San Francisco Poems
Kelly Daugherty
Never To Fall
What passion moves me
to inject the like
of your soul
and painful rise
of want
rushing my veins
until I collapse
with your cock
thrusting into me
so hard
I lose my breath
in a convulsion of shivers
only to become you
then not to want this
and hearing my voice
cut-aloud
in an empty-violent room
where I lay
on some stained-bed
Knees drawn \ Arms twisted
against my naked breast
rocking back and forth
like an infected insect
assuring myself
I will not be touched
Again
only to look above me
where you loom
casting cold-ghostly shadows
of your sad-radiant figure
Opening-me
and drawing my legs
to push an upward-climb
around your waist
like dying vines
strapping life
as you lift me
to let me fall
softly away
from your arms
leaving me to shrink
lifeless in my seed
until I can find your figure
above me-once again
carrying me beyond
my flesh and rise of breath
and to stay buried-deep
within your embrace
never to fall again
Boxing Glove
As you pick-up a book
I watch
your thrown body
sprawl
to find comfortable position
on a couch
And I
opposite corner
lay in lazy-wake
upon your bed
with my book
A generic-book
I hold in front of me
like a boxing glove
concealing
my glance to read
your lines
uncomfortable lines
which seem
distant
and beyond
your room
we
both share
and for a moment
I felt a sting of
hand-slapping
my face
and heat of
red-flesh-bruising
as I wonder
if your book
is a boxing glove
too
Naked-Knowing
Chapstick and drugs
in your left-pocket
money and keys
in your right
your lists
on-going lists
numbered-on
different sized
notepads revealing
alien-forms of
scribble-torn out
scattered
screaming and kicking
in the cinder-block
bedroom of your
cellar-to remind
you of yourself
or just remind you
tomorrow is a bran
new fuck'n day pet
with lots of new
things-to-do
fun-filled-corpse
with same old fun
stuff of yesterday
same old same old
fun stuff the day
end day before fun
and you can believe
in-your-self
when the cafe-circus
poets surround you
spinning a top-hat
full of laughs
and magic-tricks
their weekend-words are
smart blue babies
sucking the pulp-rot
from prosy-fruit
locking any real pain
with their closet-frankenstiens
safely on a hanger
at home-while you dance
Naked Knowing Naked
above the sick
ring of limelight
screaming and kicking
tomorrow is a bran
new day
Of The Calla Lilies
All the Calla Lilies
long for breath
in folds of
naked somber limbs
rolled white in
bending silence
The afternoon light
I cannot keep
upon you
even wind uncoils
easily
through burdens left
to weaken on ground
turning grey to
white to blue to
black
Night is death for me
I am not a bird
nor angel
to rise above
muffled sounds of
constant weeping
what is the core of void?
dark
empty
cold
I need to know to understand
complete sadness
and move my glance
above me
and pluck beauty in silence
a desperate mourn
of my sobbing heart
as all the Calla Lilies release
before me
release my breath and
breathe for me
with their lashing
white tongues
darkening my sight
Cameo
As I shake violently and
walk through our home
like a disconnected ghost
torn between the cracks
of matter which separates
our movements
of what could or should
have been
leaving a black-hole of
departure from your
shielded-kiss brushing through me
but never touching center
and with this
I collapse before you
as you watch me slide by slide
like a cheap-picture-show
for your amusement
not realizing I-am-real
and grasping for anything
concrete between us
only to feel it buckle and slip
into some other world
we do not share
leaving me to understand
there is no difference between
right or wrong / good or bad
these are only grave mistakes
we use in measure
always keeping me half-torn
and choking on grey corners
of confusion
until the after-math of
invisible cancer
removes my being piece by piece
until there is nothing
but myself-beyond
what only seems to be
Never To Fall and Boxing Glove have been published in SF zines.
Kelly has been writing poetry for 15 years and recites in the cafes around San Francisco.