Death House Press

sensical

​

by

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 
as you 
hear, 
feel, 
taste, 
see and 
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, 
slurping beer, 
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, 
a coo, 
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 
--touch me 
--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 
sense heightening, 
heart lightening, 
soul thunder.

​

use your skin

​

and touch, 
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, 
lamp shades, 
tree bark, 
amonia... 
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, 
melt down, 
warm up, 
and savor 
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, 
shock, relief, 
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

​

lilac, lavender, 
frankincense, coriander, 
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