Glenn McCrary, 17 july 2012
That freedom is a fine goddess
Is a keepsake to which we Americans are wise.
Her toga conceals timeless wounds
That once perhaps were lies.
Glenn McCrary, 17 july 2012
What is there within this vagrant lady
That I can neither hear nor see,
That I fail to acquire or fathom
And still it beckons me?
Is not she but a blood stain in the moon---
A bit of water, plasma, enzymes?
And yet she plays upon her bong a truculent tune
As if Karma had not kissed her with his fangs!
Glenn McCrary, 17 july 2012
Now,
In September,
When the morning is a vast awakening
Filled with orange clouds,
And fractured shafts of sun-shimmer
Descend before the earth
Am I too young to see the gods dance?
To find them I am inept.
Glenn McCrary, 17 july 2012
The gentle beating of her breasts,
The gradual beating of her breasts,
Gentle… gradual
Gradual… gentle---
Rouses your blood.
Waltz!
A hymen-veiled virgin
Tip toes carefully into a
Forest of suspense.
Tip toes carefully… gradually,
Like the beads of sweat upon her temple---
And the breasts beat,
And the breasts beat,
And the gentle beating of the breasts
Rouses your blood.
Glenn McCrary, 17 july 2012
Nightmare-strippers,
Marijuana-dealers,
Harlots,
Loud cacklers in the hands of Karma---
My enemies.
Car detailers,
Stewardess girls,
Bridesmaids,
Dice-shooters,
Chefs,
Waiters,
Ballerinas,
Stars of porn flicks
Owners of liquor stores,
Article writers,
Athletes in tinsel town
And violinists in circuses---
Nightmare-strippers all,---
My enemies.
Marijuana dealers all,---
My enemies.
Harlots---
God! What harlots!
Strippers---
God! What strippers!
Strippers and harlots
Harlots and cacklers.
Cacklers?
Yes, cacklers… cacklers… cacklers---
Loud-mouthed cacklers in the hands
Of Karma
Glenn McCrary, 14 july 2012
There’s a ripe, young sun
Swinging the gardens today.
There is a sprightly, young sun
Touring the faces of revelry.
There’s a sheepish, young moon
Carrying the smirk of a virgin
Awaiting her Paul Revere.
Glenn McCrary, 14 july 2012
The careless, chuckling cheetah
With spittle on its mouth.
The skinny faced cheetah,
Emotionally frail,
Dreadfully trained.
The infant-minded cheetah
Sprinting into the black lake’s tears
For the skeleton of a vagrant.
Ball and chain,
elation, nature, elation,
The boys, the girls, the stars
The cigarette-scented cheetah.
Foxy, like a woman,
Alluring as a bronze skinned streetwalker,
Sexy, wicked
Cinnamon-lipped, noxious---
That is the cheetah.
And I, who am human, would love her
But she claws my face
And I, who am human,
Would lavish her with rarities
Yet she forsakes me.
So now I seek the husky---
The cold-faced husky,
For she, they say,
Is a politer courtesan,
And in her house my troubles
May escape the hex of the cheetah.
Glenn McCrary, 14 july 2012
The stars still cast their subtle glow
Through the greyish black churchyards that we know;
Next morning’s fate lies unknown
Before the dawn.
The clouds still drift just as before;
The canaries still chirp outside my door,
Yet suddenly appears the taste of nothing.
The sky is indigo and the blue jay sings;
The children catch fireflies by their wings
Though I am somber.
Throughout the universe no pleasure can exist;
Mirth turned her face at me,
Ever since you fled.
Glenn McCrary, 14 july 2012
I love to see your big, brown eyes,
Glinting in the night;
I love to see your lips quake,
As we dance with satellites.
I love the passionate innuendo
Descending into my ears;
In all hours of the morning young,
The sound of your breath I hear.
I love the landscape of the nude
Between these sheets of ceaseless passion
But better than all these things, I guess
I love my lady love
Glenn McCrary, 13 july 2012
This young fawn
Who saunters along the town
Soliciting her slender compassion
Month in, year round
Has known tall, dew doused forests
And the moon has made
Her skin quite fair
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