8
Clouds Of Spanish Brunette
She danced,
Holding her ruffled dress by the bottom
Swinging it around as the room
Turned into dark neon traces of light
Her thighs thick and hard
A knife in her garter
She moved to the singing gypsy voices
As she tapped her feet on the lime coated cobblestone
It knocked the brain like a tombstone in the rain.
Flamenco guitars playing traveling magic
She sang for him
As she threw her hair into circles
Alls you could see were clouds of brunette
Flowing through the air
His heart was swallowed by the communist revolution
As she moved for him his eyes captured her
Creating photographs inside his mind
The bullets that were strapped to his chest
Flew into the air as he swilled the last of his tequila
Fixed on her tree trunk marvels
He felt love swell past purified love
And she dumped holy water all over his face
The shouts of God cleaned his stubble and battle cry mud
He was within her voice and she was inside his candle light.
Viva Revolution! They shouted in each others arms
As love was made
Only by their eye sight in the rain.
Frank Reardon was born in feb of 1974
in Boston mass, He has published three collections
of poetry, “cancer Face”, Mental health
center energy and exorcism of the conartist.
He has also published
with many other mags and forums such as
Lamshadian army, zygote in my coffee, kill poet,
quillbillies, Atlantic press to name a few.
Frank is currently on too much vicodin
working on a ful length novel but still wants
to write poems and do readings from time to time.
