The Poetry Project

Arden Wohl

I catch whimpers

Delicate canopy of furious nerves
The juice of humble compliment
Gentler than my bed’s pillow
Rituals of such pleasures

Catch whimpers
Dualistic people,
Fissures the day with thoughts of sin.
Slight surgeon
Stabbing cement eyes.
Bowed on thin loins, as we crave

Cries to eviscerate
Hot Belly.
Chapped ruby mouth
Experience is the same.
Detaching, craven
Skin and latex from their interest
Acting wounded

Mounting sloth of winter’s whistle
Frail chalk.
White cock.
Cold bed.

Frail chalk fingers gently stroke
Manifest in several sorrows

I Cannot speak.

Shadows shake the linens as he hums
Plain notes

Laze around from the attention

Doubtful queasiness commencing natural signals.

Lingering behind
I can not Comprehend which way to lean
The frozen window influences the intention.

Clout Jest

From head to foot
Embellishes dangle

With a charm for every sharp turn
“A charm for your trouble, Sir”
Shrill clang of metal
Shine is all that is left
When the sound disappears
Vibration is low and hollow

End of night,
Husk of his voice
Awakens grave misgiving
And just before going deaf
One last chime

Buy his way into legend
Unfortunately, no gravity there
The distance downward is too arcane
The access


He cannot see the postern
So, the prominence will not be garnered
The sale not recognized
The artifice too grand,
The Hidden

Consequences are unfathomable
It’s so insulting
Astounding presence of conformity
Exhausted conquest
Clumsy execution
Dinner table unoccupied
Seats of wisdom
Too overhead,
Too lofted with the dressed-up, blazing birds
A hankering diverts

Arden Wohl reads poems with musician Connan Mockasin for The Recluse 16.

Issue 16