i feel movement

I’m impoverished, tightly squeezed and anxious, having spent too much on a camcorder and spectacles, the camcorder leading to the spectacles because I was recording myself and my specs were all askew, and these old specs have never been good for me, they came out of a slipshod eye test, IMHO, but the recent eye test was much more satisfactory and I’m getting two pairs made up, one for reading and one, graduated, for driving and perving.

I’ve used the camcorder to record a few grievances, and this has dug me further into the hole of my obsession. To release pressure I’ve written a few pieces, different for me:

un saison en enfer

I have no daughter, no mother

I have no women and

they don’t have me.

small consolation.

I consider looking up irredentism

or some odd African term from Blixen

while papers pile and skew

and tiny leaves blow in.

Autumn.

It’s a season I believe.

The computer holds me,

my personal computer.

A new facebook image, small, blurred, wild,

a raunchy rocker, but the familiar blazing smile,

really hapy in the moment smile, really really happy.

She knows how to be happy, how to care less,

how to delete the past, how to delete people.

I want to be like her sometimes, to be light and light others,

not to be burdened and burdensome,

squeezed suddenly by rage, blighted by sadness

My dark weight radiates

Aftermath

The fire cackles, my work is done.

I haven’t had a beer in a long time.

My dick still tingles from

her poses, attitudes, her many colours.

Such depth on a flat screen.

She’s relishing it while it lasts

The energy, the shape and contour

Those pale stark thighs, more knowing now, more bold

She’s plateaued on the peak

She’s obliterated her childhood

She’s momentous

She’s victorious

She’s having fun

She’s showing off

She’s soaking it up

She’s wet

She’s indecent

She’s an animal

She’s living the fantasy

She’s made it

Don’t spoil it

My work is done, it’s slotted in the gap

and maybe it’ll stay there forever.

I feel powerful in a powerless sort of way.

Am I proposing a change for the better,

or am I just a jealous spoiler

struggling for my share?

Beyond

No longer demure, except when she must be

for she knows about decorum, and decorousness.

No longer elfin and gracile, she stomps and flops.

She has embraced chunkiness and clunkiness

Her laugh booms out, unlovely and loved.

She is beautiful, my heart clatters to the floor.

Voyeur

She might be watching me watching her, and I have to watch it for she’s on the watch, but then maybe knowing I’m watching, or hoping I am, or wanting someone to be watching, or knowing they are, or not caring, she kisses and frots, and I watch, and she’s not watching me watch, or she’s only watching her, or only watching what she frots and kisses, or not that even, her eyes clamped shut, gripping sensation.