All posts by markmulkerin

Cheeks blushed and buffed,the sheen of her face matchesthe sheen of her lime green leather.Her black purse blossoms with brightly hued letters. Boarding by Admiralty, she creaks and sways through Centralpassing Prada, Dolce and Gabbana, Armani.Her skin taut as coat leather,she stare ahead, blank,continues on towards Western’s desiccated fish flesh,towards fresh hanging pigs’ lungs,towards old…

Again, I see her after the trolley shudders past.Smiling, she looks towards me – a breeze has caught her black hair.My eyes trace the red silk that marksher elevations and depressionsand I lust. I lust, I lust, I lust like the tailor standing behind her.His hands grasp a tape measure,raise it as if to ensnare…

Flayed alive and spouting flamesfrom earlobes to big toes to rectumin a Hell pit just for one,John Calvin calls out“Heaven, I alone have found thee.” While one in four Americanswallow with slack jawed hookers andclammy handed corporate lawyers,slap lips around thick barbecue ribs,argue against the evils of welfare,and smile as they tell youhow much they…

From our distance of space or place or race,this convenient myopia blurscrimson coloration on leaf and root,the disturbing sway of too abundant fruit,the fattened crows feastingamid the branches of those popular poplar trees. How many times did I lose myselfamid Billie and Nina’s melodious melancholybefore the words insinuated into my consciousnessas the smell of burning…

We say it as if it weren’t a slap –“He is so polite.He is such a nice young man.He is one of the good ones.” We say it when we hear of the encounterbetween the young, black man we knowand the cell phone toting strangerand the aisle stalking store securityand the overly diligent, hand on…

Again, we bend our days and dollarsto display those affectionswhich we construction in our childrenas we build old man Maslow’s architectureinto their souls and sinew. We water them with Dasaniand sustain them with grass-fed Whole Foods.We wrap them in high thread count sheetsand festoon them with disposable fashions.We baptize them with essential oilsin our open…

It’s Sunday-night-Monday morning, 2 am,and I’m tossing, turning, burning in these sheets.Five hours until I’m up for workand still the night terrors play their coming attractionson the inner dome of my skull.Still they tie my neurons into hitch knots,square knots, Gordian glopsand still my six year old self stares at glowing Snoopyimagining death has no…

At the edge of creeping baptism,where briny water licks clean the sin from boulevard and street,you and I will watch the monuments and alleys submergeand shorelines we walkshift quietly beneath the waves. We will drown ourselves by degreeswith fahrenheit and celsius ascendingand drip, drip, drip, dripping,the glaciers disappear. “Too many island anyway,” you’ll tell meas…

Fester and fester more,you gangrenous wisdom of old men –They, the decrepit debauchers, jealous of fresh flesh,buy the young with celestial promissory notes –IOU – 20 virgins and a cloud and a flag and eternal patriotism. I, fingers tight on knife pommel,soldier’s, trucker’s, diplomat’s, sacrificial goat’shair twined on my other fingerssmile through the mask at…

Across from the shoebox sized templewhere tourists read guidebooks among swirling incense smokechildren bounce and sway and slide and squealacross the playground’s three attractions. Their mother, in yellow flannel pajamas and slippers,cradles her Wellcome shopping bag on a nearby bench.Yellowing leaves waft and fallon cool winter air, collide with concrete. Two bundled elderly women slowly…