soldier boy

caged within the confines
of his skin stippled flesh
no match for hungry metal
bullets spiral homeward
with lascivious intent
a soldier boy is full
of sounding echoes

      he kneels

a canticle of knuckles rain
blue light upon his back
this is the miracle of bones
that burn and crack
the universe that lies
between the raised fist
and the blow

 

All The Pretty Horses
for Alan Wearne

Strato of Sardis, connoisseur of sweet young cock, is the portal

to Ben Boxer's Silverfoxes. Drink me sings the bottle

to Alice in this [dot.cum] wonderland. A hot, hung, Daddy's Boy

dances au-go-go to Unchained Melody; played by Lola—coy

ex-showgirl, vanilla princess & wannabe sinner.

Gentlemen can click and drag the big-dicked boy, winner

of a Fox award: a grainy stamp-sized film; stroke, slide, come;

his mouth a rictus of invitation; stroke, slide, come; [ad nauseam].

For Members Only: private shows & [real-time] chat; usernames—

variations on a theme: hotboy & daddybearz for f[un] & g[ames]—

cosy bedroom-slipper porn; jacking off to Vera Lynn;

assorted body-parts; [one upload per month]; a substitute for skin.

   Dorothy's friends, kicking ever-closer to the bucket

   who want to keep on having cake—and fuck it.

Not Even the Rain
for Kevin McLain

Shaped by air, and the pour of it;
his stillness refines all movement

to the simplest of gestures:
the tilt of his head, the way he rubs a thumb,

thoughtfully, in the hollow of his wrist.
Not for him the razzle-dazzle 'em fireworks of

endless conversation, frantic bursts of colour
predictable as breathing — I long

to inhabit that space, to watch
the heart's slow thud beneath his skin,

to rest in the hush that bears his weight.
The best men come from silence.

[END]

© Bron Bateman 2002