiting world as warm
rain on a hot summer day are held back
as I speak with the distance that we
all place between each other..I look
over your body and even as you wonder
whether or not your makeup is done right
or your dress is on straight I can almost
feel a warm hand gliding up your body with
the skill of a painter.. surveying the beauty
that hides in each curve of you as he tries
to map it with his own hands..the pain of them
melts away as I listen to your words.. focusing
on each one. .. using it to see the sights of
the world through your minds eye..I sense your
pleasure speaking to me from whispers deep
within you and these nails cause me to hesitate
*I have had a series of chapbooks published in the 1980's by 4 Winds Press, such titles as "Doors and Windows", "Dancing in the Eighties" and "Slow Burn". I have had two poetry books published, the first "Teardrop of Coloured Soul" in 2005 and my latest one to be released in Jan. of 2010 entitled "I Walk Naked into a Cloud".
November 29, 2009
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2009
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November
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- WHEN I GET HER LETTER
- Flowers are for Pansies
- These Nails Cause Me To Hesitate
- Fires Of The Night
- What Sign of Absence?
- I REMEMBER HAIFA BEING LOVELY BUT
- WAR
- advice to the newly divorced
- memorial day at the twisted parrot
- christmas
- ritual respect
- peach tree
- '61 was a hell of a year
- Black Maps
- On Relationships
- like yeats
- Booty Duty
- Before He Goes Bare
- IMAGINING HER
- reaction to the evening news
- The Jazz Musician
- Grounded
- THE CHOCOLATE COVERED STRAWBERRY
- THE DAMP KISSES WE WILL NOT HAVE
- TODAY I WANT TO SPIT GIGILO AT HIM
- LIKE GETTING THAT NOTE MONTHS AFTER
- Yellow Snow
- Ball-N-Chain
- First Tulip
- New Things
- The Art of Forgetting
- THE PHOTOGRAPHS, THE FILMY WHITE GAUZY CURTAINS
- The Hammer Gets Thrown Out Again
- The Real Me
- Conflict
- What I should have done
- NOT ONLY DID HE
- SUDDENLY IT’S WHAT I THINK OF
- All So Easy
- THE DREAM OF MY DEAD GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE, THE STRA...
- THE TOO DARK TUNNEL OF A HALLWAY DREAM, DESPAIR, T...
- Brain Of Hitler
- One Day After Work
- The First Hooker (or Dead Eyes In Chicago)
- these last few weeks
- hungover
- AFTER TOO MANY NIGHTS DRUGGED
- “IN THE VIOLET HOUR” ON A PAGE, MAYBE IN A POETRY ...
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November
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