Turn the Air On, On

Besieged by the need
To come into your lair
And rest my head
On coarsely bred hair

Turn the air on, on
I’m breathing in heat
A breathless conception
A woman in need

The pulse crashes
On the edge in waves
But don’t stop the tide
To desire, not save

Turn the air on, on
I’m breathing in need
A breathless conception
A woman in heat

© 2011 April Prichard

Hierarchy, The Lie

Trying to connect with the tactile tapping
of fingers on plastic…rap, rap, rapping
And words swirl within the gray
But never find life within the day
Waiting for the nights conception
Light desires birth into dark reception
In contraposition is beauty revealed…
Interdependence ne’er seen or concealed.

And the words to explain do ever elude
While frustration builds and broods
A moment captured through that defined
Can never pierce the illusion of time
And never explain with adequate weight
The experience of unity we segregate
From eyes and ears continually shield…
Interdependence ne’er seen or concealed.

I’m going there...to that “ness” of no thing
Where words to confine defy to cling
No label given accepted as prison
No illusion of safety within weak definition
Our difference is interest, yet escapes view
Hierarchy, the lie we ever accrue
The juxtaposition of we creates an appeal…
Interdependence ne’er seen or concealed.

© 2011 April Prichard