Dry-Humping Parnassus Featured At Discover

Dry-Humping Parnassus is today’s featured poetry blog at Discover, “A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.” Thanks to Discover Editor and Chief Semicolon Advocate Michelle W. for featuring my stuff, and especially to all of you humans out there for reading, following and supporting it. With any luck, the Muse will let me go outside and play now.

Robin Lucas publishes poems, stories, and satire. He began writing at 22, mostly by accident: as he states in his bio, he had a typewriter, plenty of time due to unemployment, and a sudden urge to express his festering self-indulgence. He’s based in Southern California.

via Dry-Humping Parnassus — Discover

Untitled #11

Je t’aime, je t’aime, 
she was teaching him the French

with her head on the pillow next to him
and her eyes staring into him 

like incandescent emeralds,
his throat nearly paralyzed 

as he tried to repeat the words, 
then the next, ce soir et toujours,

the chemistry flooding their senses like a drug, 
and he could've laid there for a thousand days 

with his face on that pillow, 
sinking into a lock of her cheveux roux 

and je t’aime, je t’aime,

then she took his hand and kissed it, 
placed it on her bare stomach, 

and ran his fingers under her blouse
until he watched his hand rise and fall 

on her accelerating breath
as she said the next words.

Untitled #10

As a boy he’d had the recurring dream 
of falling to his death from a skyscraper. 

Once, the dream replayed itself for five 
nights straight. On the first, he woke up 

screaming in terror. On the second, 
he dreamed that as he was falling, 

he was simultaneously calling for help 
from a phone booth at the base of the tower. 

On the third, he dreamed that he had been 
the architect of the building. On the fourth,

he had a parachute, but the cord snapped 
and it wouldn't open. On the fifth, 

he quit his job as an architect.

“Wish We Were Here”

It’s as if
we’re standing
side by side
in a postcard
of the beach
at sunset
you’re wearing 
a lemon sundress
bare feet ginger hair
sailing in the breeze
and I’m facing you
reaching over
to pull you in
and kiss you
and you’re not 

real

I’m not real
the sun sinking
under the sea 
isn’t real and it's 
better this way
to imagine we're only 
two-dimensional 

figures 

photographed
for a postcard 
for sale
at any truck stop
in the middle
of the desert
for a dollar and 
change.

I Knelt Down On The Dirty Floor

for Hank
1.

They’d almost reached the border 
when suddenly the driver thought 
the asphalt had turned into gold. 
It hadn't, the driver had fallen 
asleep, and a rusted pickup 
running for freedom 
ran off the highway and 
into a ditch with the lives
of thirteen Mexican immigrants.

2.

Pale Rider is the 3-to-1 favorite,
but as we look over in the next gate—
Jesus, he’s madder than all of them
and the color of a goddamn firestorm—
we’re taking Roan Stallion for the upset,
if the woman doesn’t shoot him first.

3.

The woman I loved
walked down to the chapel
to kneel before the cross,
but by the time she got there
the cross was empty.
The body of Christ 
had rotted so badly
the altar boys had to get 
pliers and pull him off.

4.

We’re in hell drinking scotch,
and it tastes like kerosene, worse,
and the Old Goat behind the bar
is laughing “NO MORE CREDIT!”
But it beats the other place 
that was selling Kool-Aid
and calling it wine.

5.

The cops had to report
that the child didn’t look
before entering the crosswalk,
because the bystanders were afraid 
to admit the kid was pushed 
by a guardian angel.

6.

When the woman I loved
walked down to the chapel,
I let her go and didn’t follow her,
and she didn't stop
when I tried to tell her,
“It's just a dirty trick.”

7.

Hank, it’s just a dirty trick,
the pictures burned, the bottles
thrown, the Roman candle that 
burns alone on a frozen lake 
of time. And after she left,

I knelt down on the dirty floor
and wept into my shots of whiskey
for the immigrants, the kid,
stinking Jesus, that furious 
red horse and now you.
March 1994