Month: June 2023
my lover is a little slut but she’s a slut for me.
i stop by her house for coffee after work.
she wears her short black dress. we hug and kiss,
the way we always do when we see each other.
you’d think we were kids but the gray in our hair
and the lines in our faces—we’re not kids.
we hug and kiss the way we always do. she wears
her short black dress. no bra, i notice when i hug her
and run my hands down her back. i slip one hand
up under the hem of her short black dress, and into
her underwear. panties, but a real man has to be careful
about letting that word come out of his mouth.
so they’re not panties, they’re underwear.
my fingers are inside them.
you’re wet, i say
to my little slut lover. i think about her fingers
and where they may have been in the moments
before i arrived, before she set the coffee to brew.
it is brewing now, and my fingers
are feeling where she is wet.
take those off, i say
to my lover, my sweet little slut. i pull
at her pant— at her underwear, and step back.
she pulls them down her legs and off while
i kick off my shoes, strip off my tie, and take
off my pants as quickly as i can without my
seeming frantic. i take my sweet little slut
by her shoulders and guide her to her living room,
where i pull down my own underwear—
i’ve never worn panties in my life, not even as a joke—
and sit back on her couch. she straddles me.
my sweet little lover, my precious and
wet little slut, she straddles me and i push
myself slowly inside her. i use one hand to
guide and help support me, as i am growing older
and am not how i once was down there, how
i was when i was younger and ramrod straight.
i guide myself into my sweet little slut. she
rides me, her half-closed eyes rolling back in her
head, her mouth open in a grimace.
too soon my rock, it crumbles, or more accurately,
it melts away, becomes a little slug again.
before i’ve even attained the pleasure of
the explosive release we men so compulsively crave,
it melts away, wet now with the wetness from
my loving little slut. my little slug, gone back
to sleep before its work was done, now on point
for the reconnaissance into the sleep of death.
but never mind that. i lift my lover off of me,
lean her back into the cushions of her couch.
spread your legs, i tell her. she does. she
loves me. i could never find a way to tell her
how grateful i am that she loves me the way
she does, wet, her eyes rolling back in her head,
the grimace when i am inside her. i slip two fingers
into her, slowly, and slowly deeper, then
i squeeze her and squeeze her, the rhythm
of my hand matching the rhythm of her
rocking on me.
wider, i say to my
sweet rocking lover, let me in, and i slip
now three fingers inside her. i squeeze
her and pull her, kiss her with my tongue pushing
its way deep into her mouth, take my other hand
and squeeze her breasts, rocking her on me.
then i slowly let her go.
i cover her with myself. we hold each other.
her legs are up on either side of me. i feel
them trembling against my sides, and my
own legs trembling. my little slug, wet still
with the wetness of my sweet little slut,
sleeps between my legs. but as long as i have
my fingers, my darling precious lover, i’m sure,
will still be mine. and when we have coffee,
i’ll be able to hold my cup.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
hi,
what a hot fuck you are
say, i’ve had more than one glass of wine tonight
but i just wanted you to know what a hot fuck you are
and that’s not the only reason i love you
i’ve been a little freaked-out lately over our getting married
don’t get me wqqrong
i mean
wrong
because i very much want for us to get married
to each other
but i have been a little freaked about it lately
you know i’ve been married before and in fact
this week is fifteen years since that ended
we should celebrate
really we should and i don’t mean anything mean to my ex about that
i’m sure she’s as happy as i am
enough of that
i’ve been a little freaked
so let’s go celebrate this coming saturday evening by going out to dinner
i almost wrote sinner
by going out to dinner together
you
such the hot fuck that you are
and me
who can occasionally still rise to the occasion
xo
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“We merely are waifs shipwrecked on the ocean of nature; and ever and anon, from a sudden wave that shall be more transparent than others, there leaps forth a fact that in an instant confounds all we imagined we knew.” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
so, my darling, you’ve shown me your lesions
and told me they mean you’re going to die
well you don’t get to feel so special
we’re all going to die
it’s just that maybe you have more precise information and belief
concerning your own demise
but that you’re going to die
(as if that makes you unique—as if!
