+ Enemies we love

For the European punishment
under your black garter
I starve in the lyric
For the metallic wisdom of the traditional weapon
that your inner thighs grip
a Spaniard poisons his gut with light

amid the warfare discipline
I perform a district level worship
in the heart of dust’s machinery

everyone has a way of conquering the enemy they love

you conquered me
(I an invalid)
amid your
glamour brethren

I conquer thee

in a swift naked fight of the white page

I walk to the ocean

I walk to the ocean from my room
Last night it was only the distant sounds of party music and waves
I am an unusual stranger here
I don’t care about the crowd
Or maybe I am the most ordinary stranger here
so much that the crowd doesn’t care if I am here
I write a letter from the beach
Lovers dance
Escorts dance with men without lovers
Friends do a line or two
I wrote a letter to you love
you passed it by calling it a poem

a piece of disgust, hate, deathwish. Hoping you might hate it as well……

I’ve been meaning to get a hair cut
a cheap and quick one
I’ve no money for the luxuries anymore
I’m a leech, a parasite now
I’ve been wanting to lose weight
my white belly hangs from the seams of my underpants
been wanting to repair this rotting flesh
no pleasure no joy in this body
filth fat blood semen sweat rush day in day out
its hot outside
summer’s here
room cluttered garbage lying in the corner
no woman no future no guarantee of joy
voice is the new penis and singing the new orgasm
I come all over the sunlight, the air, the depression, the pleasures, the enlightenment, the knee
stroking my guitar
it’s a beautiful feeling to have conquered the invisible wicked emperors in their battlefields
no one to remember the victories
no one to kiss the braves
a strange brotherhood binds us all over the ages
us the faceless, historyless solitary warriors
the eternal perverts who do not mistake themselves for prophets

My silence surrounds your beauty

My silence surrounds your beauty
Your beauty surrounds my war
They are singing my song in the party lights
but it’s the darkness that it’s written for

And this darkness will not surrender
to the brutality of the sun
I’ll avenge dear reader your broken soul
but I take unbroken love in return

- Charles Walker

I know the photographs I’ve saved aren’t of you
Here in my memories your shadows,
your darkness, your light; that’s not you
Your friends from Bombay working in Boston,
in their restroom chats you’re mentioned; (they don’t know this but) it’s not you

in cheap hotel rooms,
in jazz concerts from stage,
with some time to kill and beers to drink
we all tell the stories of your skin’s December warmth
but that’s not you

you who is ethereal for everyone like me
you who is so solid with that one man

- Charles Walker

“I would dance with you, Maria, but my hands are on fire.”

- Bob Dylan at an afterparty to a fellow singer Maria Muldaur when she asked him to dance with her so as to cheer him up after the booing at the Newport Folk Festival 1965 when Dylan went electric.