The Brothel’s Ceiling Fan

An electric ceiling fan.

the brothel‘s ceiling fan

as my memory rests

i never forget why i loved

they told me innocence will never last

i am 40 something, needing to be hugged

once drenched in pain

choked back in childhood

when i would dip my right hand

in that gray flour and its gravity

love is so rare

a handful of ash holds

the entire world’s weight

i belong a long way from here

will you plunge through my home door?

announce by dance you are here

get me tied in a love knot, bitten free

let’s still get stoned

show me your veined hands

we’ll play and slumber in my life boat

only to wake, feeling your breath

on my neck. don’t tell me i am beautiful, show me

let me learn from your animistic release  (animalistic?)

depend on this breeze, as we do our chemicals

to cease my fear your embrace that seeks to still me

truth is i need to be inspired and dream of you

it’s true there must be an angel smiling on her face

when she thought up ways to put one on mine

only in tears though do i speak in the dark

keep your predatory clench in your powerful jaw

it hurts to eat, so you surrender my needs

inspiring me, releasing me, strengthening me

now gathering up moms clothes for the poor

a litter of souls, i love as i was protected

dreadlocks or crew cuts,i spend with my life

pleasing up my men, only one broke

blown open, a girl again for the first time

i listened to the earth’s heartbeat, finally

i am inspired, everyone i miss left hurt

some have claimed my heart as theirs

when my last love came, he slid a palm

across my eyes and lent me his mouth

laid his head in the middle of me

bent me, and my face rests on the

meadow of his chest, again to listen

to the earth’s heartbeat

i see many windows vacant

no one keeps the brothel’s ceiling fan

or the infants mouth sewn shut

suppose none of us stay in one place long

last night my dream was so deep

my bed came unroped from it’s actions

my father in the doorway, dead

just home from the graveyard shift

inspired as i possess that brothel’s ceiling fan

it has seen all that i do

it is silent and wicked

i find comfort as it has seen worse

it’s blue

my brothel’s ceiling fan

my favorite toy and rhythm

count its turns, as it drills a new hole


tricks of magic

mix it

or magic in tricks

depending on the gift of its breeze

while doing chemicals


piles of condoms


my magic brothel ceiling fan.

kindle or smashwords or createspace


One response to “The Brothel’s Ceiling Fan

  • bbnix

    There is a special majesty to life’s too few greatest writers, and it seems to be something inside them, a gift from birth, to shape words, phrases, notions…..and life itself, into one precious experience, after another, that others may share, to laugh and cry….and love, and always, and most incredibly, just reread to live it fresh again….

    I can’t tell you when you’ll be known to the world to take your place in history as one such writer, but take comfort in knowing that for those of us who have the miracle of you to thank for inescapably changing our lives, take strength in knowing life would so much a lessor gift without you….

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