Tigress-like Resting Under Limpid Pistil Torches

walking out of the sea
my baby digs me,
blushing, crawling, prowling,
nursing the rhodas with delicate perspiration.
My baby leads me.
to burn, to scratch, to heal.

tigress-like resting under limpid pistil torches.
While stamen soaked alphas secrete anther (rather satyrically) ,
She milks her young like a wet nurse honey bee.

My baby feels me crawling up her dress
pollens float off her plum lips like thirsty bubbles
I kiss her until the sun breaks,
and we dive into the sea.

poem by Jerome Moore
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Viva Mas

Drop Bars not Bombs
Make Chai not War
Baseball not Bombs
Books not Bombs
Make Love not War
Drop Tuition Not Bombs
Blondes not Bombs
Beats not Bombs
Drop Class not Bombs
Make Art not War
Flowers not Bombs
Food not Bombs
Make Levees not War
Drop Seeds not Bombs
Bread not Bombs
Beauty not Bombs
Drop Television not Bombs
Make Solidarity not War
Build Trust not Bombs
Bring back Food

[...] Read more

poem by Jerome Moore
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Her Zebra Painted Legs.

As when Pinochet seized control of La moneda in santiago neon sunrise.
I see you as a Pinata
exploding at the temples and the beaches, Like a blown safe.
From you I see:
wax lips,
plastic diamond rings,
Crackerjack prizes.
stained popsicle sticks,
lolipop flutes,
Shadows like nylon tights nailed to my feet.
wooden hands,
screams,
firecrackers,
crayons,
sugar cubes,
falcon feathers,
tiny umbrellas,
and all your marbles spilling... spilling...spilling... beneath my painted zebra legs
I hate seeing your head breaking.

poem by Jerome Moore
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Trace The Sky As If Giant Fingers Took The Horizon And Lifted It Over Your Eyes

Snake oil,
password to an eternity.
like a wound that gushes
like a house that floods
I jumped a train the other day,
I put my faith in rusty bars.
The sun was falling westward,
The sunshine tickled my scalp.
Inside the warehouse boxcar.
Inside no breath meetings,
crawling caterpillar-like.
Painted on its inside
'GOD Is dead'
'There is no Gravity'
'This is it'
and I felt my mind cacoon
I felt my brain suspended.
We entered a tunnel
The darkness swallowed me and
I never saw daylight quite like before.

[...] Read more

poem by Jerome Moore
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Shopping List

recrute an insect army so I can feed of the life of the people
Burn all my Novelis
make Sally cry
avacados
Chickpeas
Bananas
don perignon
Jumbo memo book
return library books
give one suit to homeless
kidnap my brothers dog
analyst appointement
cardio
Blog
Finish watching Detour
make mom smile
destroy social life
rearrange sun room
get drunk
get over fear of social laziness

[...] Read more

poem by Jerome Moore
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Dancing Under Artificial Prowess

I am a man who has never seen painted eyes weep.

The bloody ends of the fading firmament
dropp glittered lashes into her bright pools
that skate on a hand mirror.

The stars never blush
The breeze never falls from the sky
The Moon never bites
The droning of machines constantly whine

To build my house out of match sticks
and set off fireworks to its gables
that cut me like scissors

Its unnatural to be awake nightly like this plugged into power grids
drinking in decadence, dancing under artificial prowesses.

And I see the Earth Flicking us off like flees.

poem by Jerome Moore
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Scintilating Like Sparklers

It turned from a swell party on the coast to a sweltering inferno.
The horizon spectators child like winking at us;
from the baptising breakers to roman candles buried deep in the sand,
crabs flirting, and several nori naked bodies
cresting the seas brow.
The romans lined up and fired at the moon,
Phoebe vomited in my shoes,
and kent never came back.
The cops showed up and we scattered like sparklers,
into the beach house allies where we put out the lights and someone pushed a drumset down the stairs.

It was a swell party until someone somewhat died
happy birthday Mike!

poem by Jerome Moore
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She Opened Her Legs... To Let The Light In

She opened her legs to let the light in.
She opened her lips like budding tulip,
in the spring awakening, addled with pollen

We made the bed and tuned the radio.
The summer sun was overhead
and the radio played brocade.

By the autumn hour she would be with the wind
and the leaves floated past me as dying embers
looking for peace.

The air was dry when winter came she was everywhere, she was not here
I felt numb, my lips had cracked, I prepared mexican but couldn't get a light.

And she returned yet her youth revitalized
me but it was too late My guts were frozen,
and I took the freight train back home to live

poem by Jerome Moore
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Mummifiers Two

A winds veil is tangled
into the tops of those trees,
and the ashen clouds roll in then.

The alfalfa receives white powderstep makeup,
while gymnasts hang there tights on swolen branchs.
and Crooners hide in bunches behind the maidens lilly white reps
their Trumpets burried nose over tail wailing frenetic-like bop.

The mummifires and the widow;
touching the soil were the jackle once hid,
fingering the sea where the ship once lay
tongue and cheek sailors whisper in purity, rings of blood diamond
off love lost horizons and bitter clandestined nights.
The plague of being this.
Lost at dark in the growling infinity.

poem by Jerome Moore
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My Ribs Melting Under The Glowing Weight Of A Swollen Blue Flame!

Yet for tonight I wish I was in the candles wax,
my ribs melting under the glowing weight of a swollen blue flame.
nestling into a warm plash! While sending my perfumed thoughts
my smokey dreams to play around in my desolate screams
in my dumb glum bleak creaking prison,
to escape loudly into the chill streets of night like late started bloc parties
to escape by way of splintered stone walls and innocent iron bars!
The whimsy cadences of the sparkling speckling snow translated
via my sharp piano key fingers,
to chase the blue blue blues away.
Only in the red red ready day would I harden again and put my body together.

poem by Jerome Moore
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