till

till


looking up at the sagging skin
i have to wonder where the feelings still come from
every bit of you jiggles and hardly holds it's shape like it did before
as you gyrate on top of me
spots on once smooth skin
and a toothy smile yellowed from those old chocolate flavoured cigarettes you used to love


a patch of dry skin on your elbows
i swear it was all that time on your knees that they're as roughed up as they are now
i wonder if you think i'm impotent as my dick goes soft
and you knead it till it aches because i just don't have the care to stop you


the years have crept by and still i fain at the thought
that one day
any day
this could be gone


all the trying
all the pleasing
all the laughter of our bodies just not able to go on


our bodies just are not able to go on


and our bodes are not able to go on


and one of us won't go on


and what then


what will this body have
but the idea of you on me
skin lifted
and marrow escaped


i can't fuck ghosts
and i haven't been fucking flesh these last 30 years
but somewhere in-between
is the place i loved you


-Matthew Koutzun

Flush

Flush


The cool emptiness and tingle of the blood escaping the face,
downward pull to pit and collapsing embrace of upturning.


Clawing and wrapping anything around to hold and meld.


Heat wandering, and cold welcoming itself indoors
windows barred and curtains drawing darkness covers.


Missed hours and hair disheveled waking weak and hungry.


Hunger pains and lazy limbs can't shake and bake tonight.
Gonna eat through the dial and talk me some take out.


Almost done a dish, fork heavy, best to sleep it off again.


-Matthew Koutzun

Western Slinger Makes a Home


Never received a letter from you Shirley
till the one I got today.
Thought it was strange it coming this late
and after all the ones I sent
and left on the posts here
if you were to look to find me.
You left something short
and not much about our child.
Something in me says he or perhaps she
didn't have long in this world.
I've made a home now.
Not like the one you'd expect:
with a wife and wee ones.
I've come to live here alone
waking with the sun
and working
on the land and on myself.
After the first days I bought a mirror
and never did I see a fright.
I was god awful and wondered how you loved this man
and I shaved and cleaned these clothes.
Still trying to learn to sew
but that was always woman's work
till now.
I don't know if your heart's finally gone soft
or if your trying to soften my fall
but I won't make wanton and beg.
The sun is up early again tomorrow
and I've alright said my goodnights.
So it's best I sleep now and save this for a better time to send.


-Matthew Koutzun


To the man I walk forwards backwards for.


Continuation from:
Western Slinger Walking Backwards

Duvet

Duvet

and the sheets trailed after

pouring down the side of the bed

and splashing to the floor below

kicking and tangled

pulled down beneath them

gasping impact half swallowed

air lacking but abundant

and under bed and across floor

sheets puddle moist contact.

and the tide brought you back

knotting tender skin binding

burning friction on bounding

and covered thread on decency kept

drag us under post and bed frame

let its shadow create day for night

and tangled duvets heat hot

and cotton wick body sweat.

Drench and hold close

holding breath 

cause too bare

and wood panel pressed on back

cool clutch

cheek to surface

gonna whisper in your ear

tell you that your brow belongs there too

face down

we’re gonna take you

slipping sliding

and entangled

emerging to nightfall

returning out above

windows all open

gonna keep it fresh

keep the lights low

and tidy sheets again.

-Matthew Koutzun

Hope in the Prostitute Den

Hope in the Prostitute Den


Again
I've gone off to look for you
in places that won't hold.
Watching to see if I can inspect footprint
on carbon
with what might say you're here.


I went to the bordello to look for you
wanted to see if you frequented
those creatures.
Half brave
and fully nervous
if you see me you'll think the same of myself.


Maybe we're just bumbling here
hoping to catch each other
in some act
desperately trapeze-ing
to cross the boundaries we've created
with our pride.


I tried before
but it only wore each thread
and now I wonder
if your unwillingness to
commit again
is what holds the sword.


Great man on rope so high
wavering with large knife
and on threads too thin
I've set the ground beneath you
and moved mountain to raise it as well
so you may step down with me.


-Matthew Koutzun

That Empty Lot on Cedar

That Empty Lot on Cedar


Guess you've left town.
The place you lived in is gone now too.


The shed in the back is the only thing left standing
and all the tools and paraphernalia too.


You left the kid's swimming pool.
And my bike.

The only thing of real value you left behind.

Dust just creeping over them.

Water from the ceiling pooling in the kiddy pool base.
Sludge rippling as I give it a tiny nudge.


The rest of the building is gone.
Don't know why they had to take it down.


Neighbours don't recall you leaving.
No van, movers,  forwarding address.


The one on the left has a box of bills and flyers that piled up.
She said she'd give it to me if only she could remember me.
I left it, no use paying for things of something long gone.


The only thing of real value I left behind.


She had her dog tied up in the back.
Right on our property.


I was so pissed off that she had that fucker
shiting and pissing on our lawn.


Then realized that
hell, this place isn't ours no more.
Not mine nor was yours shortly after.


The only thing of real value we left behind.


I traced out the lines of the foundation
as the dog barked at me.


