Night Observatories #19
In the luminous narthex, the proboscis perforates our worn lepidopteran abdomen
in the gaping aisles, the cells swarm the pagan desires.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(featured in the poetry forum 04.27.12)
editor's note: In the Church of Insect Adoration, a butterfly sacrifice appeases impenitent bees. - mh
Ten years Later #5
The road is long
and cold:
this scandalous sex
living hugeness,
vivacious,
unscrupulously spread itself
before my amazed eyes.
The road is long
and dry:
the uterus is rotten
blood drips
slowly
the world
implodes.
The road is long
but I feel good
and on your body
I explode
through all the pores
of my skin.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(featured in the poetry forum 01.09.12)
editor's note: It's not the road, so much. It's the mileage... and knowing the good road-side rest-stops. - mh
Night Observatories #17
Ostensible emotion not to show ever and in the smoky nights not to suffer the moist caress of the wolves any more
the heavy leathers of the sick lean in the armchairs of treason and they use their feelings charcoaled by horror as matches
when the shepherds whisper their terrible secrets to the sheep's ears, our hearts spray the greenish lights in the womb of the blasphemies growling the blissful spoken words.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(featured in the poetry forum 10.10.11)
editor's note: This wolf-whispered womb of words would breach and bellow blasphemies. Strike your match and lose them. - mh
Under The Black Roof #3
On the path to your body
I walked.
All along the way
blueberries were singing
this old psalm known from all :
moritari te salutant...
- Walter Ruhlmann
(featured in the poetry forum 07.18.11)
editor's note: Yes, we who are about to die - with anticipation over your sweet succulent surprise; with terror over the thought that one time, down the line, will be the last - salute you. - mh
Night Observatories #2
The cornflowers of these fogs go past hope and in their divine fate, they offer mauve nights between the second and the third fingers, the cigarette - solitary, ephemeral pleasure - burns away grandiloquently, the speakers of this funeral parlour and the encyclopedias turn their saffron pages producing the blue wish but the wind feels trapped and the poisoned cells drift into black vaults.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(featured in the poetry forum 06.03.11)
editor's note: Got lost in here for a bit; kinda scary and magical. Tripped on a blue wish, banged my shins on a black vault. I was just lookin' for a smoke... - mh
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