Coming Fast or Slow

I thought he’d come for me, uh huh,

Come fast you see

But Ebola too slow,

and that may be good, uh huh

No Ebola

No blast of vomit kissing my virgin eyeball, oh yuk

No lost chunks on my door knob tempting sticky fingers, you see

and flickering tongues, uh nah,


It’s the wrong hole for me, but any hole he likes, you see

I like the darkness in Ebola, his affection on me

The bad-boy fatality where water comes out like it comes in

He like depression, you see,

The pain is in the cure

True and simple

Death need not be complicated, uh huh

But living is

hard

 you see after he

that bastard always hard

so hard on thee


No worries, there are other lovers lining up for me

I am hard to get you see, and they hardly ever hard on me.


Changas came for me

such a boy was he

but a good Latin kisser, you see.

Past lovers’ stomachs permanently in knots,

for life, they say

but not me,

so silly to be with he

and, yeah, there was Ziki, or Zika sorry

He not for me but had me scared though

Not any more for my barren soul, uh nah

Not hiding out in any testes I know, you see.


But I have a confession, uh huh

A regular undress’in, you see

I love chikungunya, uh huh

She’s so sweet on the tongue, oh yeah,

Makes me want to dance to chi-kun-gun-ya, yeah!

Come with her slow or with her fast

No matter if it feels fast and free with a hint of deadly in thee

Such a pretty dancer is she

A deadly-like and alluring bite

not a bad boy but a nasty she, you see

that one can wake up from.


I was heartbroken then, you see,

and had this fling with Dengue,

but he be with nearly 400,000, 000 in a year,

and no longer with me

I feel shitty

but am free now, uh huh

No lover to contaminate my bloodstream, you see

but maybe that influenza,

whose sometimes a girl and sometimes a boy

Doesn’t matter if it be a she or he when it feels fast and free with a hint of deadly in thee

more deadly the longer you dance with him,

or is it her?

I’ve got the chills now, you see.

Gonna lie down with me and my fantasy, uh huh

They come for us

be it fast or be it slow

We all have these lovers, you see

so no worries now

go to sleep

and I

or he

or she

will come

and kiss thee …


written by Earl Yarington @2019 all rights reserved

A Once Good Man Lost

I was walking

Out for the first time

Since then

Since, I don’t know when

Feeling naked

Hearing “cho mo”*

Over and

Over again.

In there

Out here

Exposed;

There’s a list

You Looking?

Them exposed

I looking

I clicking

Walking quickly

Rapid breathing

Hear it?

It’s “cho mo”

Or is it

“no more”

Who is he?

Or is it me?

I think

There’s one!

A distraction

Dance recital?

Possibly

My life

Flashes in

Front of me

Walking quickly

From her

From my past

From the looks

Noticing

Yet another

And another

And another

And another.

They are terrifying iridescence

In seeing them

a crime in only seeing.

I need no registry.

A beautiful

Poison that

Kills when

Eyes only

Fall upon them

Five of them

In one mile

When all I did

Was clicked.

It’s life.

It’s a life.

On a cute little

List.

I take a taxi home

Where there were

Once my kids

Once my love

Once someone 

Loved me.

Once on

a screen

I clicked.

Once I had a home

A job

A father

A Mother

A Family

Lost.

Two floors

Above

A family moved

In.

The police informed me

With a warrant

Of course.

Lips quivering

Around the cold

Steel

Hands trembling

I click it.

The comments

Below the

Scattered constants and vowels of me

Of what was more than

Anyone cares

To see

Was me.

It read,
“Thank heaven!
Let’s pray

More will follow.”

A once good man lost.

*Child Molester


written by Earl Yarington @2019 all rights reserved

A Beautiful Dancer Magnified

What is it like to be a beautiful dancer

Of ballet, of jazz, of modern dance

The traditional tutus and gowns the midriff and scantily-liberated playfulness of

Dance shorts booty shorts and gymnastics leotards

Lace, bobby socks, stockings and stocking-less-ness

And dance shoes, boots or bare feet

The celebration but visual dissection of the body, tightly clothed, barely clothed

Translucent in its femininity and grace but ever present in the instant

Wonderfully natural in free movement and tauntingly fluid

In being unnatural-classical?


The pointed toes, developed calves, but the lovely long legs,

Kicking out legacy after legacy

The feet in the air, toe-tips holding the body

As if boneless but still standing

Strong, taut stomachs glaring with sweat

The pumping pelvis, swaying hips and the booty popping

Never stopping but hardly once only to smile in blazing lights,


 The heat of being viewed under visual amplification

And through the makeup and the tears of perfection

I see her then in the “preamble” the still pose in the beginning before the dancing

She is statue like, glares at the audience with a surety, with a classical confidence this time

And she holds out her hand so much so that one often misses that she does not have one.


Yet, she’s the premier ballerina, center on stage, under the magnifying glass

I am moved with I-cannot-help-it tears

This is what it means to be a girl on “being-seen steroids”

But she handles it with handless arm outstretched

In a beautifully vulnerable but tough as steel moment

 While her parent seems doubtful, unsure, and protective

Whisking the girl away after, a blur of peach-colored nylon

A glimpse of a blushed face and double eyeliner

An act of being tentatively unseen-seen 

She was there, she was classic-classical but intriguing

Boldly confident within the confines of adolescent uncertainty,


But with a poise of a mature women

Where we peer at her, magnify her, and assess

If she’s good or not, cute or not, pretty or not,

Fat or not, skinny or not, or noticed or not


written by Earl Yarington, @2019 all rights reserved (also published under “yogiortner”).

Canine Mindfulness

If I were a canine only,

I could live by olfactory

And smell my way to mindfulness.


I could sniff any crotch I like,

And bite anyone’s ass in spite.

I could slobber all over your beautiful face

And dry hump anyone in your private little space.


I could lick my privates in public,

then thrash your pretty toes

and go out and urinate, even in a school zone.


I can bark when I like,

Without disturbing the peace,

And you would always take me for walks,

Never being too busy for me.


I can devour that sweet pussy,

Cat, but no blame in that

Because old dogs will always be just like that.


So, if I were a canine,

I could live the American Dream

Without making a damn thing,

 And no matter what shape or color,

I would never be called a “stupid motherfucker.”


I can caress drunken homophobic balls,

And only you would be accused

 Of having gay sex with a dog.


It would be no matter to me

Because we love dogs unconditionally,

So when I imagine a pretty girl holding me,

Even when I bite,

I’m in the mood for canine mindfulness;

Just wanting something impulsively nice.


written by Earl Yarington @2019, all rights reserved. Also published under pen name yogiortner.