I’m so sorry honey pie,
I got the mixed up tone and
whipped up cream.
I love you honey pie,
of all the ones who
flew me up and
shot me down.
I feel you honey pie,
dear sentiment,
my sweet rhyme.
Slap me honey pie,
make me red.
I love you honey pie,
until I’m dead.
Honey pie, honey pie;
pull my hair.
Make me cry.
Wild Thing – you make my heart break.
Wild Thing – I cannot be this sane.
Wild Thing – I hate you and am down with that.
Wild Thing, you moved me.
Wild Thing – come on and torque me tight.
You kill me.
Grace follows a girl who
whispers love and wears a sweat in
gentle tufts; corn and
syrup.
Positively lovely, adorning
the sky with curling lace and
little pink matches, waiting
to strike.
45 rpm, soprano lilt;
return dear scent, fond meal
of memory and breath
long past.
My home is warm
where skin blisters
a fragrant smell.
But my home is warm
and I survive.
Someone is always
telling me to leave,
but home is where
I find my blanket.
It is me.
Call it sane mayhem,
or little deaths
day-to-day.
Home is where my
heart grows soft while
beating time,
and losing clocks
on plastering
and frame.
Sadness knows
no limitations as
shadows paint
the walls.
2013 Barry Comer
Blue for me and black
in spades.
One up and down
with running totals -
marked in blue and
black for you.
Blue of me who
counts my cards
and wilds imagination -
blueways.
Black in prairie the
storms and sounds
of gospel chant.
Blue maker go away,
set a pathway normal -
release the hounds
of god.
Draw me sun, sketch
some rabbit rare in shapes
and whites – no
bloody poetry
please.
Blue for me and black
in spades.
2013 Barry Comer
Hey big girl -
lets play it fast with
little start-up and
pedal push.
Beat the toms -
let’s drum the dark
and fit the lock and
storm the pool.
Oh big girl – slinky longest.
You not fussy,
oh you be dirty.
You ain’t part beast -
yes girl?
Hey big girl – grease me up!
Hey pinky pie with pork
ring curls. Give me
taste, lend the tongue
tasty bitters.
Hey girl – sweet dirty bitcher!
Beat me up. Beat me free
of earth and mud.
2013 Barry Comer
Dizzy rates
high and lists of
bars lowered.
Tame my monkey
for smokes of hot and
fetching breath.
Soon darling soon.
Polish to gleam
and inspect
your hole.
Your encase and
clinks to ground
excite my ears.
Carry you yes.
Darling you madden,
your tug of love;
the incessant call
to arms.
I love you dearest,
hand of god.
2013 Barry Comer
We stand outside and bathe -
in starlight and glow, of
histories in context
and roots.
Lives begun and deaths upon,
stream showers of
eternal end and story.
Les lumières in canopy
holding essence and finds -
us who seeded the ground,
that planted stories told;
from generation to single child.
The paths we take and roads
walked long, my pitch pipe
organ amuses.
Bellow the bloat and waste
the lamb.
2013 Barry Comer
Release the heat and
lick my soul with
cleansing flames.
Once consumed,
I will be free of earth
and space.
Onward sentimentalities;
give our embrace tonight -
is certain.
Turn the dial and
etch the settings.
Once more for making
sure.
My ash flows upward.
My scent becomes earthbound
and my soul is freed.
I am free.
Barry Comer 2013
We sail smooth
runners iced and swelled,
in teas of black
with Chinese talk-talk.
Lay your hands on me,
such smoothness tickles;
my fuzz and temptations -
you feel.
It’s our room on
Boulevard Saint-Germain
where hush-hush is
our language of
blushed romance
and foreign lip-lock.
Les femmes de la noir -
tenez ma queue et tordez.
We watch the sky
and count the drops and
swirl our fingers over cups
and sculptured hair.
Saturday afternoons on
Boulevard Saint-Germain.
2012 Barry Comer
We turn around
and find pinholes,
water streams of light,
from stars
who swallowed
and took our lives.
With sounds of snorts
and whiskered,
bully throats.
Whose heart
am I searching,
in this season of
hello goodbyes?
We look
upon them long
into night,
such twinkles,
of stars
that stole our loves -
their sweet
tender smiles.
Give back our dreamers.
Lend to us more - for years
into years.
2012 Barry Comer
Here we goes,
the trip begins
and in back,
so black
to the crowd,
someone yells -
“go baby go”.
