Poetry by Brad G. Garber

Where We May Be Found

In the beastly belly, where hips knock into one another morsels tender to
tongue infused with liquid of insane desire steeped in blue blood and
clear membranes of the sucking souls of dried whoring voices in their
smoky laughter swirling to a dance of mad music all, where muffled
footsteps and grinding joints of artistic hunger in dusty rooms above
city streets slippery with fluids of animal wishes, where jointed floors
meet solid ceilings of rat runs and sewage of meat ground inspirations and
the screaming hair pulled from bare skulls of camel hair coated alabaster
skins, where “yessirs” and “no sirs” and “can I help you’s” are rolling
together in spring melt waters toward a roiling surf filled with empty
shells of abandoned lives, where pencils are broken against black lines of a
slow digesting molluscan trail winding across mud flats of human evolution
and tone stones tumbling alert aliens to our existence, where every punch
of a finger sends light into the deep space of digestion and the soaking
of the best of talent into the gut, where a sudden twitch of the head or
twist of neck or hunch of soft shoulder along the highway becomes a new
direction into the hardened lake of a St. Vitas dance, where salt sugar
sperm wheat heart egg rising become the bread that is fed to pens of
the howling and squealing kept, where the morning bed is folded into
the wall like a butterfly’s wing as light glances shyly across opened
fruit, where a congealed mass of intellectual blood settles into a
clasped hand raised into a burning dusky sky beneath diving
open-mouthed birds, and a lonely island in a pathway of relentlessness
surges like a one-chambered heartbeat

If I really told the truth

I would have been killed
I would be a golden bird
there would be no dreams
I would have been naked
asteroids would have struck
she would be swimming
music would have lied
I would have no daughter
there would be no wine
the sex would be fantastic
no one could touch me
the sun would explode
there would be no gifts
we would enter the cave
you could be a white horse
she would be the witch
the universe would stop
my shoes would fit well
air would be like an egg
my body would be burned
the moon would not bend
danger would be flowers
you would open the door
he would dance his life
a knife would never cut
there would be giants
I would fly through water
thoughts would be silver
my life would be false

this page would be blank


About Brad G. Garber

Brad G. Garber is a writer, musician, photographer, and model. He has published poetry in Cream City Review, Alchemy, Fireweed, “gape seed” (an anthology published by Uphook Press), Front Range Review, the Newer York Press, and Mercury. His essays have been published in Brainstorm NW, Naturally magazine and N, The Magazine of Naturist Living. He has also published erotica in Oysters & Chocolate, Clean Sheets and MindFuckFiction. A musician/lyricist since 1969, Brad was a 2003 Regional Semi-Finalist in the USA Songwriting Competition, and Honorable Mention in 1980 and 1981.

1 thought on “Poetry by Brad G. Garber

  1. Pingback: Poem of the Day for National Poetry Month | Marcella the Groom

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