Speak:Spoken

Speak:Spoken

I was urged today
by God.

I wait for the bus.
It does not come.
My shoe untied.
I see it.
Feel nothing.
Then everything.

I look to see if a bus is coming.
No.

My shoe is untied.
And everything is the urge to tie it.
Everything in me is telling to to tie it.
I don't want to.
But am compeld to.
So I test him.
God.

Internal:
If I tie this shoe let the bus come.

Tied.
The bus rounds the bend.

Internal:
Parlor trick.
But I'm still open.

So I test him again.

Internal:
Speak to me God.

I walk on the bus.
Removing my Glove.
The winter wind shoving me in.
I sit at the back.
A newspaper flaps at my ass.
Stunned.
I turn.
A black man.
He smiles.

Black man.
Smiling:
Going home?

I stare.
Scared.
Puzzled.

Internal:
Which home are we talking about?
Don't you dare.
I'm not ready for that yet.
I'm silent.
Black man still.
He turns around.
Silence.

I'm urged.
I should ask him.

Internal:
Are you god?

Nothing.
I should ask him out loud.

Internal:
Are you God?
Stop messing with me.
I told you I'd be open.
I never thought this wide.
Stop this.
Make it subtle.

Girl on the bus.
Unbundling the cold.
Scarf to the side.
Gloves to lap.
She sits.
Smiles direct.
At me.

Internal:
Oh God.
Stop.
I want coincidence to stop.
Right now.

She watches.
From corner of eye.
All the way home.

But more comes.

The lights out.
The street empty.
Snow frosts air.
Orange accompanied dark.
Empty Civilization.
Gridlocked empty streets.
Highlights slicing.
Beauty alone.
On a bus.
With God.

Off the bus.
I look back.
God in form.
Takes off.

I laugh.
I walk.
I know.

Internal:
It's over.
It's all over.
Come back God.
You scared me with coincidence.
Revived me with beauty.
And now it's gone.

The street out.
Lights out.
People in.
Lone orange light.
Dark empty.
Silent road.
Crunch under foot.
Snow sloshed.
Crisp breath.
Real night.
God gone.
He'll be back.
I hope.
Some day.

Internal.
God?
Are you there?
You've never answered me once offically.
God?
Am I supposed to just believe circumstance?
In splotchy moments?
I want to.
I need to.
I just want to get back on that ride.
I want to ask that man.
I want to make love to you as a woman.
Why is it so cold?
I never knew hands could be so cold.

Lifting.

-Matthew Koutzun

Diahrea Compromise

Diahrea Compromise

Here is when the gay man finds out
that watersports aren't played in a pool,
but in streams of golden showers.

When the lesbian wants to bury herself
in the carpet of another,
but finds it clean and can't stand the smell.

What to do when the straight man can't
find euphora in the hands of a woman
since she won't indulge his asshole?

Oh diahrea compromise,
you'll find a way to fulfil yourself,
if not in one-
then in another,
and then they'll be sorry,
and so will we.

-Matthew Koutzun

The War Ahead -or- Worth it?

The War Ahead
-or-
Worth it?

Contemplating adversity,
worth the effort or charm
to waste the time on unfruitful battle?

Oh, I've differentiated
his thoughts aren't mine,
is it not fair to let others have their say?

Give them say, I say,
and give them a pulpit,
give an inch and make them a ruler?

Censorship is not my way,
but he contradicts himself,
so when would the battle end with him?

Make leave of his inch,
take ultimately the mile-
look back and say you saw him when.

-Matthew Koutzun

Reverb: Nature and Machine

Reverb: Nature and Machine

Across the web in an instant-
tangled as we go,
one side to the other in an instant;
constant and variable tangled.

Enthralled, and exlierated
bondage in sticky strings,
information overload,
emansipating, and taken.

Spaces. Seen see-through,
almost walk through,
even birds are caught
in its binding strength.

Oh the venom, it sweet-
tangling the tounge
in spaces caught,
taken to overload .

-Matthew Koutzun