Slightly Wrong, Always Write.
An artistic place for the delightfully deranged.
g. bennett ulrich
aurora matahari raiment
i want you all to focus on your senses.
a strange request?
how can we not, you ask.
let me ask you this:
can you feel your socks?
what about your eyebrows?
can you taste your tongue?
do you hear the sugar in my voice
or feel the good vibrations of my aura?
focus on your senses and i promise you
you'll enjoy yourself
smell our words.
use your ears
and you hear my voice,
and the laughter from the next room,
glass clinks table tops after lips smack,
its fermented fizz almost inaudible to the untrained ear
--but there are so many multi-colored things to hear.
a cat scream in anger,
meow in conversation
and purr with pleasure,
a baby cry,
or fall to thump the wood hard floor, like a drum,
the beat of your heart,
the ache of your head,
the wind chimes on your grandmother's porch...
a siren, a squeal, an exhale of breath,
the music, the sea, a crab crawl across a reedy riverbed
--the tight stretch of a rope as a man hangs,
and the chirp of spurs dug into the 'ney of a stubborn steed.
come back to me--to a whisper,
to the sound of my dress, or my jewelry,
the faint exhaling disappointment,
or the desperate pleas for passion
--make me cry.
use your heart
i stretch and feel my muscles yawn to fill my cells with warmth.
i rub my fingerprints over the hairs on my arm and let the tingles grow.
i tell the waves of electric bliss to run circles 'round my ears
and dive into my eyes spreading ripples of exhilaration
over my nose and into my mouth to drip from my tongue.
i reach the point of oneness
that allows me to move my nerves to your body
and feel you close.
raise your hand as i raise mine.
touch my heart as i touch yours
--and we'll both feel the warm lazy bolt of
use your skin
so often underestimated
--so seldom fully appreciated...
holding a hot cup of tea,
or accidentally spilling honey,
scraping snow off the windshield of your car
as the winter bites in and threatens to destroy you...
i bet few of you know what that's like...
the grind press of an accordion,
or the lazy way fingers seduce guitar strings into sweet discourse...
brush your hair,
run your hands through someone else's,
pull on a pair of cotton underwear after a particularly hot shower...
the way you hold a steering wheel in the hot angry traffic,
or on a lazy summer road trip.
touch fish skin,
the twist of a telephone cord,
or the curl of my lips...
touch a lit match,
or fondle the blade of a knife,
serrate off the edges and feel your life.
use your tongues
[black licorice whip smile] or close you eyes, and lick your lips...
taste skin, after strawberries, red and ripe and delicious.
sea foam salt spray, potato chips, sex...
suck chocolate sauce from fingers,
let vanilla ice cream linger...
grapes off the vine,
fuzzy peach skin,
tartness of wine,
and buttered toast with jam..
let it slide in,
the delicious simple pleasure that is flavor.
use your eyes
ever seen a thunderclap?
what about darkness?
what color is anticipation?
i saw a golden sun staring rudely from an azure sky.
i looked quicky and shut my eyes
to see the afterimage of its smile.
i've seen myself in the mirror a million times
and no two visuals were ever alike.
so how do i know it's still me?
what do i see
when i see me?
can anyone really see the me
that others see?
i've seen anger, grief,
distrust and even brief flashes of genius (madness!)
--but then i blinked and wondered if i really saw them at all.
my eyes like to play tricks on me sometimes
--like now i think i see validation
--or am i just a blind man with delusions of sight
unable to distinguish the dim from the bright?
use your noses
wild strawberry, honey dust,
powdered coconut, evening musk
a full meal of aromas
--a feast of olfactory syncopation,
a bouquet of inhalation.
can you smell a cool breeze?
put your nose to a clean window and sniff glass?
snort up some sunshine
and snuff a pinch of fluffy cloud?
sneeze out loud
and start anew
on morning glory dew?
don't you just love the night
when it smells just right?
reprinted with permission of authors