Bones and flesh and other poems

Bones and tones in the grinding of hips and absence of lips

Poem by JD Glasscock

The fever has slid it's venom to the pumping of my blood....too many years without the heat of flesh upon the sin of my want.....too many days and nights without the release of passion upon a women's hips and lips.....too many grains of sand through ovalled glass without the grinding of sweat in the moaning and fervant ass slapping of a woman's eyes rolling into backs of heads and the mumbled verse of harder, faster......

I chose a choice of roads to rue and to roll in the diadems of my vision.........solitude the avenue which my feet swerved to stroll in the pursuit of dream finding fruition in concrete.......these days inching their way down the rolling side saddle of leather upon the creases of reality's hammer fist.....and as the storm of my brewing bruises of a 20 yr jaunt of toil and soil beneath the boot heels of my striving I realize the absence of intimate interludes had honed the steel of my landscape into an air carved trail of bullets finding bullseyes of completion and fortitude but as the calvalcade of opened apertures crawls it's way into a perceptible stone within the grasp of hardened hands and visage, the missing silhouette of curves alongside the strident stride of my bucking spirit is more and more an antalogue of shaking limbs and too long vacated usage of my phallic tool.......too many thoughts upon it's hardened remembrence beginning to rule the matrix of thoughts breathing in the gasps of time drifting the sun to horizon and moon gasping it's filtered lust along the gyrating heavy breath ribs of my recollection and runed rumination.......

The End Monologue in my first film ever The Divide Between Love & Breath

I am a hooker --- let me show u a snapshot

I been sitting here....watching worlds...on corners....on the back alleys of tar covered red.......I am the guardian of street corners and lamp lit alcoves........I spend my weeks...fulfilling other people's itches........I let them scratch it against my thighs....against my hopes........I do this......to fulfill the roads that have been carved upon my history..........I listen to whistles and catcalls and a detrius of men rolling along their rolodex talking to me about the levels they have stretched fingers too.....about how their wife doesn't shimmy the way they need.....doesn't trip hip their back door like the deepest part of their dreams.....about how a few bills crossing their palms to my hips will give them the culmination of the rivers they have strolled.......dig their meat as a treat.....to understand their hungers, the threads of their weave......and thru it all...I think to myself.....I am alpha....I am omega......I am Goddess and the womb of serendipitous relief..........I am a hooker using my flesh to believe....

Thunder is a wise man's womb

Poem by JD Glasscock

The world is a trip hop ---- it is the detrius of weights upon my back stop.............twenty clicks of the steps to heaven's turning and the lattice that lays itself upon the flesh --I am an epiphony of the doldrum of stasis---a perplexed concave shimmer show of diaphonous involvement.

I tire of the ever twisting labrynth of society's self drubbing design -- if i am the fulcrum -- it will be Rumplestilskins calander of Chronus pubescent dream before balance lays itself upon the scarred skein......dragging too lamented limbs across too many brow beaten paths to form complexity anymore in the weave the loom threads to forfiture of accolades licking the avarice of this carapice ----Bring me rain of Storm & Breath --- Bring me Thunder and Runic Forks across the sky --- Break open this characture of a badly written tale ----it is unreal ---- it is the ruination of epilogues of allegories child chalked in caves.....it is the sacrifice of a life and thirteen silver paid........bring me solace.....bring me a prayer answered for once upon the thermals of Gaia's womb ---- It is from this stone arched tomb that I wail upon the hubris of an automate's creations --- we are sheep -- sheer us of our folly....

Silver saddled symmetry

Poem by JD Glasscock

Sometimes in moments between slips of breath drifting lips.....I miss the lumines of an answer shuffling thru the edges of cards -- runed paradoxical tales to tell a truth -- a glimpse into the underneath --- interlude to belief -- her eyes are as deep as ocean blue --- the rust of side holstered dream is turning flesh lean -- too much hunger not enough meat -- treat your trick to a lick of paradiscial illussion -- Eden has a certain appeal with the back tails of snakes rattling bones to the tone of reflective promise -- time to put up or shut up --- my grin is a loop I tool to swoop into the teeth carving the avarice of dualistic coin tosses into a pool radiant with redundancy and wishes too fragile to become anything other the cusp of a maybe.......her womb calls to me in late night whispers --- home -- an interchangeable puzzle piece to the tick of a second hand coupling with turtle shelled misery in a memory --limbs too doggerel carnivourous in the apple pie and kiss the sky deliverance of hard street in the broken down gutter wails of a once upon a time chest swells of too much ego and not enough honesty -- slap a head into a wake me up lollipop of thighs and sweet pounds of flesh --- love is a hat whose rabbit i havent coaxed into high end hip popping dance floor jazz jigs --- take a swig and polly want a cracker dip into the labrynth of life in repose --- shit fuck fuck -- should long ago known the bitter cup that was served straight up and realized the chain heavy weight of choices chosen in the rosy tap of youthful stutter steps holds gravity's center in it's fulcrum --- I toast spider cracked glass to the what ifs and could of beens of a lonely night howling to a moon wrapped in leather creases and lopsided smirks -- twinkling mirth in the not so graceful fall down the slope skid a knee lope of a dope in a poet's step........though I do imagine a promise in the eyes --- a kiss -- expected --- healing --- waiting --- my fingers flick a wish to the tip of hat and I match the moon's sardonic whimsy as i stroll into the deep burgeoning glimpse of luminess skimming the horizon.....my tongue lilts silver off a tonal note perfect in it's symmetry....

A Gambling Man as an Analogy for Hollywierd Street Corners in the Glitz of Stardom

Poem by JD Glasscock

Tipping hands to unshaven hombres with aces sliding worn leather across the falling chips of dreams......the shade from the brim of my hat hides the ever mirthful wink.......the Saloon girl catches it's innuendo and plays a smile to a slow melody.....that's a dust town diddy.....

Tumbleweeds roll rough and fast out here on these streets....gotta be devil quick in the draw of iron from holstered hip......a smirk to your lips......and an ever present sardonic whimsy to the creak of spurs diggin into wood....