Random nights again

Random nights again

I'm staying up late again
into the night
and closing my eyes for a moment
before they are open again
and I am hungry
or I want to be busy
or I want to talk
or to jump
or to just get some rest.
And my ears feel plugged
and the silence plugs them further,
and I stare at flouresant lights
and send off strange e-mails
or try to create connections where there are none.
I'm up later again,
and I can't locate
symptome to cause,
but the cough is gone
and I could very well sleep now
but I can't
and it feels like I'm waiting again,
I used to do this in high school
sit here waiting,
for something-
I don't know-
anything
or anyone
to occupy me
Fuck the connected generation
for communication and speaking with another
has left me lonely again.

-Matthew Koutzun

Untitled Confession

Untitled Confession

I had a dream about you last night-
I have to tell you
because I find it perverse not to.
I debated all day whether to
but I thought it was nessecary.
I feel I should
because it's like one of those feelings
that makes your insides all mush
without the feeling of being sick.
All that happened was you won an award.
I don't know what came before or after this fact-
but it's the only one I can remember now.
You beat the human race,
or won the game of life;
congratulations on your belated happiness.

-Matthew Koutzun

My Body/My Saviour

My Body/My Saviour

My Body.:
My Saviour.:
My truant to the end.
You are the helper
by destroying what sleep I need
but saving my life from the plugged in toaster
the drier I left running
the oven left on
the side window open
and anything else I've forgot.
Thank you for nagging me awake
to save yourself
of the things I did wrong in my wake.

-Matthew Koutzun

A Loving Offence

A Loving Offence

On the plane we arrive
sit side by side.
She neatly composing herself
to resign quietly to her seat.
I sit and relax,
nestling my head back
hoping to get some sleep.

So does she and within moments
she is gone.
Vapid to the world,
eyelids shut
and dreams open,
such as her upturned palm
resting on the rest.

It so delicately upturned:
pink,
tender,
facing up.
Limp and loose
and dangling along the side
tempting like the anchor.

I slowly reach,
and look to see
if anyone passes by.
And silent and deadly
I sneak slowly in;
my fingers penetrating
hers to embrace.

And it's simple
and a comfort
and a sullen mood I'm in
as I sink away
past verse
...
to sleep.

I gone-
she awakes,
moist heat in her hand
and urine in her gullet.
Surprised she removes my hand from hers
placing it gently to the side.
Up she's gone to relief.

I awaken,
she's gone-
there can be no way
she jumped from the plane:
afraid.
I know her return will bring
back the awkwardness.

I look:
see her astride,
and slip back in faux sleep.
More tense
than one sleeping should be
as her weight shifts beside me
as she snuggles right in.

And she lays back
and she's nervous as I
as she reaches back over
taking my hand
slipping each finger back inside,
letting each reside
where each one once were.

And she looks over to me
as I now look back her
both of us awake as ever.
And lean into her
as her nervous smiles forms,
as I whisper:
"That's a loving offence if I ever".

-Matthew Koutzun

Blushing for Strawberries

Blushing for Strawberries

The queer little girl
with brown shimmer hair,
the light bounce in a step,
the curl of her hips-
which ensnares.
With bobbed wire fingers,
and cut simple brow,
a hold on silk lips,
peppered dashes-
for eyebrows.

A walk with passion
a quip with intent
to changing to a saunter
and peering down
then up from cement.
A man never sees it coming,
and never will,
from a girl blushing
over strawberries-
from behind the till.

-Matthew Koutzun

In Dark Again

In Dark Again

There is a false security that comes
from watching a police car
drive by in the night.

The lights comforting
glowing
and then fading into dark again.

And then it leaves
and your in darkness again
realizing help won't check back for a while.

-Matthew Koutzun

Words from an Asshole

Words from an Asshole

I'm puckered for you
after 2 hours of teasing.
My lips tensed
infront of your face.

I'm the man in the corner.
The one mother never warned about,
because I hid in layers of ambiguity;
a smile under a smile.

My body sways
from the constant amount
of courage
I drank down with force.

Oh, I'm oh so vulnerable:
what can I do?
Maybe you can help
these poor old lips of mine.

And you do-

And I laugh inside again.
Oh, how the weak
control the strong;
handling the gate.

