Leg-wrapped and anxious, she flies with swirls. She touches and presses,
she blows; senseless seams of sky.
Give her wide and distance the passage. Marking next, filling holes and
collecting soul.
Patterns of light and the mystique of rhythm; images left, but replaced tomorrow.
Graceful and thoughtful, she swirls in beat, in wings of collection.
Quiet – senseless seams of sky that in dark, are filled to the beat.
Harsh land they say, so we live and die until dark and beaten we
pray our way to heaven.
Bodies angelic flailing about with haunches round; tilted upward.
They don’t pray, these gilded principals. They are the extravagant; taken with themselves.
Wild thoughts we have and exhibitionists we call – darlin’ press
me hard, squeeze me blond; be the skin between the skins and
pressed sheets.
Scream for us heaven and hear our words. Are you capable or are you
touching haunch to haunch gleefully playing it out?
Where are you dream a dream; screaming balls? Withering corona, our
rambling prince. Die a little more, touch not me.
2011 Barry Comer
Oh - I am listening to a memory and long shadow cast-wide nets.
I hear my collective history, my rhythmed slide-shoe beat and
feel.
Back to me, appear – and be tangible, be where I left you,
be light for tonight’s quiet and slip me, rub me;
the guided touch of your fingertips. Oh -
I can touch your trail, your deep, fathoms in shimmered,
thousand miles of current. Oh -
I hear and smell your scent. I feel your hunger for survival.
I see you coming home. Oh.
2011 Barry Comer
It isn’t my imagination that floozy shoes and
little striped suspenders are worn at all.
Be someone; and those shoes just dance for you.
2011 Barry Comer
We were walking through
the grass singing song,
we were talking in the breeze
singing song.
We were dragging feet
along the freezing stones
and you were laying cold and
pressed as if;
to drown, a drowning,
an underwater vision of
the ground;
above – below – the walking through
is practice for the song -
of songs – in ground;
we talked our way to steaming,
heaping sounds.
We were talking ways of seeing
what’s so loud -
in clouds – in sun – in clear -
our bodies;
our mindful ways of singing
just our sound.
2011 Barry Comer
Sitting on a hole in the sky – she flies – my mind drapes arms reaching -
up the chute and down the even temperament; look below, the flow, the flow, the flow – the numb-horsed tropia – while the ringmaster whips.
Catch the flow, catch the flow – downward sweat drips; crack, crack, crack.
The eyes cupped by hands, the heads bent low – fly me, fly, fly.
Sitting in the hole, not knowing rush or down – seized parts too gone
for this backward movemaker.
2011 Barry Comer
Pull back from clouds and air-top beats,
of hearts and allowances – tidy whispers and fragrant wishes.
Leave now rowing, winds warm, waves flat – so moisture permeates -
and dry air drowns.
Pull back sweet lover, push back, tuck head – snuff whispers cold -
tingle hands warm.
Pull back now and all will be forgotten in light.
All will be remembered – shaded dark.
2011 Barry Comer
Missed hair-curls and pucker-mouthed girls. Quit fooling sweet labels with wet-me licks.
Look here – Look here – Look here. Follow my throat – my cleared pipe.
Smoke just for me but wipe the resonator; make the sound of furls and lemon-drop shapes. Go ahead, grab it, strike it and spare no giggles.
Sweet tasting girls; pucker-mouthed gumdrops and cherry lips. Where do you store it? How do you feel me with feathered hair or with warbled throats?
Gosh my pets, it is the baring of wild-eyed tensions – so much to push and shove, to pull back and be pushed forth.
And the verse rests in open palm, “He that sacrificeth unto any god, save unto the Lord only, he shall be utterly destroyed.”
Play tunes and march backside – scream baby cry me down. Look here – Look here – Look here. Follow my throat – my cleared piper.
2010 Barry Comer
Oh splendid bird – you wing across my shadows and flirt remembrances, within my light and actions.
Pieces of flight and characters who boast their stories, enhanced storytellers some, who squeeze more of life, when one was enough.
One life, one beat, one patterned cutout is for empty vessels – as I gorge and give life to explosive volumed, twined loose-fit and honey; I got some big-time sugars.
Splendid bird – with wing-wind flight – dart my paths silhouette, aping and crowing - bird take light and actions – winged victory.
Force of nature these stories of enhancement – all drift silent once set in dark.
2010 Barry Comer
I languished over a cup of coffee, felt up and down my thighs for muscular-electric pulses and seethed along the cold roads of Cherokee.
