Mother & Miles

Slippery water squishing 
between 
legs and arms
submerged in candles
bathed in Miles Davis
baby oil
baby embraced in mother's womb

dipping ears beneath the sound surface
I can hear the silence of mother's breathing
struggling
moving around 
not enough room to cover
the knees and breasts
nose drawing little breaths

Losing myself
trying to go back in time
when I was part of another
of a mother
Really living inside someone's heart.

Souls sharing fluids
intoxicated foods
more than enough nourishment
to go around

Underwater sounds frighten me
too much in reality
you hear the born and dying body
I could hear hers

Pouring all her essence into me
all of it with none to spare
SO when I pulled out of the water
she wasn't there to dry me off

She wasn't there to feel my oily aromatic toe
trip the bath plug
listen to placenta puddles, blood and spirit
Her spirit sucked down the drain

bathed in candles
Miles Davis

It has been a long time since I listened to my inner workings
Listen to intuition's choice
Listen to my dying mother's voice
call me to the water.

 

Peace of Me

And I couldn't explain the peace I felt
Him lying on top of me
Making love, slowly

	and my mind kept wandering
	on performance and poetry

Spotlight, New York, center stage, basement
Stroking myself to climax
Feeling heavy breath, warmth
     on sheets that smell of me
Cutting off wet world rumble
     drafting through night stand window
I could not hear bloody street signals
     drifting as his hips met mine

	couldn't help thinking poetry

Smelling his skin and feeling peace
     as if I were alone, unending
     suspended, easy
The cat curled up between our legs
     content, unflinching
Getting off serenely, at peace, alone
Closing outside with sticky winter blanket
My eyes lean back my head
     entwining the silence
Even as she, soft-stepped
     across body bed, along the edge
     and onto window sill, away from the piece of us
She cleaned herself off
with a rush of morning air

 

Lunar Excursion Part II
or
Masterbation Poem #3
(inspired by Jim Carroll's Basketball Diaries)

moon
light beaming
trickles down on
boy
on the roof
on the flat
of black tarmac
peeling
the foreskin back
surrounding
the space
filling with
blood blond spasm
hair frayed
fingers splayed
relax
moving darkness
glowing
with moon on flesh
striped down
to ankles
purging
out upward
to the stars
shooting stars
with a milky wayve
of his hand
he gets off
in the night sky

© Cindy Nagel 2001