Let’s put this machine
to the test and
grind it out with redline fire
and give it some all the way
heroics.
We’ll insert the
Southern sounds.
Sure, a little monkey
meat and some all out
flat-out!
That’s how we get
some love and
holy man.
Lay some skin on me man.
Why you move so fast?
This place is high -
only separated by
others and another.
They will say “not worth it”,
and will answer mambos,
“you piece, me that”,
and to “that and that
and that”.
The wind still blows flat,
while it weaves me
cold and nothing but
nothing will slow
us down.
Our tests will pass she
grinds and grins
and will play pelvic
fun and nighttime
rhythm.
Why we move so beat?
Because it is monkey
rare and all out,
flat-out, but that’s how
we get some love -
to there.
Why we move so fast?
Because the time draws
near.
It chases fast and
finds the slow, the peckered
inch that dangles
for nothing.
2012 Barry Comer
My eyes are clenched.
Throat-scorched with car pipe fumes
and with rusted sounds
from last week.
The trip was wrong and
the news worse.
We plant and we plant.
I hear muted sounds of
cries and wish I could open
my heart and pour its life
- a drink of god.
Lend my body, make it
fertilizer and give my
eyes to see ahead.
Touch warm. Feel cold.
The ground is cold and
smiles fade brown.
Sleep and dream of blue birds
and cloud-shaped
boats.
We plant and we plant.
2012 Barry Comer
Abbreviated love this afternoon,
until light strikes clouds
and hours roar near.
I think it often while extending
moments and ticks, until my sun
who shimmers; circles along
my chest.
Happy is the word and content for
hands; that touched and stroked.
The silence after, beats loud
in song, as she whispers
words that penetrate.
Nothing more for now.
Nothing need be carved to
time and beats.
My body floats
among the waves and
time drips down
and down.
2012 Barry Comer
The ocean is licking the wounds
of sadness and desperation.
Each day as the tide flows out -
with tears and sentimentality.
2012 Barry Comer
Angels who walk me past,
and show the sights,
but never ask.
Don’t let this pass -
this trail of hot
blooded cries.
I will tell and let you know -
just how it feels.
Even sliding and hurting
upside down, I’ll beg
the prayer for
slow me down.
Giggle angels
at my malady
and hold the
trip wires taut.
Some perverted and
few line up and cough, cough, cough -
eat the scrapes.
Hold me hard
dear flutter flies.
Just hold me.
2012 Barry Comer
We climb to the stars baby -
the stars’ ladder.
We are those stars of charts
and meanderings through
the crystal skies,
the jet-plane paths and
blue oxygen.
How far I climb is up to me,
but all I see in front are
paths and forks,
with shiny points -
pinned points.
Behind is my death of things
that memory won’t serve,
that flamed out until
sterling snaps and rustles -
left to burn.
Dearest, the imaginarium calls wild.
Do you hear?
It is sharp and planed,
existence defined by us -
the skaters who climb our
stars and our ladders, reaching
longitudes, more or less
defined by us.
We draw our breaths
and heave our chests.
Do we breathe?
Do we blow?
We snap our fingers
like little flickers.
Beat of our dreams, sweet thoughts -
dearest hopes.
2012 Barry Comer
We stopped what we were doing
and went down west.
Outdoors marching among the steel or within
the wooden cities – we prayed escape,
while running to big trucks of green,
two-seater furnace runners
and American steel.
Gone and rid of papers, pushing men aside and
grasping hands for adventure.
Young women with pocketbook poems
and cheap guitars follow.
Remember.
Laying awake in tunes of voice and
among the feminist
feel good.
Lay Lady Lay, kick off your boots and unroll your
tongue.
Dispense my prize.
Two hours near and twenty minutes there -
hardly satisfaction nor tight of tunnel.
Fires yonder, our group and friends.
We played map board strategies
with futures and bought pound
after pound
to continue our
infinite circle puffs.
We still had glitter from wasted LP grinds.
Nobody could have told us different; our band
of Youngs and Jims. Where are we
snatched in time.
We are stolen souls still seeking fires of life.
Hey guy in green and motor head truck grease.
Red haired Anglo wait for me.
Gone. Invisible faces who took
to the road.
2012 Barry Comer
Where you go,
I will follow,
in tune
and in time.
