Poet prose poem

Photo by flashcurd

I’ve fallen in love with the poet
In all its dimensions
rippling across the pool of time, incarnate in its everything
the rosy cheeked and wet lipped girl
rattling existential verse over the clamor of a twelve car train,
barreling for downtown.

the pale bearded face cat whose hands
twinkled jazz like stars in the Marin County night.
Whose handwriting stood refined and sexy on the page like the Mona Lisa
in the Louvre with foreplay on her lips.

the old man with balding head, and thick grey beard
swaying like fog hanging over San Francisco
as I rode the ferry in for the first time at age nine.
Hiding a mouth full of existential love and suffering for his fellow man.
Whose hands and mind wrung words from pain all night so I could lay here sleepless.
words like birds given flight by Jarret.

I think of these poets and swell with passion,
with longing to know all of your most secret places,
to walk the landscapes of your heart in words.
Wet lips whispering prose like dirty secrets
over a coffee or a bottle of win at 2 AM on Main Street any town USA.

to feel your fingers outline my spine in the place of your words,
each word a rib encasing m heart and holding it fast.
You have captured me in Chile, New York,
in the great Bop Frisco of the past.
Leaving me breathless and yearning,
sleepless and wide eyed without your words
spoken on psychedelic tongue
exploding like dreams to glue them shut.

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Chaise Rocco Levy

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Born in Topanga Canyon I found poetry first in the changing of the seasons, the sly movements of animals telling stories with their walks. But it wasn't until moving to Portland, Oregon that I discovered my expression, the welling of words in my self to express the beauty in mundane, the Holy Moments of every day life surrounded by concrete and towering metal buildings. A journey in finding the slyness in the human animals, and the shifting seasons on busses in a great city.
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