Poetry from PW Covington

Down Fall

Forsake me, lover; and all my sins
You know that must be leaving again
Like that country song we used to sing
The highway never ends

I bury sunflower seeds in the summer
And mums sprout back every spring
When the Monarchs come through and the temperature drops
I’ll have blooms in my garden, again

Red mountain finches and white wing doves
C-130’s and perennial loves
Head south for season, and lives fly by
And, I’m aching and seeking a way to stay high

Most of the poets give birth in the spring time
With hope and recollection

Tomato cages and high desert rain
I finally stopped chasing hurricanes
I’ll harvest my thoughts and catch up on my prayers
When sunny morning chill fills the autumnal air

Alpha Red

She knows how to hurt me

 yet, never harm

How to torment and tease

 when I plead, “Please”

To smile with red lips, empowered, Alpha

 as the welts rise

As tears well in my eyes

She takes and locks away

That hidden little piece of me

 I save for only her to see

As reparations

For all the nights she’s had to sleep unrequited

As the satisfaction of her lover

Pooled and cooled

And soaked into the sheets

Beneath her

No more

Neither mortal time nor distance can deny her

Heat and steel resolve

She holds me firm

Oh, my sacred fuck,

She knows how to hurt me

And never bring me harm

Even in tender moments

When we both lay most exposed

The Queen needn’t be reminded

 of the power in the flame

That drew me near

The Furs of Venus never scorched as tender

As when she calls to me

Petitioning surrender

In those few dark and perfectly formed moments

      when the storm has barely quelled

When she slowly brings me back from inner space

Her Alpha lips

Those dark, deep, eyes

That ecclesiastic face

Multiple Re-Entry

The greatest
Customs and Immigration officers
I ever saw
Stood guard
Atop the bluffs
At Belinda Beach

Salt cedars, twisted
     redwood sentinels
          and eucalyptus (immigrants, here, themselves)

Roots and branches
Wood and leaves
Bring you back to things terrestrial
For half a mile after that
Grey-washed, rocky cove

They inspect your senses with aromatic
     late spring, welcome
And, slowly, as you declare yourself
With destinations of concrete and real estate
The ocean’s never ending,
Lunar tune grows muffled

Here, at this landing
On this shore
At this organic checkpoint of the soul,
These green-clad,
     towering,
          ancient agents
Stamp every sun-blessed, fortune-kissed, trans-Pacific
Pilgrim’s heart that passes
     as
          ‘multiple re-entry’

Score


That chick that was crashing at Lisa’s place
Mexican Lisa, used to live off Central before she caught that case
Shows up with two big ass bottles of pills
Never tells me where she got ‘em
And I didn’t much care
Said we should get right tonight
Said she’d suck my cock

Long tablets, scored once,
Sickly yellow like crusty linoleum
Like chalk
You put three or four in a large spoon, a tablespoon
Give them a cold water rinse
Crush and soak the pills
Stir that slush in the spoon
With the little plastic end off the plunger 
Use the BD brand, with UltraFine tips
Throw in a little piece torn from a cigarette filter
Draw it up into the barrel. You’re loaded
If shit’s gone right, you end up with a one mL shot of yellow liquid that looks like fresh piss
Knock that fucker into the crook of your arm and take a little break
Maybe a nap.

When you wake up, if she’s still there.
Start soaking another round of pills.
See if she’s still down to suck
Scratch your nose. Find your lighter. Blaze that cigarette.
Ask that chick that was crashing at Lisa’s place if she wants a drag or two
From the one with the torn filter

Someone should probably scrape the fucking spoon clean
Before we hit that shit
Again

One thought on “Poetry from PW Covington

  1. Wonderful mix of moods here. Great diversity of talent from lush green trees to yellow piss pills. I like the combination of love welts and longing.

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