that’s not what makes you unique)
is not enough to drive me away
you’re going to have to try harder than that
if you’re going to be rid of me
in the meantime
you’re for me and i’m for you
you are my lifeboat and i am yours
it’s a sort of magic
board me and i’ll carry you upon the ocean
riding over the crests of waves
though if i start to ship a little water
i will need you to bail
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
my son, who is still in his teens, has said
that when he gets into a serious relationship,
he wants it to be with a low-maintenance woman.
dad, i want a low-maintenance relationship,
he said to me at dinner at our favorite diner last week.
i said, son, there’s no such thing—you want that,
get a cat, or an inflatable doll.
my lover is sweet as honey, smooth as fine wine,
but she is filled with broken glass. she knows this
and so do i. we know the care we must take.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The most trivial secret of the non-human object we behold in nature connects more closely perhaps with the profound enigma of our origin and our end, than the secret of those of our passions that we study the most eagerly and the most passionately.” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
my love if you must scream
go out to the desert and scream at the stones
they will echo your cries and transform them into song
my love if you must bleed
take yourself down to the river
fill it with the force of your life flowing to the seas and oceans
become the waters of birth and rebirth
my love if you must burn
place your burning hands against my skin
wrap your fiery arms and legs tight around me
press your hot mouth to mine and burn me
burn me through and never let me go
(Published in Lyrotica, 2011; copyright 2011, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
post-syphilis and pre-aids
long ago and far away, when there was nothing that couldn’t be cured
(gamma-globulin for the bed-bugs, hard liquor for the heartaches)
we would fuck at the drop of a drawer
those were the nights i slid my hard way
into runaround sue of the blue eyes and blonde hair
and the baby girl in the crib
and the cuckolded husband with lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders
cold warrior in a world frozen into the ice
of two great powers with atomic guns held to their heads
there was never a better time for fucking like there would be no tomorrow
now that tomorrow is here and we can see that it makes for no today
worth sliding between the legs of
into a sue so heavy in her middle age that she can scarcely move
her blue eyes crusted and bleared
blonde hair graying and cracked
her baby girl grown and gone, never to write home or even to call on holidays
the lieutenant promoted to captain, then on to colonel
silver eagles perched on his shoulders
before being cashiered when someone’s head had to roll
and his had always been convenient for sacrifice
but i slid my hard way into runaround sue
and i swear it happened on a golden morning, pre-aids and post-syphilis
when the world was ours ours ours and no war could take it from us
no war could distract us even for a moment, not even with the promise or the threat
of all our tomorrows flowing together without form or meaning in this our molten world
where our new diseases keep one step ahead of our latest cures
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“Because I am nothing if not an amazing businesswoman, I researched what kind of content makes for bestselling books. It turns out the answer is ‘one night stands,’ drug addictions, and recipes.” – Tina Fey, Bossypants
copulating on a bar in a nightclub after closing time
those little wet rings of condensation and spillage from drinks
are cold and sticky and stainy sometimes and often smell bad
the bar is hard on the knees and the butt and back
there’s no place to put your heels
no place to dig in your toes
no pillows to be found in the barroom
the bar is slick
narrow
falling bodies hit the barroom floor, sometimes breaking bones
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
she is sweet and vulnerable
sometimes she needs me
i feel strong when i hold her with my arms around her
she is sensitive and intelligent
aware of the world
an artist at heart
she is not overly superstitious
practices yoga and drinks herbal teas
caffeinated coffees, also
sometimes she says, for no apparent reason except that she wants to
i know someone who could use a blow job
then she unfastens my pants
she lets me put my hands all over her
my fingers squeezing inside her to bring her to climax
her breasts are small
they feel good cupped in my hands while she straddles me
she lets me fuck her and even lets me come inside
she says, you make me so wet
we fit together well, asleep and awake
sometimes she cries and says
i love you so much
also, she can cook, and drives an economy car
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“Every philosophical proposition is bad grammar, and the best that we can hope to achieve by philosophical discussion is to lead people to see that philosophical discussion is a mistake.” – Bertrand Russell, “Introduction” to Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
in the beginning was the word, and these are the words that came after.
