360 Degrees

Published November 29, 2018 in Max , Ophelia - 0 Comments

360 Degrees

She could see the way
things were interconnected.
The circus rings, the wheels,
The bowls and glasses,
The bottles and crowns,
The rings, orbs and globes,
The compass.

He thought of body parts,
The tits, the round ass,
The nipples, the circle made by her lips.
“Sex ruins everything”, he said.
“You’re so right, it does!” she agreed.
“That’s why I’m glad we’ve moved on.
Now we can have something better.”

She wanted a gramophone,
To play old vinyl records of Mozart,
With the amphitheaters, the coliseums,
The bubbles, the dew drops,
The movement of water and
The hurricanes.

He knew she was right,
In love, out of love,
Not the way he wanted to be loved,
But neither was it the end.
Their love had come full circle.
MR Stuik 2018

Abbraccio

Published November 29, 2018 in Max , Ophelia - 0 Comments

Abbracio

Riding bicycles in the rain in Lucca.
Had to buy some gloves,
It’s cold in November.

Round the top of the wall
That hugs the city.
The walls they refused to part with.
Loyal to them to the end.

They laughed and remembered
the joy of riding bikes as children.
Out on your own,
Into town with the dog
and adventure.

Or hitching a ride on a friend’s bike.
Balancing and not falling.
They had fallen in love
And then out of love.

And here they were on the walls
of Lucca in winter’s embrace.
Friends to the end.

Storia

Published November 29, 2018 in Barbosa - 0 Comments

Storia

The roof tiles are alive.
Living breathing ecosystems of lichen, moss and dirt.
They respond to your touch
And have stories to tell
Dating back centuries.
You can’t run across the roof
Like a crazy cat burglar.
You have to walk gingerly,
Carefully and pause to ask permission.
And they’re slippery
Especially in the fog.
When it doesn’t need to rain
Because you’re already in the rain.
Barbosa ran across the roof
After drinking too much wine.
Slipped like an idiot
And nearly went off the edge.
The bag of jewelry and coins he had
Fell out of his pocket and
slid down the roof tiles to the street below.
A Carabinieri happened to be walking
down the street and the bag almost hit him.
He picked it up and looked up at the roof.
Barbosa lay flat on the tiles,
Hands clawing to keep from falling off.

MR Stuik 2018

Birds Are Better

Published November 29, 2018 in I Don't Even Know , Rants and Resistance - 0 Comments

Birds

Birds are better than
any other species.
Because they can fly.
I’ve tried to fly,
It never ends well,
Always ass over tea kettle.
Face planting in pain.
They have adapted for flight.
Feathers, wings, hollow bones
That are extensions of their lungs.
They have committed to flight.
Their relationship to oxygen
Is
And they have made friends
With the wind.
I have done extensive amounts
Of research and the wind is never wrong.
Birds are better,
And many of them like to eat bread.

MR Stuik 2018

Firenze

Published November 29, 2018 in Jack Sprat - 0 Comments

Firenze Airport

Jack arrived in Florence after dark.

Rented a little black manual bomber

and got seriously lost in the fog.

Blasting Aretha singing Amazing Grace

live at a Baptist church in LA.

Didn’t care one iota

about being lost.

It all felt like magic.

Meanwhile he had drunk

6 cups of coffee

when all was said and done.

In order to be fully present for the entire trip.

And he chose Dunkirk

as his inflight movie

because there’s nothing like being overly caffeinated

and watching repeated

aerial bombings

and staccato gun play

to really make the turbulence

of the flight pop.

Finally, he made it to her house,

he was greeted with vegetable soup,

rabbit, cauliflower and potatoes.

It was the best rabbit he had ever tasted. “Wine?” asked Emila.

“Per favore.” he said,

hoping it would help him sleep.

MR Stuik 2018

/////////////////////////

Life is just as crazy as fiction.

Man Servant

Published November 10, 2018 in Genevieve , George - 0 Comments

Man Servant

George wasn’t sure

how he felt about

being referred to as a factotum.

Here he’d stayed devoted

to Genevieve,

even after their separation.

She had moved on

and married Max.

It was awkward at first,

George lingered

and still swept the front,

brought her coffee every morning.

Then it came to her,

he would become her general factotum.

Jack of whatever it was she needed done.

It made perfect sense.

She could trust him,

he would do anything she said (or asked?),

and he wasn’t leaving anyway,

so why not put him to work?

“Idle minds are the devil’s pillow”,

she reasoned.

El Verano

Published November 7, 2018 in Lizette - 0 Comments

El Verano

The cactus pears were sweet.

A pain in the ass to peel,

with all the spikes.

Had to use lots of hardware.

Gloves, knives, forks and pliers.

It was like doing surgery.

Dangerous on the outside,

but sweet on the inside.

“Like me”, thought Lizette.

She peeled two

and sliced them.

Took them to bed.

Got under the covers

and turned on the tv.

Ate a slice,

it reminded her of her childhood,

Hot August night,

Abuela peeling a whole

basket full of them.

For Papi to make wine.

Her phone buzzed.

Texts from him and two others.

She ate a third slice,

it tasted just like summer.

He could wait,

it had been almost 3 hours

since she had heard from him.

La Llorona

Published November 5, 2018 in Barbosa , LA Stories - 0 Comments

La Llorona

The house was a rental and

everyone was a little mental.

(In a good way.)

A mariachi outfit

and a couple of mechanics.

Lot’s of people,

family,

and lots of music.

It was Dia de los Muertos.

Remembering, those

they had lost.

Tio Anthony,

Marcos, Abuela,

and Tita Maxine.

They sang

El dia de muertos

because it was also

about love.

We’re all going to die,

we might as well

get as much love as we can

in the meantime.

And give as much

as we are able.

All Hallows

Published November 1, 2018 in Uncategorized - 0 Comments

All Hallows

N. ventured out.

He didn’t remember the dead,

because he didn’t think they were dead.

When he walked down the street,

people thought,

‘That’s a very convincing costume.

Who’s he trying to be?”

He has always known

how to navigate the in between spaces.

The hallways, the alleyways,

the dark rooms next to the bathroom.

He glided between them.

He preferred the shadows,

they hid his differences.

He didn’t care about power or control.

His concern was finding the crease,

that led to the in between spaces.

It’s My Turn (To Be Done)

Published October 30, 2018 in Max , Ophelia - 0 Comments

Its My Turn

The first done was

that holiday done.

He said something stupid,

and she let him have it.

“What? We’re done.”

The second done

came in the laundry room,

in a nasty exchange

where he said,

“You’re so fucking miserable. Why?”

To which she replied,

“Fuck you. We’re done.”

The third done

came on the dance floor in Mexico.

She wanted to dance, they just flew in.

He wanted to go to the hotel room

and have sex.

She stormed back to the room.

Made him sleep on the couch.

In the middle of the night he came to bed,

As he was going down on her,

she stopped him, waved her finger and said,

“Last time, we’re done.”

The fourth done came on

a balcony in Madrid.

He held her from behind

and she felt it turn off for him.

Like a light switch.

She didn’t say a word.

It was a silent, but deadly done.

The fifth done came

when they met back in New York.

It was brief,

she gave him a peck on the cheek,

they had lunch and she left.

He said, “I know, we’re done.

“Still love you though.”

The sixth done came

as he was writing his book in the desert.

She called him and told him

that she was packing her things.

Her mother rented a huge shipping container

and they took absolutely everything.

He came home to an empty house,

with his new boots that book money had bought.

“It’s my turn” he said to the squirrel,

(who had returned, hoping for some almonds.)

“To be done.”