Boner Skin
Looking into the rot of the unseen muse wondering about a rosy fingered dawn slashing across moonscape illumination against the velvet atmosphere
an unceasing cycle of relentless winds will not blow away skeletal remains of our aborted futures fallen
I like the kind of sex you can’t get at k-mart anymore…
blue light special going off
in the fitting room
raw dogging and slapping some temporary meat vessel in the nose with a rotating wiener dunked in ketchup
they say we’re crazy but I just don’t know anymore when they’re the ones who made all this
dead space
inner dream time
our only escape
maybe it isn’t so much boner skin with our lusts bursting through paper bag repression as much as it is boned skin
bones
poking out the flesh
leaping skeletons that just can’t quite get free
the bells toll ptsd tinnitus
you can only stand to hear so much and listening can sometimes be a pure act of sadism
or maybe my downtrodden being really is just a colossal boner unfurling its skin to penetrate the world
impregnating with all the wrong reasons in this season of madness in unforsaken bliss
why try anymore when it’s all over
playing home movies
in my mind
more like
suspense driven horror
minus the the thrills
pumped with the mundane
ever sickening pallets
natural light hitting pastels and eggshell whites
plastic totes
with all my belongings
eventually my military duffel
eating out of garbage cans
sleeping under overpasses
ruminating over confessions of an unlived life
what keeps me sleepless at night
holding my dick
dating a series of sociopaths
no sex, no love, no affection
maybe once in a while a display of allusive kindness teasing me with what we shared before which never was there in the first place causing more than one of us to starve for more
something happened once
or rather many things
at once
sometimes
more
piled on high like a filipino box-spring hog…the way the trucker in the pink crop top and white cowboy hat described his wife
who wanted me to see the back of his trailer at the bookstore I worked at over a decade ago
pornographic machinations in a foreign land
you can just grab a woman in a bar with a fistful of dollars and have one
are the outlets the same for filming there like they are here?
I just write scripts
So you set the mood?
deep inside
I know
I could
turn it off
but turning it back on would be a problem ‘cause it gets harder to get back towards a path of compassion
nah…
I’ll just take the verbal thrashings
the economic torture
the emotional beatings
and be on my way with a condition red soul
slipping a sense of subtle sabotage
when I can
Horror Sleaze Trash 