Nachokeys21
Nacho and Alice

Published Poets. Amateur photographers. Bitcoin is love🫶

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npub1f0zpnktuw3syyu6rm2hs3nmzz8789mssnk3un4lsqdds5w353khqhk97sc

NIP-57 Address

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nprofile1qqsyh3qem978gczzwdpa4tcgea3prlrjacgfmg7f6lcqxkc28g6gmtspz3mhxue69uhhyetvv9ujuerpd46hxtnfduqs6amnwvaz7tmwdaejumr0dsjzeqh4

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relay.damus.io

nos.lol

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npub1f0zpnktuw3syyu6rm2hs3nmzz8789mssnk3un4lsqdds5w353khqhk97sc

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Last Notes

2024-08-17 18:21:19

‘Ring Master’
The clementine sun dies,
and the sky turns Rouge Dior
on my lips.
I can’t breathe—
pachyderm sternum squatting,
trunk wrapped round my neck.
Couture scarves
hang in my closet,
but that elephant I’ll never forget.
Head underwater,
even in a shower,
makeup darting,
running bond tile,
on its way to the drain.
Dumbo-sized blunder,
letting go of prayers,
lonely hearting
to the still sky’ll
make wonder if you’re sane.
And it’s you I see
in the clouds,
big ears flapping.
I’m beguiled
by your elephant eyes,
long lashes batting.
And you’re in the waterfall with me,
fancy shower head spilling;
the sun’s from your mouth,
setting down your throat.
Red tongue, tangerine peeling,
returning my rouge.
Who needs lipstick
on a safari,
as juice drips from my skin?
You trumpet your arrival.
The king of the jungle
was never the lion.
So tell me the truth—
as you bury your dead,
pulling me in.
Remember what love is?
-N&A
https://m.primal.net/KCSK.mov

2024-08-17 05:26:31

‘What I Tell Myself’
The ideas I grapple,
a contest of strength—
Hercules and the lion,
Red Robin Hood’s cape.
It’s our stories defying
the swirling snakes
of our past—
helix in flask
of flesh and calcium.
It’s halcyon ink,
scrawled from the left
to your elbow,
as your head droops
and you see understanding
as the fluke it is.
Brass tips touch
where they shouldn’t—
against your parents,
even though
they died
on Christmas.
Criss-cross resurrection,
and the sermon is well,
nearly their complexion—
but a little less hell
than the plate flung
over the waterfall island,
granite chicly speckled.
And I never heckled
as I snuck behind sweaty backs
to grab an evening apple
and ponder knowledge
as I chewed arcs,
with juice running
down my cheeks
with the tears.
-N&A
https://m.primal.net/KBxT.jpg

2024-08-16 21:31:00

Friday Pink 🩷
#photostr #photography #nature #flowers
https://m.primal.net/KBjC.jpg

2024-08-16 06:06:11

‘Crystal Runners Down Your Cheek’
I don’t think we get power
from color.
I think it’s a hindrance;
roses bloom because it’s spring,
not because they’re red.
I slit your skin,
and contact with air flowers
the white meat,
and you curtsy
to the blood.
Bow before the cross,
Rosicrucian—
nails like stems,
grounded roots,
and a flute plays
a melancholy,
if nothing else.
I wish you would,
I really wish you’d flood
whatever I have left,
so that we could start
a starry and blurry
nursery of thought.
Worship every workplace—
every hue
a ricochet,
flown through a funnel
to some rear-seated lobe,
and it’s a trope.
We are all brains,
I hope.
It’s my closest plea,
programmed as we are
by media and algorithm,
by those that think they’re better—
and they aren’t.
https://m.primal.net/KBJf.jpg

2024-08-16 05:52:41

- reply

👏👏

2024-08-16 05:50:19

- reply

Cute lol

2024-08-16 05:49:38

- reply

Hey Samson 🖖

2024-08-16 05:49:20

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Horse farmer here from club house😉

2024-08-15 22:03:41

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YW 🫶

2024-08-15 18:53:19

‘Flint and Ferrous’
Gold and 9mm rounds,
I swallow them whole,
brass biting my throat,
wrapped in silver foil,
tongue tasting the burn—
hard money for my soul.
I flick the lighter—
it sputters, catches,
your grin flickering,
and the fire drips
through my bones.
Your touch—a match,
a jolt of ice, phosphorus,
and a striking taste
on your breath, mint
and muddled fruit.
Molten metal pushed
by pressure
through my veins,
pulse quickening,
heat tearing seams,
or so it seems.
I turn to oil in your hands,
a slick sheen, sliding—
massaging my chest,
ribs counted,
as I hold my breath,
and that’s just a Sunday
or a Friday.
Nothing left,
but to resurrect,
and die
for the sins of a man,
you spreading my limbs abreast,
staring as this daughter rises,
and rays fall
as my back arches.
-N&A
https://m.primal.net/KAeW.mov

