Southern Porn

The full moon atop yon pine, prodigious, yellow and precariously perched

brings words like turgid, and tumscent to one’s mind.

The gently sweating cooler causes steamy, sultry, and torrid

to rush to your tounge.

Things waft and burgeon, the very air has a palatible texture

soft, silky, and damp

Scents hanging in a veritable miasma of sweetness.

Enormous Luna and Spinx moths flap by,

sipping from moon flowers that are popping open

like tiny explosions, hemming one in.

It is all too momentous, weighty, and substantial.

Fireflies flit about, providing neon lighting for the edges of the woods

while blinking their message of sex.

Shrieking crickets, screeching circadas, screaming frogs, and harumphing gators

all incessantly beg for love

shattering the serenity of the night into nonexistance with their ceaseless need.

 

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Bucky Beaver is Busy

Bucky Beaver is Busy

Work in progress (Waves)

I sit and watch the water wave

in which the dinosaurs did bathe

water that oversees the birth of whales

and saw the death of ships with sails

water that has touched the shore of Borneo

yet carried home an eskimo

water as alien as space

moving with infinite grace

water rising up as cloud

is falling onto fields we’ve plowed

water wherein grow the clams

it turns the turbines in our dams

water that has taken lives

but cradled there an otter thrives

(into which the osprey dives)

 

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