Thursday, July 24, 2014

Two Poems by Walter Ruhlmann

The Rain Bows Down

No bows, no arrows,
rainbows twisting around my neck,
erupting from my sex.

Drops of rain like drained hopes,
thick and sticky, copulating
castrated rivulets of blood,
water rolling down the panes.

Pains and sheltering blows,
cleavers chop and chisel this skin,
foamed and soaped,
eternally scratched,
bruised and itching.

Downward movement
towards the ground
where smashed flesh,
crashed corpses,
purple tumescence,
scarlet portraits,
explode in fireworks.

Leak like dark liquid sparks
unsettled, guffawing
cherishing falls, breakdowns,
bleak houses on hilly trade winds,
or mountains blowing zephyrs,
colourful, dazzling beams,
wet rays, orange, pink ore,
the rainbows slit-open is
spitting iridescent ordeals.

A Bowling Ball in My Stomach

A dragon laid an egg inside my corpse;
not a body, nobody sees that I exist,
yet my scales shine in the beams
but an egg lies here inside me.

The hatching is coming,
I can sense strange vibrations,
the ovum was once fertilized,
invaded by white sperm
from an ancient Python,
or some reptilian snake.

Walter Ruhlmann works as an English teacher, edits mgversion2>datura and runs mgv2>publishing. His latest collections are Maore published by Lapwing Publications, UK, 2013,  Carmine Carnival published by Lazarus Media, USA, 2013 and The Loss through Flutter Press, USA, 2014. Coming up in 2014 Twelve Times Thirteen through Kind of a Hurricane Press.and Crossing Puddles through Robocup Press.        His blog

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