[Her name here]
Posted: April 23, 2014 Filed under: Writings by one ambidextrous... 2 CommentsHe 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
Posted: April 21, 2014 Filed under: Words In Imaginary Motion 1 CommentEternal 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)
Posted: April 16, 2014 Filed under: Words In Imaginary Motion Leave a commentI 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
Posted: April 10, 2014 Filed under: Words In Imaginary Motion Leave a commentalone, 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
On The Heath 