these are the words that came to a man sitting in a chair.
these are the words that came while late summer rain gusted against a kitchen window.
these are the words that came to a woman in bed under a sheet
with two frayed hems and a hole.
these are the words that came from the sound of a pair of shoes being pulled back on.
these are the words that came after. these are the words that tell everything.
these are the words that explain nothing. these are they.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
looking up the word inveterate to see if it might mean
what i thought it might mean
flipping dictionary pages to reach the word
my eyes alighted first on intumescence, then on invaginate
and i considered how lovely those two words are together
and how my love and i are ever turning to each other
inveterates that we are
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“In practice, language is always more or less vague, so that what we assert is never quite precise.” – Bertrand Russell, “Introduction” to Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
together afterwards in each other’s arms, they slip into sleep
he dreams of spacecraft instrument control panels
trouble in the asteroid belt
possible cataclysm on a botched re-entry
she wakes first, kisses him awake
did you dream? she says
yes
he says
i dreamed we flew away together to the stars
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
her name is kim she has
very dark sloe eyes she doesn’t
need to be doing that to her
hair where she puts
those light streaks in it what do they call
those skunk streaks i think not a
flattering term
she doesn’t need those her
hair is more than just
fine just the way it was before she
did that she makes me wish
i were twenty years
younger i saw her last week in her
white t-shirt and black
jeans i want to come inside her
i came inside another
kim twenty years ago she also
did things to her hair it was
black when i met her and blonde
when we went to bed i came
inside a condom inside her
i think that still counts
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“In proportion as a society organises itself, and rises in the scale, so does a shrinkage enter the private life of each one of its members. Where there is progress, it is the result only of a more and more complete sacrifice of the individual to the general interest. Each one is compelled, first of all, to renounce his vices, which are acts of independence.” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
my nose is turning into a potato
my face is furrowed as a well-plowed field where one might grow such a potato
my teeth are turning into kernels of corn left too long on the cob
my hair is frosted like the teeth-rotting pastries i buy at the bagel place
the girl working the counter there is young and beautiful
(nut-brown hair, clear green eyes)
but i am a field of potatoes and sun-dried corn iced with hoarfrost, not dusted in sugar
and while i cannot deny my eyes (they won’t cease their seeing)
my hearing is not completely shot, and i can hear what time is telling me
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
clusters of galaxies whirl about one another, the larger pulling
the smaller apart, the greater consuming the lesser—here an elliptical
grown fat from swallowing its neighbors, there two spirals pulling the arms
off each other, over there one large irregular galaxy punching
a hole straight through a delicate pinwheel—
but when i try to contemplate these cataclysms in an objective
and scientific way, my mind quickly wanders away from the cosmos,
straight to the singularity of the slender long-haired beauty sharing
my bed, and all the ways in which we might resemble galaxies
when they cluster and merge and collide.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“A legend of menace and peril still clings to the bees. There is the distressful recollection of her sting, which produces a pain so characteristic that one knows not wherewith to compare it; a kind of destroying dryness, a flame of the desert rushing over the wounded limb, as though these daughters of the sun had distilled a dazzling poison from their father’s angry rays, in order more effectively to defend the treasure they gather from his beneficent hours.” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
this? this old thing?
this is my new home,
where i dreamed my lover was feeding me
fresh french fries and hot fish cakes.
these? lined up here on my desk?
these are thimbles full of scabs i pull from off myself
so my wounds will never heal.