Furthermore I witnessed for god, observing a silent jogger; most hushed and gentle. She swept by with lack of sound ordinary shoes; tap, tap, tap – scrape the pavement. Angel fleet by my shoulder and brush my feathered skin of Greek and scents; of winter come.
J’envoye avec les letters humide dans le penses sucre du mon vie et l’aperitif du terroir grace.
Adieu love most cherished; my hands take flight in formation with the geese. Sweet wings who prey on winter and carry such lovely leaves one by one, until spring.
Wither wind of morning, dear life. Sound your trumpet for me. I have furthered my cause for restful sleep. In case I die or pass you by, remember me – sing praise unto lord the wind and our passage of time.
2010 Barry Comer
Breeze on a back, push and tickle -
fingers that scrape skin and bloody the scalp.
Give pause to moments clear, perceptive
and grateful.
Broken wind to face, shutter forehead growl -
locomotion and waves for vision, heat
and lips – and sour tastes.
2010 Barry Comer
Free floating along the barbs and green, leafy plants -
where have we taken you, what have we done?
Fair blond – we loved you so, we worshipped your
feet and toes. What have we done, where did
you go – please tell us – gather and compose.
In the dark and on a trail of swirling dust and heat -
rays so bright – filter, intertwine – leafy plants, fern and dew -
doo bop doo.
Clop de clop, scuffle along – seek us now – we lost
you dear, we suffocate. We kneel – we fear -
slapped thighs, bound wrists – suffer quietly among
the light – my moon.
2010 Barry Comer
Yeah I am gonna like this one because it’s full of beat and rhythm no matter how or why – as the man said to me earlier today “there are plenty downtown, go there” and wondered what he meant and how he meant it. No difference to me since I hear too many pieces of counsel and advice known as friendly and natured – but find them intrusive all the same. Last week was a little bird who said – ”you want to know what I think” – not really – but I can get around to a small discussion once they have my brand back.
So I am driving and working myself to a hotter point of expressive twitches and feel the fingertips of a stranger pull me back – my shirt is stained from wiping my mouth and sweat still clings from walking my two or three depending on how I count – which way the map is headed. It’s stranger than dreams, you know the street scene this year, this summer of heat – the women cling to sidewalks and melt in blinks of the eye. I was a very lucky to notice not being very occupied – with eyes on the road, reading signs for sale and sold or rent.
In the mirror a friend of mine is a face of all things French and all foods that make the mouth sigh heavy. There always is food for memory and drink of the street – so stains cling – I don’t care. They are scars of memories – experiences and little beats – the heart, the heart – fusion reaction, no? This is the rhythm today – winds tear the beads of sweat – dripping stains on pavement. Sweet beats of prey who watch from windows at the corners of mouths that eat and cough – bits of paper napkins – late night people with hands-down belts who watch the road and the killers.
The people who beat to death, a funny way of expressing love, huh? Somewhere in this night which crushes all expectation – sometime in this evening which beats down, beats down – I find the little coin that has a flip-sided tails and gives good heads. It shines and twinkles of storied mythologies, famous foot in mouth for bold and lousy truth-telling – stories that match the hyperactive hawks that circle, circle and circle.
I dive under and swim the beat, pulse the rhythms of famous tidbits – the dreams, the expected demise of promised honey, this land of which we speak – so often – so mute.
2010 Barry Comer
Motor me and wreck me through;
you caught me up; you sung by night.
The wild sky reach and glass of wine; the sip of air -
so crisped and shatter. It sounds like spiked drink up and
ladies bare all.
Push the temp for accurate sensation, pulse gone wild
and feel the rumble. You can bite some asphalt;
the road-worn acts; let’s freak.
Now it makes sense?
Or are you woken with bluebird chimes and cafe checks?
Knocked from drawer; pah dumph peashé – a cashier death -
with last-time thoughts of wants and sips.
2010 Barry Comer
Well, well – it seems the monkeys are out,
the water is soiled and the wind blows
down, across my feet and face.
Hair real tangled.
What is it boogie-girl, hot like paste,
cold as snow? My arms feel weak; not one with limbs.
Sad girl cry for boy…
Leave us distant – mend with wind -
try us out; we don’t disappoint. Will dance fast.
Grins across shadows and clouds -
reflecting water; with my open legs and arms,
it is my nature -
Wild monkey cry.
2010 Barry Comer
As you trace and track by sun and moon,
watch the time and currents.
Wave upon lap and slow-downed flavors – reminder
of trees out west, plants above a knee; sniff and snuff;
browned nose.