Yes in dark,
of course.
Yes to all.
Because,
I believe.
If shadows pull
my curtains down
and a northern breeze
prevails,
I will follow.
Your song.
No distraction will
prove reliable,
no distance out of
realm.
I tap and dance your beat,
because I am me.
2012 Barry Comer
Lightning strikes me baby;
oh man, it does.
All tapered strings and
such light moves.
Downward licking -
the voltage makes
me high.
Give me shake and
push me raw -
I want to
hurt down low -
so down.
Your shrill voice
in one dimension -
does nothing.
In realtime, like rocks to brains.
You touch my toes;
give more than all could after.
I predict.
Your men admire your tumble,
the reach of
tongue and your
tap of shoes.
Look at you, see with eyes so closed.
You wow the crowd.
Heaven from lungs
just two,
silenced me,
didn’t it?
Fuzz Fuzz Fuzz and
feedback thrills.
Chill me while my teeth lay – clenched.
You never fail to raise my bumps.
Don’t go, please, stay.
Go now.
2012 Barry Comer
Back like baboons -
full of grumps to grinds;
my pleasures are theirs.
They obey my commands!
You guessed it old world,
my new world troubles.
The monkey house riots,
are back in town.
Here little monkey with
feed-song screech.
Claw my legs, all split and open.
Smooth girl, smooth.
Your lounge act screams
and glitter-up nostrils -
squeak toy breath
Tell us more lies.
Uh huh.
Late at last night,
the crowd smell does die -
given rumble up pleasures.
Observe no rules.
My grump and grind act
is back to feast.
Lounge act, lounge act, lounge act.
Monkey pit drinks spill even tonight.
2012 Barry Comer
Hair sweet movement – stops and starts
while breath fixing down, way down -
she hangs to life.
Oh, she sees no end in sight.
Poor baby lost in lust, an addiction to
white boys and servants.
This is final she kids him not.
No more, no less – just right.
A sweet serving and pass the salt.
Arms fixing hair while hands hang on.
Tight.
Her breath greases grip.
She held tight.
This doesn’t mean much if
you weren’t there to see.
If you were and she was – colored
paper rang all the news.
She sees no end in sight, so
she left her grip.
She fell six inches deep.
Canyon standards.
I say.
Such a polished act,
“who you mean”,
your obscenity
and crawling nails,
they scratch the sidewalk,
we lost all hope for You
and walk with dark eyes;
thrown from Your arms.
You held the tickets,
of children whose dreams
and whose tune…
feet with pepsi caps,
the smiles of night.
“really?”
Willingly plundered
in dark brown or kool-aid lime,
holding the smokes
and shivering puffs,
that pass from lip
to mouth.
We look 6:30 in the morning;
we are your Lounge.
“yeah I know, it’s voodoo”
Our paper dryness and
shaking palms,
we high and low,
ritual blows,
who work the Lounge,
who adore your obscenity,
the comedy, the pages of scribble;
our perspectives of absurd value.
We adore you and
that sketch, stubbled erasings
in the Lounge.
“you mean the voodoo lounge?”
“yeah!”
2010 Barry Comer – visit litkicks.com
37 points geographic,
a plan – they say so in French.
48 feelings matched by same or less equal
sentiments, of feeling lost by winded breath.
Drop point here and travels much whimsy.
Learn the new peculiar with abandon.
Strengths becoming, decision fleshed,
two feet resting, top, crossed – table with furnished
sediment.
Faster, faster, fast aim – take shot.
Both feet sludge slowly backwards,
counting the 49th.
2012 Barry Comer
This life perilous and tantalizing – angels
yawn fables of dreams.
Let me see a peek and show your side
of heaven.
Give rhythms and dance – just show me.
How rushed our time plays and how dreams are made, just
built in hours. Save me from myself, feel me ripe and
grow.
Our harvest.
Allow sights unseen and tease me dark. A glimpse of
sparkles high and light.
Give me rhythms and dance – just lead me.
Tear the shades and blind – touch and tear - beat my rhythm.
Go girl go.
Harnesses and clocks, kisses and spice – dancing hands.
Take me down with giggled sweat.
Your eyes see the dipper and the belt.
Your heaven is mine today, for the hours.
Show me more, peel back fold – whispers and whispers
and riddles.
Sweet afternoon, warm afternoon – breathe me
love.
2012 Barry Comer