(see? the stains are ruining my clothes.)
those? those piles of crumbs on the floor by my chair?
it’s plain to see that those are lies that fall from my mouth
whenever i pretend to speak of truth, beauty, or love.
that? i never sleep in that.
i sit in the corner, my back to the wall
while i listen to the sound that comes
from just outside. my lover has found my bedroom window.
she draws her fingernails down the dirty glass.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
a pocketful of candy bars, melting, and spare change
an envelope of butterscotch, sweet, smooth and hard
candy-coated chocolate peanuts wrapped in tissue and secrets
my fingers with nails gnawed down to blood
my green teeth, dyspepsia, furtive smile and briefcase
taking home my work
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The whole idea of a teacher is to be able to teach the student how to learn on their own so the teacher’s not needed.” – Rick Beato, “Did Dire Straits Create the Coolest Riff Ever? Yep”
this couch is nice and long
she said
even a person as tall as yourself
could sleep on it easily
i looked at her hands
her small and slender fingers
i like your hands
i said
i see myself holding them
in ways that might alarm you
i stood to leave
opened her door
she looked at her cat
stay
she said
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
our first date
wee-hours dining at an all-night place after the bar we met in had closed
she took my hand and turned it palm-up to read
the great love of your life will come to you in middle age
i assumed she meant this would be a happy event
i also assumed she meant it would not be her
she was twenty-five
i was twenty
we spent nearly every one of the following six hundred or so nights together
then one more some time after that
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“You can make a lot of mistakes in just one lifetime.” – Raymond Chandler, “I’ll Be Waiting”
just the other day
i gave up masturbating and smoking pot for the rest of my life
so
this sticky mess and lingering cloud of heavy smoke
must mean i’m dead
the available evidence indicates this level of hell
is filled with orgasm and muddled thought
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
my radio tells me the news, the weather, the sports, same as it tells everyone.
it tells me that today is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the resignation
of richard nixon, which reminds me of my standing that resignation day
at the door to my girlfriend’s house, telling her mother it was a shame
to see a good man go down.
my girlfriend’s mother said nothing in response to that. i was sixteen.
young lovers, her daughter and i, our small world still cast in the clarity
of simple blacks and whites, just months before the changes would set in—
the unanticipated child, the long detour through the alleyways and cold-water flats
of this to toke, that to drop, the odd shot in the dark of a junkie’s heart.
i turn the radio off, my mind wandering through the silence to play
a remembering game as i get ready for work, reminding myself of twenty years ago
and my starting downtown a new job at a gay disco, during the days and nights of disco,
tight young pretty boys with fuck to spare and all the money we could steal,
all the liquor we could hold, all the fine, white powder
we could take in the intimate odor of. we were never going to die.
ten years ago, who could say? a man looking much like myself,
a magician who has crawled into a bottle—how did he get himself in there?
isn’t he afraid he may drown?
five years ago, my new lover showing up drunk in the wee hours.
she’d driven three hundred miles to phone me from the hot-sheets down the street.
baby, here i am—send me.
two years ago, losing my sixth job in seven months (the lover long gone).
one year ago, sobbing in the district attorney’s office while i confess to everything,
my crimes too petty for notice, i’m wasting his time.
one minute ago, turning the radio back on just in time to hear
a passing mention of nagasaki day. it’s nagasaki day.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“We are, as we have always been, dangerous creatures, the enemies of our own happiness. But the only help we have ever found for this, the only melioration, is in mutual reverence. God’s grace comes to us unmerited, the theologians say. But the grace we could extend to one another we consider it best to withhold in very many cases, presumptively, or in the absence of what we consider true or sufficient merit (we being more particular than God), or because few gracious acts, if they really deserve the name, would stand up to a cost-benefit analysis. This is not the consequence of a new atheism, or a systemic materialism that afflicts our age more than others. It is good old human meanness, which finds its terms and pretexts in every age. The best argument against human grandeur is the meagerness of our response to it, paradoxically enough.” – Marilynne Robinson, “What Are We Doing Here?”