Category Archives: David Oprava

OBLIVION ~ David Oprava

Hope and I were in a rut, a well-lubed groove
of regression into primal ape-shit hump
and bump in the back of the Cadillac, I remember
when I could afford the gas to make this baby
hum, she purrs in my ear, whispers, lick here,
tongue dry as a dollar bill I’d been swilling
the grind of nine to five eating out of a well fucked
trough, how much is this gonna’ cost I ask
and she grins back in her best come hither
slither, how much you got?

Pockets full of spent ideals and used rubber
wrappers from deals gone sour I scour my
soul to find a few notes to pass onto Hope
but I’m flat out broke, scared to tell her so
I give it one more go as she moans nice
and low, a V8 rumble vibrating through
the coils and carburetors of this capitalist
dream, a glory to behold in her brighter
days swaying with chromed grins and glinting
in the sun, but here in the alley
night and the god’s twilight, she’s a sad rusty
wreck in the spasms of decline and I’m trying not to look
her in the face, run mascara and torn stocking
thighs, high on cheap verse and loose for the killing
I grind and grind and grind till we’re both sandpaper
sore and she whispers, no more baby, no more,
just go and let me die slow inside the beast
of better days, go on your way,

so I leave her there still blue balled and low
souled as my shoes, having just fucked the words
out of Hope, there was nothing left to do but drink
off the next decade shacked up with Faith in the flat
above the corner shop mopping up all the spilled
goo she’d let me get through, always believing
I’d change and find a way to be a better man
standing knee deep in the waste of everything,
HOW I’d scream through the screen door, HOW,
when this town is burning and the god’s are fiddling,
but dutifully she’d go down till the sounds of decline
were drowned out by her good natured slurping
and all would be forgotten in the hummer of her lips
on mine, in times like these, there’s nothing left
to do but spend a night writing squiggles of jizz inside
Faith and giving up Hope, wishing for a date with Oblivion.

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THE BREATHING ~ David Oprava

is better from afar,
seeing the rise and fall
of breasts as fingertips
drip idly on cleavage
left bare to be eye-groped
and spied.

Butterflies fuck
in my stomach swearing
rough breathed, the excited
yearn of seeing without
a chance to clutch,

too much and I close
this need tight shut,
but the silent mime of breath
won’t go, it just grows,
and grows till it’s moved me,
my hands, my throat
to lower, and lower thoughts.

~

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