Art & Creative Work

Natural Disaster
by John Dibert

 

Sweat drips
Walls shake
Muscles clench
Bodies quiver
Rapid pulse
Erotic earthquake

Hours pass
Biological clocks
Time stands still
Gasp for air
Nearly drowning
Fierce aftershocks

Heat
Volcanic eruption
Head spinning
Cyclone swirl
Thought disruption
Carnal thunder
Hurricane seduction

Teeth
Claws
You say faster
You say please
Embrace me
Taste me
Take me
Give me another
Natural disaster

 

Maybe
by John Dibert

 

Maybe I'm not meant to be the hero of the story.
Shining armor never did seem to fit all that well.
Sometimes an eye will tell a wet lie; say I was kind,
But eyes are colorless in my dreams;
Faces fitted with dead-white orbs are night's mindful reminder
That my best lead to some other man’s hell

He lights a cigarette in the middle of the night;
Like a beacon, the red-hot cherry glows.
I inhale and I exhale; I inhale. . . and I exhale.
I smile at the joke-that I might alter my prey
From my gentlest squeeze comes a sound he'll never hear;
Down he goes

Maybe I'm the villain of whom his friends speak,
And the monster lurking under some child's bed.
My own horror is that I cannot remember how to feel.
Can dreams be called nightmares if the ghosts have become merely numbers?
What I ponder is if I was ever really good.

Somewhere in the timeless cold,
Warm desert air shifts the sand,
And looking through glass I breathe again.

I wonder who I am.
I inhale.
I exhale.
I think.

Maybe the worst part is that I want to care