Ignition

Take me fast, quiet,

two guards at every door.

Wrap me tight

in your extravagant straitjacket,

where the strangling is clean

and silent, since when I kiss,

it will not be as a sister.

You have seen my complete dossier.

I would have made a great man,

but I am a woman,

subtle but effective.

Do not toss me, deranged,

in your landfill;

it is more palatable to give

me something rich

and strange, tribal,
like a Viking funeral.

tk, from my chapbook "Unpressed"

R.A.D. curled up on the steps with my book...

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I Left My Hat

Forgotten in the moment,

bent in a pentagram

for that first kiss.

Our collision was complete.

Geometric.  Reciprocal.

I wore it home on the tram.

It concealed enough of my eyes

to steal sideways glances,

while our hands became absolute.

Then I knew there were hats in heaven.  

Romantic notions.  Miracles. 

When it was time to go,

I left it behind on purpose,

next to the trilby at your door;

knowing I would be back

to the golden ratio,
lasting result of chance.

tk/May 2015

R.A.D. breathes life into my words...

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Photo

Our fingers lace,
as if they were always knit;
you guide me into the street,

where centuries of secrets rise
between paving stones,
from under darkroom doors.

Like our first embrace,
my new jacket goes unnoticed 
in monochrome. 

Stolen glance ― snap! 
Your eyes flash Kodak,
encompassing everything north. 

Nothing important is exchanged; 
a few riddles, exhaled laughs, 
camera-shy smiles. 

Under a suspended crescent,
you surprise ― all quick-turn and lips ―
like the Doisneau.



tk/December 2014

Evocative monochrome read by R.A.D. Stainforth...

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Vitamin

I was anemic:

smelling of mothballs,

cluttered with rejections,

unpaid bills, tired blood,

years of night.

Now a daily swallow.

Kiss swished down with promise.

You taste better than any placebo.

Rinse life clean.

Float. Gulp.

I am dependent.

Convinced you impact mortality.

Supplement everything.

Give me injections.

A horse pill. 

tk/May 2014

Beautiful, contemplative read by R.A.D. Stainforth...

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April

Daffodils under;

lace flung reckless to the cold,

bare green splayed.

What are you wearing?

Blades of grass act as informants;

buds heed innocent faces,

pretend to be plastic.

Winter is high on the lash;

sends April running to the lavatory,

licks speed from her hand.

I kiss. You stay kissed.

It will melt soon enough;

every bit squeezed, drowned,

trickled down, murmuring.

tk/April 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth enjoys a glass of wine...contemplates April...

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*photo: Finland, 1968, by George F. Mobley

Morning Star

Torso of Venus, 1920, bronze, Aristide Maillo
Columbus Museum of Art

Venus whispers through limbs in the ash;

charts the path of twinkle, twinkle, little.

Yet so much.

What are you like? 

Sleep becomes a nuisance.

I pace the ceiling, press warm footprints

to the windowpane, count the night

on her glow-in-the-dark rosary,

string it bead by bead across the sea.

Her morning eye watches from a headless torso,

holds me, transfixed.  

My goddess of love and war devotes herself

to the small hours,

offers me your kiss.

She is darling,

but not as dear as you.

tk/February 2014



Delicious mid-week read by R.A.D. Stainforth...

Belief

Believing comes

in first-day covers,

sincere blue kisses

after the first row;

dazed like a bird that soars

headlong into a closed window.

Ink-traced hands are prayers

that end with laced pinkie fingers,

promises that know no distance.

You wonder where I keep the bread.

They settle new and hungry,

wordless with the milky awe

of pictures in a childhood bible

in olden days; when wishing still helped.

I was suspicious of all those palms.

tk/November 2013


Beautiful, poignant read from R.A.D. Stainforth: 

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Regarding Lemons

(R.A.D. Stainforth and lemons and so on...)


Those lemons I bought at Christmas

are still in the fridge―

I had the best intentions

of squeezing them in Bloody Marys,

slathering curd on holiday toast,

but my pucker forgot,

preoccupied with pressing

unseasonal lemonade,

playing spoon and sugar,

flaying lodberries

with your lips.

tk/February 2013

Joseph Lorusso 

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Christmas

R.A.D. Stainforth's lovely Christmassy reading...

There's a place for us,

an oasis between fruitcake

and watering the tree,

with hot-and-cold running kisses,

that stretch restless,

from the hearth

out to the snow,

where I push you back pink

and holiday-faced,

knowing this smiling garland

around our necks

links forever compatible.

tk/December 2012

Marc Chagall, 1914

Happy holidays and best wishes for a contented 2013, dear friends. Thank you so very much for your continued support and encouragement. You are the best. You really are.

Yosemite

This chamois-curve

of stake and navel,

nipple to bone,

stretched out shin-taut

across a forgotten knapsack,

in a useless shelter ―

so much of my skin

remains desolate.

Take care not to touch

the turgid canvas,

full mouth without a kiss,

pup-tent trembling in the rain,

in a constant state of hope

for Yosemite.

tk/November 2012

Beautiful read by R.A.D. Stainforth... 

*Charis, Lake Ediza, California, 1937, by Edward Weston

In Vitro

R.A.D. Stainforth's lovely delivery...

I sit cross-legged and watch,

as your sea fades and shrinks;

shell-like bubbles break,

in the lingering suds.

I listen, bath-wrinkled,

shiver, as your voice runs liquid,

your soft night-time eyes blink,

as you take a drag,

curls drip behind your ears;

your lips within kissing distance.

tk/ April 2012

image by Manu Pombrol

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