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STIRRING UP THE BOTTOM
We have started a poetry revival in historic Shockoe bottom and shall continue to stir it here on the 
World Wide Web.

April  2004 National Poetry Month

That was After, This is Later   “Hug my knees but don’t lift my skirt”, you said. But that was on cam with preppy clothes and all, Yesterday, ready for action, just back from an afternoon run,  you stood chest heaving in the hallway and I said, “Take off your Nikes. You said,  “I’m keeping them on in case I decide to waffle.” I would gladly strap on any false world you choose, let you party in my video reality with both hands on my Van Dam Commando guy, feeling right at home like a street fest; I’m dancing with my guns in the air.   I’m thinking, I can’t have enough of you, how can this get any better, when later, you slip into something more important than a bi-mental telegenic transmission.   You show me your seduction by joking, teasing my sense of humor, pointing out the absurdity of separate rivers we wade neck deep in our encoded worlds, everything that’s missing from my desperation, a world narrowed down to a smaller list of things to do, a worthwhile dance, not based entirely on orgasmagoria, a list of things you hunger for down to the last of your passion’s embers, and what to do when sex is over. Yes, things   Slightly left of lunch, right of rainbow  Skewed a bit off beam, off center, parts of Your growing unrest just west of gridlock When you show me all the funny stuff and how I’m so out there with nothing that can’t be decoded or broken down into fears and disappointment, later, when my Yahoo brothel mentality gives way to a nabster music for cruising loose on the strip and I say, wow, you wear cool shoes to bed, are they Gucci? and you say, undress me slowly, but don’t say more because more is not enough.   I can’t believe I’m playing in the lap of Venus longing for the coral glow of your shadows, veiled by a blonde modeling of virginal stance discovering by chance your blue recesses of an ever weakening resistance.   I want to feel your co-ed caution as well as your infantile bounce.   I see like a blue aura through your hair The occasional wet sadness you bring To my attention when I am inattentive.   Like a mirthful mantra I am coming back, rushing with different colors, prism warped to a fantasy with a future of crystal afternoons. I want to think of us beside ourselves in love, Real window light reversing raw earth to blush.

© Jimmy Warner, 2011

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