The track toward calling an end – hastens the light
is closing home so give it time.
Wave the leaves away from eyes and reveal my soil;
the footprints you stepped.
Track the moon, the light of persons who
gently fade before.
Watch cautiously down the fish eyed trails and
make song, throwing pitch across the water.
2010 Barry Comer
This is it, the ragtime smell, to inhale, of them,
of boogie girls – they got some swing and big-girl rhythm -
they have – they are – they seem – like just about everything
with all or nothing shakes.
Spank my hand and twist my finger – but don’t plug my nose -
I gotta smell – I want to taste… feel the thrill, oh don’t give it up -
so easy – so simple, filthy girl.
You said go ahead, push the pedal – feel the shake -
whew – sweat down beads of sweat.
2010 Barry Comer
Oh gosh my head is swaying and feeling the sentiments,
goshing the corners of my mouth; throwing back
breathless moments.
The sentiments abundant of life full of moments and
watery eyes so clearly focused; there you are, there you are,
you remind me of me.
The pants and loose-fit shirts blowing open. Give me
some touch again, strain my neck from top to bottom.
Please focus the smell and stream of sweat.
Shaky fingers and trembled wrists this boy so sweet,
this girl too young, these imaginary cycles who beat and
beat and patter the rhythms.
Yeep, I am brave hero and pioneer of the west. With boots
kicking air and breaths of sounds – oh gosh, it’s been a ride.
2010 Barry Comer
Trickling some laughs and rippling steam,
allow my hands to palm the curve,
and smell my sense and shake the salt.
Ears and waves her boiler-room shy,
trust the touch; the experience of age.
Smell your sense and shake it hard.
Dance toes on scratch-grass roads, feel
the boil, touch the lip – don’t leave me alone.
Touch the sense and push it through.
Tap dance girls all smell the same.
Goofied smiles, such nervous sounds -
skin-squealed up like boards of steel.
Whine the wind for another tale.
Just some love for Summer, just
pickled stuff.
2010 Barry Comer
Find out where it is and toast it – fire it – melt it.
See what it is and claim no ownership.
Live it, breathe it – fight for it – discard it.
Sweep up pips and pops, bangs and shrill yelps.
Disown it, toss it far – sweep and suck it black.
Give nothing a chance. Drive nothing hard, whip it -
cruel taste – give nothing anything – anything but
something – hard time choke.
Shake and spank. Feed more, feel less -
press the metal, ticket taker – wind-driven hair.
Pompous jerk.
2010 Barry Comer
A little less bible, give me the belt.
Make me blue, give me wings,
make the house jive coffee, make it simmer,
jump and trip the wires – let it rip my cords.
Flash-time purpose, pinch and feel my throat.
No sense like the present, no purposeful feel and
certainly no spring uptown or down low.
A little more belt, tightened around my waist,
slipping down, way down.
Give me a zap, a current – sizzled fat or
bone to dirt – I’ll take them both.
A little less bible – give me a belt. Give me
black, give me toes with straight-up curls -
make me pant the word – help me dance the sin.
2010 Barry Comer
Way down where the hands meet mine -
my gloves, the tights and my round-steamed hints.
I am boogie, the dance up top, the willow that bends
and the freak out lyric – rattle cups, brittle nails.
My oh, my!
Gotta go up top and visit them girls. Gotta press the flesh
and see where it mends and taste with my lips.
My oh, my!
Put that light out, stomp the fire – give me hot wind
puffs – fast on a track, quick to go, pull the chains down,
tear them hair.
My oh, my!
I am boogie, I dance real tight – I rattle them cups with
brittle breath, puffs of song and yanked neck horns.
2010 Barry Comer
Make little dimples in the air,
the ones you drew in water, the currents -
the sounding of the horns; the hunt.
The leaves flow down, they pause for breath -
and the source of beat, the sound of heat,
the blemished skin.
Take care en route, spattered signs – windblown,
yielding – cold, cold, cold.
Twirl up and receive submission, the guide, the
snort and diem.
2010 Barry Comer
Let’s search the stars and find your life,
beyond this street; your neighborhood.
Find the thoughts once thought, the particulars
of minds lay dormant – who no longer reach.
Be friends with twinkles, the faded sheets;
of life that separates his ghost from hers,
their footsteps tied.
Knock the thought off planet.
The stirrups, blown hair and bruises upon bruises.
This is it – the fierce goodbye?
Step off the platform dear Judy,
you never saw it coming.
2010 Barry Comer
