[Her name here]

He used to rest his head against her ample bosom

like a calf after a good milking.


She had a saintly beauty hard to imagine

but especially difficult to recreate

that he swore even Lucian Freud would’ve found the task of portraying her naked flesh

on canvas a task of high-stakes.


Her bronze skin made him embrace all that it coated –

her tissue, her blood, her bones, even her underpinnings.


Her eyes like distant stars twinkled.


Her hair naturally flowed down the back of her neck like feathers

and her shoulders carried the ends like a child on its father’s….


Her legs were perfect poles –

they walked into, then across and right past his world –

top, sides and finally down.


© Heath Muchena, 2014

A Solitary Circus

Eternal blue stage

above a cirrocumulus

beautifully furnished with birds…


… from the ocean bed to the earth’s surface

the audience of nature

gathers to view this one-man act,

from above and below —

but it seems nothing more than a mere show of miscellaneous pursuits

for sustenance, strength, sensation, sex, song, symbols, success, satisfaction, sanity, self, spirit and so on…


… the scent from the fennel bush

masks the stench of those sacrificed to these ends

and the ground they lie buried under is rich with their ash…


… the wind soaks up the sounds of distress, sorrow, psychosis and solitude

until there’s complete silence.

What a performance!


© Heath Muchena, 2014

Dear Thought (a sequel to: Dear Desire)

I am pleased Motive now understands

that everything he perceives, he conceives

and everything he conceives he perceives.

So now I commission him,

to make child with Lady Action

and to name it Art.

signed, with Heart…
Queen Desire


© Heath Muchena, 2014 Read the rest of this entry »

Being withOut being

alone, alone, alone

with no acquaintances and no romances —

man faces days of drudgery


he lives in a zone

where art never breathes but only freezes —

a space of temporal immortality


until his blood turns to poison

and the heart seizes —

a sort of capture myopathy

and so…

he recants the sermon

about LOVE; for his soul it never reaches —

but still raptures, thoroughly.


© Heath Muchena, 2014