2024-08-15 15:08:38

Pink vibes 🌸✨
#photostr #photography #nature #flowers
https://m.primal.net/KAST.jpg

2024-08-15 08:16:46

‘Hobo Rhapsody’
Let your troubles roll by,
like broken axles
on Tonka trucks,
treaded plastic,
rolling doughnuts.
Grandpa’s toothpicks
weren’t tough enough
for a hard day’s work,
dropping dirt
from the back fence
to the patio,
where his son stood.
Farther away
than interest could,
wrapped in a dense
cloud of cigar smoke,
rocking on the deck wood,
heel to toe, and the embers glowed
and burnt lungs as hope—
faded.
Let your troubles roll by
with rolling papers,
a pinch of tobacco,
chasing highs,
dodging lows.
Only after cramming numbers,
like gunpowder chambered,
and the dealer showed
a blackjack smoking
over a hidden heart—
ace card.
I flipped past a suicide king,
tarnished by a four,
outs diminishing,
then a two,
poor house blues,
hitting on sixteen,
picking metal strings.
I was destined to slap rhythm
on a pick guard,
or lose chips to this dealer,
turning up homeless
and dreaming of bright lights
or a backyard.
If only I knew
what it was like to win
with pockets of gold,
or even nickels—
but the slots took those too.
Under a bridge, shivering,
a starry blanket glistening,
knotted back, writhing,
the thanks I get for gambling.
Let your troubles roll by.
A vagabond,
hopping railroad ties,
nipping scotch
in town after town,
dusty tumbleweed,
no trust left for God or me.
I fight rolling mountainsides—
peaks cresting then crashing
to wheat plains,
incessant clacking,
a watch keeping time
waiting for the coda
or a final line.
-N&A
https://m.primal.net/KACF.jpg

2024-08-15 06:06:37

- reply

Cool piece

2024-08-15 05:39:27

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I started one too… finally got around to it.

2024-08-15 02:29:55

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👆yup

2024-08-14 22:05:17

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Cool

2024-08-14 21:22:41

#NAlove #heart #prompt 🔊🎧
‘Weather and Wings’
I gather the thunderstorms,
under pressure, warm,
palms raw, bent back,
with the lightning cracking,
and my heart stops
from the shock.
The rain tastes like salt,
heavy clouds caught
in your eye’s vault,
knotted.
I’m a caged bird,
clipped wings,
sore ribcage,
singing lipless,
and I’m quite close
to high notes.
But as you feel my frequency,
I fold in the current.
It’s your face that pulls me.
Magnetic eyes sink
in my mouth,
down my notes,
as I swallow the air
and parrot your movements,
even crow for relief,
finding none.
Wind is a sound,
and I’m drowning.
My ears fill with guns and fire;
until my flapping tires,
and I make a nest
in your chest—
a place to count eggs
and beg for sunny days,
or the end of the week.
And you hear me,
over torn fronds,
thunder in a psalm,
and the church steeple’s
just our fingertips communing.
The body is not that of Christ,
but it is in the image of God,
so we feast in one flesh.
You sip the gust from my fingers,
and I tweet poems like this, nestled,
as we watch the sky.
-N&A
https://m.primal.net/JzaH.mov

2024-08-14 21:17:08

- reply

This is indeed exciting 👏

2024-08-14 21:04:58

‘Haunts and Shadows’
You’re just a silhouette,
cut against a blue sky,
far away from me;
can’t trace your lines,
but I keep trying
as your shadow grows.
I wish we never met.
I used to be serene,
but I like the melancholy,
the way it tugs me.
You make me sad-happy,
happy to be sad,
glad to be alone.
Every mile spreads our hearts thin,
but they beat together still.
Apart, but I feel you,
when your ghostly shape
whispers and a chill—
You know what I mean
goosebumps and a thrill.
I’m a cold son of a bitch,
draping your length
over my shoulders,
folded to huddle
in front of a modern-day hearth.
O-LED, leading me to waste away,
watching souls sway,
communing with trapped spirits,
dancing the decay of our society
as our values grey and I unzip.
Sipping filtered water,
thinking filtered thoughts,
and I am what I’m not—
a shadow, a specter,
an echo caught
in the night,
or even by your light
but I’ll never know it,
though you might,
shining like you do.
And I’m not good enough,
and I’m not strong,
and I’m not brave,
and I don’t make mistakes.
And I think about you too much,
so here I am, as I am,
or as I’m not,
resonance with either thought.
Just hold me close once,
to pretend to touch—
trachea, bronchial,
uvula, and my tongue’s full,
words tangled,
caught in your hair
again, finger brush,
harbinger of flush
as weaved braids.
You can’t breathe,
but you’re ready to live
among the famous,
because you’re my star,
falling as you play
the greatest hits,
dulling bits,
so hard;
now lost in the midst.
-N&A
https://m.primal.net/JzZZ.jpg