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.

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

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

Be someone; and those shoes just dance for you.

2011 Barry Comer

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

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

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

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

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

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