The Party

            on the floor
                        in the bowl
                                    on the mattress
                                                in bright light
                                                            white on white
                                                                        fish on deck
                                                                                    out of water

blackness at the windows
                                    trick of reflection

legs convulsing
                        mouth open

                                                gills straining for water
                        tail flipping
                                    eyes closed
snake hair
            worm hair
                        root hair
                                    seaweed hair
two frantic brush
                        strokes on canvas

around you mumbling voyeurs
                                                            the party
                                                bubbles rising
            martinis in hand

            hands clutching hands
                        hands in deep pockets
                                    hands in wanting
                                                hands in desire
            hands sweaty with lust
                                                            hands like transparent fins

no smiles for this
            cigarette smoke like sperm
                        mass fertilization in air

            this is study
            this is performance
            this is serious
            this is education

            uncontrolled at this moment
artistic stroke after stroke
                                    a school of eyes upon you
            swaying in your currents

            threatening beauty
at its most elemental
            silent breathy music
                                    silent movement unrehearsed
                                                silent fantasy in flesh
nothing but fingers
nerves colliding before their eyes
            outside of and in them

                        liquid salty radiance
            splashing against fish faces

                                    ocean rushing in all directions.

Brad Garber lives and writes in the Great Northwest. He fills his home with art, music, photography, plants, rocks, bones, books and love. He has published poetry in AlchemyFireweedUphook PressFront Range Review, theNewerYorkRay’s Road Review,Generation PressPenduline Press, Dead Flowers, The New Verse News and other quality publications. He was a nominee for the 2013 Pushcart Prize for his poem “Where We May Be Found.”

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to The Party

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.