-Matthew Koutzun

Filter in a Vacuum

Filter in a Vacuum

Cleaning the filter of my mind,
my eyes irritated at something in them: water.
All the sad things I've heard,
and the troublesome things I've seen;
Cleaning the filter of my mind.

-Matthew Koutzun

Sex Advice from Margaret

Sex Advice from Margaret

Dear Margaret;
What do I do?
He won't lift my spirits
with the right hand of God,
nor take my soul
into the pit of his.
I cannot understand
how a woman,
sensitive though I am,
cannot find hope
inside of him.

Dear Reader;
He can't levitate the bed.
He can't jump through hoops.
Just be happy
he can find where to stick it.

-Matthew Koutzun

Entry

Entry

Coming home
to the ruckus.
Enter a doorway
past world.
Time passes
awkward.
Take me back
to when we smiled
silent.

-Matthew Koutzun

Paper Aeroplanes

Paper Aeroplanes

I never knew a paper areoplane could carry someone so far;
folded out of mere plain paper, lined, coloured or constructed.
Someone, even so heavy or light as yourself, could fly off in it.
But in rain it folds in on itself, bat from the thin air it caressed.
A lump of pulp and it flies no more- neither it's passenger again.
I knew it wouldn't carry someone far,
but it, at least, carried them halfway.

-Matthew Koutzun

My Confession in Prose

My Confession in Prose

One day or another it was going to happen, so let it be today. I'm tired of indirectly trying to lead you to my insides through broken verse and mishapen song. I have to be direct now it seems; with you and myself, and I do it prose because I can't hide from truth any longer.

I've been searching for love all this time, never knowing where it could be, or how it is made, or how one obtains it. No matter how hard I've searched and how far I've lead you to follow me on my journey I've never been able to coax it out of me nor have you. So, I'm direct now, or am I misleading again?

I've looked at everything, across information's highway, and through the people I've met and many more I've met from afar, watching their actions, trying to dissect their ways- but still have come no closer to finding anything that resembles them in myself. From the highway, I've searched every esteric and erotic thing known to man and have felt nothing from picture, image, colour, or sound; from illusion to disillusion, there is nothing that has stirred anything in me.

Sure, my white hot comes from me now and then but it passes by without thought to whats really present. I feel genderless and sexless without a drive to call a home. Nothing to move nor distinguish me in a power driven world.

From violence to peace I've searched, perhaps love was found in pain I once thought, and couldn't stand the blood unnessecary, and in peace I could not find any pace or romantisism to stir affection into stagnant and thrusting lust.

Oh, I've done it now, with shaking hands on plastic keys, I've spewed it all out for everyone to see again (and I thought a confession would be longer. But like a climax, it's power is perhaps in it's quick and concise nature.)

Now to think: how to change it all?

-Matthew Koutzun

Translucancy: A day

Translucancy: A day

Held up to light
transparancy to brillance,
a red glow fired
in the heat of a sun.
A cold breeze froze it
and a steady hand opened it,
and a passionate quake tore it apart.
Took to seed
and green in season- grow.
Yellow mists of mourning,
when the sun brings back brillance.
Oh, begin again-
hold it out once more.

-Matthew Koutzun

How To Tell

How To Tell

Hitting the lit crossroads I see Poverty:
her: cross legged
blanket covered
multi-layered clothes-
barely warm still.
She speaks to a "City Ambassador"
(It says so on his jacket, while on one knee)
They speak,
him asking her what she wants.
"Release," she says,
"release,"
something to end all of this:
her,
and the people around her.
It could all go away she says.
Perhaps forever.
I stand listening
waiting for the white man to grant me crossing.
I should act:
bending down,
both her and the ambassador
bewildered-
as I kiss her.
Lips locked.
Teeth clashing.
Saliva mixing.
Permanence.
I stand again,
tears welling as I speed my way across,
the hand flashing red,
but pacing faster anyways- away.
She stands- all smiles- screaming- waving:
"That's how we'll save the world boy!
With love.
With love!"
Walking faster- harder;
need to wipe it all away-
need to get away-
how to tell a girl she now has hepatitis C?

-Matthew Koutzun

Talking to women

Talking to women

On the bus,
condensation fills the windows;
sticky and humid vail
from breath captive.
The rain outside beats-
I know it's there
but I want to see it
for myself.
I reach out,
wipe away moisture shadow-
gone: I see what I see everyday;
my hand wet- cold.

-Matthew Koutzun