Told that woman to take it indoors
but she just ignored me and left the porch indoors herself.


Looking at it again I wish we'd had a basement.
Grown a root cellar or something.
To keep it down.


Some where to hide when the shit came down.


The light is half burnt out on the left side of the street.
Decided to stay here till nightfall.


Packed some sandwiches and a beer.
A few juice boxes too since I have to drive back.


It's just around the corner
but it seems like forever since I've come here
since moving back.


The only thing of real value I could really remember.


Damn, most of these people's houses need residing.
paint's all chipped and weathered.


Thank god we moved.
If only I could remember where I misplaced you.


-Matthew Koutzun

Pride -or- A Tiger's Meal

Pride
-or-
A Tiger's Meal


When are you gonna abandon your pride?
Gonna leave those aching lions in the dust?


Realize where I am on this rock
and see the water trickling down carving stone.


i've laid out commandments of this jungle
and vine swing and moral branch bewildered.


March of the army ants straight to the slaughter
into the mouth of god anteater.


Oh wanderer a path just like those solders
and give wanton to fever moist air.


When are you gonna leave that pride?
When's a tiger gonna have it's meal?


-Matthew Koutzun

Matching Set

Matching Set


You're pillow is a peaceful blue.
Dark criss crossing stripes.
It's the one that remains with me
even though it really is in your possession.


It was my brother's from home
now yours from nights
and I hide it away
no one else may rest upon it.


Back then it was a contrast.
A blue streak on black and red.
Then black and grey.
I could find no other place for it but with you.


I had it there
taking it away when company came
leaving it out
only with those most comfortable.


But those sheets are stained
and one is a mass of rips
from the tossing
and I've outgrown what they used to be.


Queen to a Queen.
Size unchanged.
Sheets of peaceful blue.
A matching set.


-Matthew Koutzun

Dynamite Dan

Dynamite Dan


Dynamite Dan
with only one hand
playing with flames getting burned.


With fuse and with wire
and abandoned attire
he's pumping the detonators down.


Oh Danny-


collar up 
and sleeves tight
what's next on your hands-less night?


You blew off the other
each catch blowing a finger
and now you can't pull your own trigger.


Oh God-


What delight
what you found here last night
to light fire in you without your own touch.


They'll nibble your nubs
kiss your arms with no thumbs
because hun, love is your trigger.


-Matthew Koutzun

Blasting Grounds

Blasting Grounds


The utter of a candle.
Whisping and wrought
touching existence and not
but spittling smoke and pipping-
drawing in a crowd of one.


From flash bang firework
or clear calm incandescence
one thing is for certain
the quicker it it's rise
the quicker it's fall.


Gonna burn out in the hemisphere
before touching the ground
gonna create a force
inconsiderate of it's impact
and disappear before calamity.


Oh lasting shimmer
burned a white hole in my eye
the part which I can't see with now
and only around
you're here for a moment and healed here after.


-Matthew Koutzun

The Letter " "

The Letter "  "


Turning the stems on apples
tossing the ones
and keeping only those
where they break on the letter of you.


Counting petals
before beginning my
dos
and don'ts.


Gonna feed the crystal
ore
gonna coax it to repeat
a name.


I don't let it control luck
when I can take the steps to control it.


-Matthew Koutzun

Behind Door Number 2 Came the Mystery Box

Behind Door Number 2 Came the Mystery Box


legs crossed so long
the knees are aching at the base.




feet twitching and dancing back and forth
prancing a nerve
moving like a thumper.


decisions
decisions


bite a nail
teeth like the back end of the hammer
spit it onto the pile.


gonna make it
make me




devil i do


don't tempt


cause i could do anytime for you.




take tail in mouth
and molten magma down in me
gonna heat me up.


gonna make my mind for me.




taking it.


making it.




gonna take this nail pile
and build us something.


Won't be much.


But better than that box
they kept you in.




-Matthew Koutzun

Ophthalmological Fact:

Ophthalmological Fact:


A little known fact about hygiene:
did you know that in addition to washing
your body, your skin, your bits,
you need to wash your eyes as well?


You've seen the bright eyes
of lovers
and the clear eyes
of the wise
crystal
of the future seers
and the translucent
of the kind.


But what of the blister in my eye
and the blemish on my lash?


Isn't that why we blink
why shut our eyes to the storm
sand crashing brow and cheek
and scrunched and bunched
tightened too taut
to trap out trace
and silt?


Oh how it's in there deep,
the muscles now forced it back
further than I thought it might.


Gonna have to wrestle it out
with rushing water
on peeled back lid
twice stung is at once the antidote.


But a little known fact of hygiene:
did you know that in addition to washing 
your body, your skin, your bits,
you need to wash your eyes as well?


-Matthew Koutzun

untitled

untitled


looking back 
i may not have been mature enough then
but i think i'm mature enough now


the ride's heights are dizzying
and i'd vomit up and down the boulevard
but not i think i can keep the elephant ears
and corndogs down my gullet


ride the tunnel of love
and not be unclothed the other side
dangling over the mechanical bull's neck
and drenched in the water
drifting each vessel through


gonna play the games
and learn when i've wasted enough money
knowing that perhaps
today is not the day i get the prize


and gonna get in my car
when the day is done
and finally know it's back to work tomorrow


-Matthew Koutzun

When Simple isn't Simple Enough

When Simple isn't Simple Enough


So to be clear what does this simply mean for us?


