Caixa Preta

[tectak]

.

So, is this it then?
You would have me write soft porn,
and call it a poem, or a hymn?
Or…., just say Hi Mon!
and then start in, again?
This time to expect a cleaner end?
Or would you rather, Idyll?
While sensuously you sidle,
wanting, waiting, wishing all the while,
that I would grab the bridle,
and ride, ride, ride!
Then maybe, ride some more?
Try hard as I might,
to ring up the score:
Neon flashing through the night,
as that digit counter falls,
oh the effort, shakes with might,
bumpers bounce the silver ball,
while trembling fingers try to make
the rhythmic, rhyming, runic, call,
an ancient cricket in the wall,
climb the highest mountain heights,
paw the pearl of precious price
till the earth shakes out the sand,
stranded then upon dry land,
for the lack of one wet drop,
concluding then, it’s time to stop?
stop…Stop….STOP!

A soft digit slowly strolls down the spine,
A snail pace traipses, touching, taunting, taking time,
sprung cocked-spring, wistfully, lethargically unwinds,
Listening, lazing, lapsing, lolling,
As Kronos chants a chortled chime,
Waiting
For
the
Final
Rhyme!


—Erthona

I have loved this twice or is it just the name?
Have you posted it before, though I would love it just the same.
...or is it something wot I wrote,
years ago in memory
and called it by the name you used
Caixa Preta two oh one three,
was never finished?
Not by me.
See:

Caixa Preta 2013
Is this all there is?
My two score years have turned the lathe
and buried my errant feet in curling slivers:
I can and will walk home.
This squealing strip of running leather,
looping endless round my days,
is calling out my name. Tulio.Tulio.
I will return to polish my black box:
for all that there is
or ever will be
is there.
(unfinished)
tectak