Unremarkable Men

Did I wake you up?
There are two ways of finding out.
If we sound like we are in a tunnel
you are still asleep. Otherwise
relationships are like ocean waves,
you try to go with the current
but generally there is not enough sex
and you end up on dry land.
Whose fault is that? Nobodies.
As dry as a dead man’s crotch. Nobodies.
Not including decomposition.
Looks like there is a little movement
down near the Bay Of Biscay.
Oh, I should be at your beck and call?
The crew will be alert and diving from the mast
trying to impress the locals.
Early in his career, Marlon Brando thought
the best butter came from Tahiti.
Not yet acquainted with the German Dutch.

Tragedy From Behind the Trees

we headed northbound,
stuck in heavy traffic,
drunk on silver bullets
somewhere outside the
Menominee Indian Reservation
when a small plane came crashing
down right before our eyes
near the side of the highway
and while the black smoke came
billowing up from behind
the cardboard treeline,
people could have been burning
alive inside that plane for all I knew
but strangely, two women in a car
next to my left stared at me in
revulsion as if I were a leper
with a bell around my neck
and they randomly decided
to call me a creeper.
I didn’t fully understand
what it all meant except that:
we’re all mysterious creatures;
gluttonous with triviality, heedless
to the duckpondfull of tragedies
happening from behind the trees.

Scary Story

I will die

the same as
my father died

and his father
before him.

Once those facts
are laid out
on the table
from the opening gambit
there isn’t much
left in this life
that could give me

THE FEAR.

Rhetorical Question

after sitting there
listening
to their tedious conversation
where they relentlessly insulted
all men
from
all walks of life
referring to them with names
such as:
assholes
douchebags
and
liars
amongst other things
while suggesting that
it was impossible
for them to find
anybody
even remotely
worth dating
in this
big city of ours
I finally
took a sip of my beer
and proposed
a simple question –
“did you ever think that,
perhaps you’re a cunt?”

Poet Fucker

I slept next to her
in the same bed for a week.
Each time I looked over
I became disgusted
at all her lies, the guys she fucked to be a better poet.
“Even my cock doesn’t have that much magic,” I told her. “Keep writing.”
The way she breathed, the nocturnal language she spoke,
the way she kicked her legs like somebody running from home
blamed it on insomnia, never mentioned the Adderall
then would get up and paint her nails over and over
her eyeballs were about to fall from the sockets
and her voice, more metal than bus brakes at 5am.
I couldn’t watch anymore.
I turned the other hip towards the window
watched hustlers in long coats work tourists in Pershing Square,
crack heads strutting like pigeons
scanning for dropped rocks on the sidewalk,
a man wore a garbage bag as a tutu
pirouetting for a god that never answered his prayers,
a Chinese woman crouched on the sidewalk to take a shit
wiping with a brochure a missionary just handed her.
I wished I was out there
where the insane
know exactly what they are.

one of those shits

it’d been a while
since i had to shit like that
it was one of those cheek squeezers
where you try to hold it together
running for the bathroom
hoping you don’t let lose
fortunately i made it
even had time to grab
my copy of
the complete works of william shakespeare
though i will confess
i wasn’t really in the mood for theatre
it didn’t take much of a push
but christ
the shit just wouldn’t stop
i thought for sure
i’d find my guts floating
when i got up from the pot
and to make matters worse
it was one of those shits
you just can’t wipe off
even if you stand up; get into it
the more you wipe
the more shit on the paper
it was one of those shits
that stayed with me
all day
everywhere i went
i could feel it
rustling around back there
such is life
no matter how much
you try to wipe away the shit
or hide it
with love
religion
politics
it remains
a deep dark secret
clinging
to your most private parts

Sometimes I like role play

I’ll be your slutty student,
your damsel in distress,
the cheerleader to your football star,
even a dominatrix.
But don’t you dare,
make me call you
Daddy.

He’s the reason I crave sex.
The reason I despise it.
The reason I hate the word,
Daddy.

After he came into my room,
I had no chance.
He sat down beside me,
pretending to watch me sleep.
In case mom walked by.
But he slipped a finger in me
and covered my mouth
with my teddy bear.

My eyes shot open.
I knew this was wrong
but at thirteen
the hormones had kicked in
and I did as he said.

Moan.
Arch your back.
Bite your lip.
I did it all.
I pretended he was my history teacher.
He has hot and young.
He was not my daddy.

Shut the door.
Remove your clothes.
Lay back down.
Don’t tell your mother.
He always kept a finger inside me.
I moaned – like he asked.

As he rubbed my stomach,
squeezed my growing breasts
and finally kneeled over my naked body
he looked me square in the eye.
Then told me he knew what I did with the neighbor boy
and demanded I show him what I had to offer.

He threw my legs back.
My toes hit the headboard,
revealing all of my young, bare pussy
and he shoved all of himself inside of me.

The cock that created me,
was now in me.
The hands that once held me,
pushed my thighs against the mattress.
I couldn’t hide that I was wet,
pretending he was someone else
and gasping for breath between pounds.

I shut my eyes tightly.
He forced me to open them.
To stare at him
as he pumped himself in and out and
he watched as his speed made my boobs bounce
faster and faster.
He told me to moan for him as he went deeper.
Mmhmm, Daddy.
Oh yeah, Daddy.
Harder, Daddy, harder.
Daddy.
Daddy.
Daddy.

Stop!

Please treat me like the sexy nurse to your patient.
The dumb secretary to your boss.
Even the victim to your rapist.
Just never,
ever,
make me call you,
Daddy.

She’s Not a Whore, She’s Your Whore (There’s a Difference)

She never goes ass to mouth
on the first date.

She’ll pour you another drink
cook you dinner in six-inch heels
& pay for her own abortions.

She loves titty fucking.
She doesn’t wear underwear.
She’ll squirt if you suck on her clit just right.

You’d marry her if she believed in marriage.

All she needs is your love.
So what’s stopping you?

What Not Being Depressed Feels Like

Holly and I went down to sell plasma
seven days a week and never bled
a drop or squeezed centrifuge release
or felt the cold return
that exchanged money to burn.

Every time Holly and I arrived
shaking and glancing at other folks
who supplemented their odd habits
such as children and crushed pills
straight glass pipes and electric bills.

Every time we leafed through paperwork
every time shocked by the details of blood
and what doctors might find in the test
seven days I pushed the papers at
the nurse with whispered bullshit.

Same bullshit seven different ways all cuts the same.

Seventh day we sat on Holly’s bed
in her disgusting room where we bred flies
and traded most pleasant lies,
where I’d leave her when she’d cry
and I’d go fuck someone else.

The seventh day she lifted her face
quick away from the shimmering plate
And swallowed back something cheap and sharp.

Snorted with cute fist on nose
with a theory to propose
she asked, “is this what not being depressed feels like?”

A Lesson In Listening To Others

For 3 weeks straight
she called every night
looking to come over
what did I care
I had nothing else going on
I’m not sure why
I never considered myself
a great lover
but one person’s trash
is someone else’s treasure
so maybe I was hers

there would be very little
in conversation
we would strip down
have sex
make some noises
smoke cigarettes
like the orgasms were
all that great
and then just lay there
that was the most real
I ever felt
as her finger tips
gently moved
up & down
torso to chest
and back

she would then try to talk
about “us”
future plans
likes
dislikes
I would pretend to listen
as I remained in my own sanctuary

morning would come and she would leave
just as she came
with very little conversation

the phone stopped ringing after a while
I wondered what happened
I guess I should have paid more attention
to what she was saying

she probably broke up with me
and I didn’t even know it