The picking you up and bringing you home lines

The picking you up and bringing you home lines.

By Nathanael King

This is my interpretation of a poet trying to pick up a female at a bar.

This is what I imagine he might say.

I will devote the depths of my swimming fingers

to your holy canyon.

I will orbit your stoplight

like a thousand pulsating pedestrians.

I will punish your ivory Bell House

until your monthly blood decides your ropes need a break.

I will calculate the infinities of length times width

in your early morning solution.

I will theorize the probability of traveling faster

back and fourth in time

only stopping to rest on the moon of your ornament

two, maybe three times.

I will divide your cells with my atmospheric rod.

I will sojourn my perpendicular girth

into the swamp of your pocket

for as long as you keep treading water.

I will sway my pendulum

left, then right my Eve

and ask you to rename the ovulations in this kingdom.

I will co-operate the satisfactions in sequence

with a sliding barrel-organ

so long as your economy

reciprocates in rhythmical undulations.

I will tend your perennial

until it hoods in full blood.

I will pound your beach front property

with a frothing ebb and flow.

I will till your soil as an earthworm

in a garden vase.

I will quietly supplicate the fastidious organ

of your alter.

I will unearth every artifact

in the hallway of your museum.

I will delicately delve.

Foot note: works best when whispered.

Two ships

Two Ships

an Ekphrastic poem

by Nathanael King

Just as promised, the brothers

of maritime war celebrate

their successful deployment

by squeezing the noon

tight between their hulls,

sharing stories of how

they kept their guts at sea

and the inverted black horizon

from drowning.

The light that splits them

can only hold straight

for so long, eventually becoming

distorted,

fumbling to separate mirrored steel

from the whole.

A river of cliches (was very amusing to write)

A river of cliches

by Nathanael King

A man went cuckoo one day

and decided to paddle up a creek

without, well, a paddle.

“For heaven's sake,” he said to himself

in a tizzy. “I'm losing my mind and feel

six feet under.” Sitting on the bank, he

searched for any reason to not move

his old bones. “I'm too old for this shit.

I mean, my heart just isn't in it like it used

to be.” He tried convincing himself

to go the extra mile.

“If they can do it, damn it, so can I,”

he muttered under his breath at the

children paddling by.

“I don't mean to split hairs,”

a voice came to him suddenly,

“but you look like a fish out of water.

You from 'round here cowboy?”

The man turned to see a foxy lady

who seemed to glow larger than life.

“Oh for crying out loud,”

he jumped out of his skin saying. “You

scared the shit out of me.” “Oh I'm

sorry,” she professed, “looks like I

caught you with your pants down

around your ankles so to speak.”

Nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof

the man stuttered for words, “yeah

well I'm not bending over backwards

to take the plunge.” “Suite yourself old man,”

she yelled to him as she ran for the waters edge,

“just go with the flow! Don't be such

a scaredy cat!” With his tail between his

legs, he ambled down to the water and

mumbled “well if you can't beat 'em,

might as well join them.”

Silly little Atoms

It's hard to be reminded
of what I never knew
but always felt;

basic chemistry tells me
that I am mostly dead space.
We are filled
and we are suckers,
for the atoms within our star dust(
seething pockets of blood,)
are nothing
but walled courtyards
containing a single marble

which is loose
and knocking on the neighbors door,
asking for more room.

Too much shit

This is mostly a test to see how the page will look with its first, brand new smelling, post. I have loads to post, so we'll see where things go.