What it means is a certain amount of highly rewardable gestures of astutely acute reason may or may not quantify the mass junction of affable relativity of the noblest pursuits conclusively by withholding the excrement waste of said hormones in the conjecture of emotions past.


What?


-Matthew Koutzun

Lap Layers Reprise

Lap Layers Reprise


Stroke me
dip your fingers in my hair
as I rest in your lap.


Charge me
with the smoulder touch
and static smooth of digits five.


Let electric motion
spark up my spine
and recharge my tired torso too.


We lay here wanting
heavy heads on flesh pillows
dancing tips of rain stick prints.


Rest me
let it pour from me
and wash it from my hair.


Oil it and slick it to me
part it and divine it a course
as it falls it drapes and covers.


Red sea
blood bathe
and follicle fellatio.


Let us reprise
lap layers
we are wanton to your hands.


We will dress and anoint
leave our heads bare
and bare our humility.


Samson among us
leave us our dignity
and spare us our locks.


Let us hide ourselves
locked in our locks
and concealed in curls.


Teach us how to love our faces
to open drapes
and reveal visage.


We can
we just are weak at times
and need a moments peace.


Grant us gatekeeper
as we look up to you from rest
weary eyes and steeled up chests.


You are our masters
our keepers
our base station at the mountain.


You are the supporters
and the creators of great men
the laps of the great lap layers.


Let them reprise before war
they are off to battle 
and won't be soon to return.


But they come back 
baring fruits
to lay in laps reprised.


-Matthew Koutzun

What brings me to this floor

What brings me to this floor


It's funny being reduced.


It comes in an instant
and grasps a spot in me I keep trying to bury away.


I tried to cauterize the wound
to burn it with the extremes of grief and surrender myself to the howling emotion.
I let it
spiral me down
and infest in me so that it could fill me up
spill out
and I could start from empty.


But that hollow
it wanted full
and with no replacement
no equal
what else can it find but what it knows.


So in these moments I'm reduced.
Minimized and sacrificed to thought.
Over the strangest things.
Things I never would have gleamed a fear or sadness from suddenly overtake me
and their tiny
all be it
formidable acquaintance with my own experience moves me motionless on the floor.


Children's television shows
a name mentioned in passing
a meal once recalled
walking out an elevator
trapped on a balcony naked
seeing a pattern on a pillow
a sock left by accident
a puzzle half completed
a jar of pickles wasted
a bottle of hot sauce saved.


What each means is only a known guess
a secret kept in passing.
They are only moments etched forever
that grace and dance like moths.
May they not lose their momentum
and have them circle once again.


-Matthew Koutzun

Moths

Moths


"To the Flame," I chant.


Your fire burning high in the field,
wood bend upon stick
and log upon branch,
as your light rivalled the sky
and cavaliered smoke and fume.


I never understood why you built it as high as you did.


The only thing bright in the night.
It called out to the moths you feared so much.
The light calling- smoke dispelling.


You would keep them at a distance with your fumes
as you danced in the heat of your flames.


Of the one insect you could of feared I never understood the moth.


Maybe it was the dart quick gestures
the floating brown and white of the wings
like tiny pigeon angels of the invertebrate world
coming out only in night
seeking each tiny speck of Sun
drawn closer to some inner glow.


They'd reduce you.
Something I never could understand;
the Mighty Sun- the Lion of Oz in you.


On the edge,
I'm catching spark off you
and lighting a glint in my eye.


Reflections of wanting it all.


Eyes so wide
the black fog of fire fills them
foaming tears 
to keep sight in inferno so intense.


But your bonfire is forever dear.


I will stand outside the veil of smog one moment
I have to catch my breath.


I guess like the moth 
I'll never know why you fear them.


Keeping us at a distance.


-Matthew Koutzun

Minotaur

Minotaur


It's me: Theseus.
You've locked me out the maze.
You are twists and turns you've mastered.
Not to trap me in.
But to keep me out.
I can vanquish you.
I can remove your head in bloody glory love.
I can stab you at your weakest.
And as much as you want it.
You hide in dark catacomb quiet.
I can live with you here.
But can we take it outside?
I've learned to love in the light.
Much like you knew and wanted.
I can lead if you lead me out the ways.
I can follow if you allow one to follow.
I can vanquish you.
I will.
Let me.
I will.
Let me.
I will.
Let me.
Let me.
Let me.
Let me.
Please.
Open corridor.
Door.
Passageway.
Out.
I can take the violent monster in me.
Take the monster too.
Calm his horns in me by filing down yours.
Brush back his hair.
By taming yours.
Take him in your arms and model him down.
Back into the gentle man I used to be.
I'm lost in mazes without my man.
My man in animal you.


-Matthew Koutzun