Blowing Smoke

many years ago
the children i was teaching
gave me head lice

at first i didn't know what it was
a gentle tickle in my scalp
a minor itch at the nape of my neck
an irritation behind my ears

then an itch at my forehead
hair line
a creepy crawly feeling
at the back of my head

then I kept thinking i
heard something
tip toeing ever so gently
quietly by my ears
then the tiniest of murmurings

I sat up three nights in a row
wondering and scratching my head
"what was that sound?"
a low static hummering sound

the fourth night
plip!
a small mite
fell onto the back of my hand

it was then I knew
my heart was infected
with you
Now
now i will curl
up in your
i wish you were here
spot
and suck
my own thumb
til i
fall
asleep
Blowing Smoke
am I flooding the engine
blowing smoke up
my own ass
coasting without
gas?
gunning my engine
while closer lovers pass
how far can this love
hydroplane?
Oil Barrels Of Love
how many
poems
shall
i
write
before
my
passion for
a love imagined
runs
out?
is
there
oil enough
to sustain
and at
what price?
how long
will i be
able to afford to
drive
this
voiceless vehicle?
what price these poems
at the oil pump of love?
and like gas
my love becomes
more expensive
when holidays
roll around.
what price these poems
at the oil pump of love?
Is There Such A Place
is
there
a
parallel
universe
where
my heart
throbs
in unison with yours?
where your lung
and my lung
prolong
our
unrequited hearts
is
there
such
a
place?
Practicing Me
...It is
also
paramount/stellar/necessary
for me to exercise
the warmblooded me
as well as the coldblooded
plastique of my mystique.
Lovelessness
workaholism
is the healing
ointment for
lovelessness


"Blowing Smoke", Knut Kargel
Melted Collage 2011


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