May 31st, 2010
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I knew a woman lovely in her chromosomes
Enzymes, catalysts, ribonucleic acid
worked together day and night
to induce visions of her ass
across my internal slate
always drawing me in
and down there
again and again
where I never asked to be.
– matt at shadow of iris
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March 23rd, 2010
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You follow me down paths
that lead in circles
and I reject you
however much I want you
yet you still come
and you are still there.
The sound of raindrops
falling in a puddle;
there’s a rhythm there
and a cadence;
at times
it’s all that holds me together.
How can you run
from something you want so much?
How is it you can do that
and not break down?
You’ll find me there
in that clearing in the forest
early in the morning
when the dew is still on the grass
and the moon hasn’t yet faded
and when you do
you’ll have me
because if you go that far
I can’t not
give into you.
– matt at shadow of iris
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March 8th, 2010
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Your elegant form
right before me
a target for my desire
libido directed
outward
yet even now
you are breaking apart
into string theory
shrapnel of what you once were
leaving an outline
of an exquisite body
still provocative enough
to drive me mad
yet I see through you now
as kittenishly you lean forward
accentuating your well endowed proportions
gentle swells that set you apart
as your hands spread
and you lay them gently
upon darkness and light
positive and negative
your mind scattering
a web of veins
that fades into black cloudy smoke
and disappears into a vast horizon
I have as of yet failed to see.
A released video message
offering condolences
for people casting their ballots
as mortar rounds and bombs
shake them down there
where the unemployment generates shudders
and those of principle have little connection
with reality.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[Inspired by the work of Peter Gric.]
February 22nd, 2010
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They asked him to paint the virgin Mary
along with her small child
instead he painted the king’s lover
on a throne, she’d never have
with an heir, she’d never bear.
She sits there calmly
on the Queen’s chair,
a jewel encrusted crown
upon her hair plucked forehead
and an ermine-lined cloak
resting gently upon her shoulders;
the laces that hold
the upper two halves of her dress together
have been loosened
so that one side falls away
to expose a single, full
and perfectly rounded
breast
more erotic, than tender
more seductive, than maternal
a magnetic lunar globe
that pulls all eyes
in.
The boy that sits on her lap
could careless
about his mother’s nipple
but sits already
with the weight of kings
upon his shoulders;
there is a detached air
about this naked rotund prince
as he points with disintrest
below his mother’s waste
to something hidden there
under the folds of her dress;
he can follow the golden chain
far back
and understands
his own
carnal origins.
Both the virgin and her babe
are white as snow
against a background
of endless cherubim and seraphim
some so cold and so blue
you can feel the ice on their breath
and others so hot and so red
that surely they seethe from within;
small sensual angels
in the flesh
shimmering and smooth
profane.
The virgin herself is so beautiful
that a thousand words
could never
ever
do her justice,
she is as delicate as a porcelain doll
and yet as lithe and poised
as a swan gliding across still water.
So thin as to barely be seen,
a veil surounds her oval face
and has been pushed back
to offer an invitation;
but for now she demurs
her wide eyes staring downwards
nearly closed
at a spot not near
but someplace far, far away.
This is how she will tempt you
when you step in closer
and closer
to gently lift her chin
and without thought
let her lips
meet your own.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[The enemies of King Charles VII of France likely poisoned Agnès Sorel with mercury years before Jean Fouquet even began his beautiful painting of her contained in the Melun Diptych.]
February 14th, 2010
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Rinse the surface thoroughly
and pat it dry with a thirsty towel
pour on a fresh coat
of rich smooth oil, extra-virgin
and with added spices
rub over the entire surface
inside and out
then slowly lower to the hearth
and rotate gently
until ripe and ready.
She wore eye shadow
applied in a wide arch over each eye
with a slender line underneath,
the color of Iris;
her eyes glowed
massive and huge
and she had thick black glossy hair
that framed her delicate face.
She said,
lay me on the large round surface
cover me in fragile silk
the color of azure
and let it flow like cream
over my bare skin
while I curl up
head in arms
and sleep
awaiting his pleasure.
Her brother had said,
I’ll tell you what he wants
it is to lay you out upon a plate
a feast for him
something for him to devour
he’ll have you just lay there
hurt and sad
a morsel serving no other purpose
than to satiate his ravenous needs
a soul on a saucer
a candied dish
for him to devour.
And in the distance
an apostate whispered
barely audible murmurs,
to expose oneself
to place oneself
up front
desire projected outward
a stroll on the street
under a red light
victims hidden
behind veiled streams
and closed doors.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[Inspired by the work of Esao Andrews.]
February 10th, 2010
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A swing
hangs from a firm branch
over soft calm water
where the only disturbance
is the occasional small fish
that jumps up and out
making a small splattering noise
as it falls back in;
the swing is made of old thin twine
and a worn piece of wood
broken not sawed
and upon it sits
my sweet red haired girl,
she wears the same purple gown
she wore on that first night
I was with her –
how I remember its warm velvet touch
beneath my fingers tips
as I traced her contours
before she reached out
and took my hand in hers
leading me to a secret place
I had never dreamed of –
but now fog covers everything
and though I reach out to you
across the water
there’s an expanse there
that I’ll never get beyond
because you’ve become lost
in thought
distant
and faceless.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[This poem was inspired by the work of Esao Andrews.]
