The stale-scene shadowplay
is just too much to take
on a fucking Tuesday
Laughter from far away…
So careful not to break
from whispers on Wednesday
The beast I always slay;
The devil inside- shake
my hips on a Friday
Things you wouldn’t dare say
Bore me to death and fake
yours again on Sunday
Don’t believe anymore…
Monday and Thursday’s whore
burning right out the door
First you take sixty odd years
of muddling through the foliage
like someone half your age
with twice the gusto
and three times
the misplaced ambition
and add the elements
like hot, cold and sub-zero luck
and the unlikelihood
that lightning might strike
twice in your lifetime
as it did when you were
all wet under the nose and ears
during those sordid solid gold years
when everything fell into place
right in front of your face
with its expression
of bewilderment at best
and you pounded your chest
like a Tarzan in your “can do” days
it was all work and all play
under the hot rays of
fun-for-fun’s-sake sun
give or take
some unbearable sorrows
and fears that one day you’d
have to live in the down-and-out
up-and-coming tomorrows
which have now
finally come to pass
so congratulations on making
it this far into your personal story
where you played the hero
and the antagonist to the hilt
no need to feel
imposter syndrome guilt
for you are one hundred percent
the genuine real thing—
a frenetic, pathetic
and yet somehow
still a terrific
human being
my stay a execution put off
by officers & courtesans
centuries back when rocks
price a platinum meteorite
sculpted from autonomous
scuba slipper ballet gear
I see stars where I oughta
be wiping up blood spatter
Someone always has something to say
when not staring at their phone.
Whining, yelling, screaming, or whispering low—
it feels like getting slapped repeatedly in the face.
To say one loathes the sound
of the human voice might overstate the case—
like saying the hammer that strikes your skull will surely crack it.
Maybe it won’t.
Someone blathers about the Second Coming.
Someone blurts the homeless should be hung.
Someone screeches that the Earth is flat.
Someone thinks that crocodilians rule us.
Sticking fingers in the earholes doesn’t help.
Wax plugs might work, or noise reducing headphones.
Or yelling louder than everyone else
and drowning out the voices with your own.
But this would be surrender.
This would be a contribution to the din
not an answer to it, or its refutation.
Better to be quiet then and quietly go mad.
Think of me in your masturbatory fantasies.
I’m your manic, pixie dream girl
Who sucks your cock like a porn star.
I deep throat your package until I struggle for breath, however, I ensure my saliva properly coats your cock.
I’m generous enough to cradle your balls in my cheeks and feel them swell with the best prize
I suck and fondle until you breathlessly beg me to sit on your erect throne.
I sit on my throne adorned in submission and jewels from you. You gaze up and I, I, I rock my hips and fuck, we’re more synchronized than Olympic swimmers.
With your hard cock inside of me, I bend backwards, careful not to release you from my vice, and allow your greedy fingers to stimulate my clit. I moan in delight.
You’re becoming easier to ride.
You push me off – eagerly wanting to experience me from a different perspective – and I happily oblige.
Put my legs on your strong shoulders as your broad cock splits me open. I’m gushing like the Niagara Falls. Can you feel how wet I am? Grab my ankles – your hands are the best chains – throw away the lock and key – I’m all yours, no takebacks, my dear!
Oh!
God!
Yes!
Please don’t stop!
I can feel your orgasm building and I’m chasing the high. I’m moaning in pleasure and begging to be used. We’re close to being one. You’re so close I can feel-
Post sex orgasms ripple throughout our intertwined bodies.
I never listen to audio guides at exhibitions
Come here darling lemme lick your armpits
I’ll rejoice in the Venus tummy
in peak vampirism
in staying golden
Didn’t you say your parents met at Skowhegan?
Glitter, cat toys, spare umbrella
parts, the war is never over
and your vertical hair
has me thinking of Hong Kong Garden
and Margaret Thatcher
and the time I took a piss in a Grecian urn
because it’s all just a complex exploration
Of Beauty.
The world was never ours
and getting less so all the time,
but we never much cared
for it anyway.
Leave us our little room,
some music and booze,
we’ll be okay.
The other losers out there in the crumbling day
are no longer our concern,
just leave us our little bit of scrapheap beauty,
our little makeshift world
and an eternity to fuck around inside of it.
It’s not much to ask,
we’re not hurting anyone.
Outside there’s fire and the endings of things
but we’re good as we turn the record over
and open another bottle,
laughing about something
you wouldn’t understand.
bet you thought you knew who she was
but she is a barbarian
now that you come to weep on her rug
and pay for the privilege
she will sew buttons to your living skin
and sing you a lullaby
get full marks for trying it on
if it ends in gratuity
stuffs your turkey tummy all by hand
and smiles like an alien
bet you thought that tuna was fresh
but it glowered like sodium
made you a poser for a new york mag
but you got your stigmata
lay golden eggs in the palm of her hand
from your golden cloaca
still got things to do with your life
let her give you salvation
a group of fiction writers
invited me the poet
out to drinks
I didnt know them but accepted
my eye on the woman
who/d actually asked—
tall
short brown hair
dressed like me
black jeans black t-shirt
she ended up next to me
in one of the booths
at the White Horse Tavern
big enough for all six of us
I dont normally ever know
if a woman is interested
but her hand on my thigh
the whole time
gave me the courage
at the end of the night
to ask for her number
which she gave
that was tuesday
I called the next night
asked her out on friday
which she accepted
we talked a bit
about Michigan and Minnesota
friday I went to her place
lower east side
she looked good
I told her so—
red silk blouse
tight black miniskirt
high heel leather boots
and
my weakness
dark shiny hosiery
I kissed her right there
or
we kissed
or
she kissed back
before saying we should go
to a quiet place she knew
where we sat at the bar
talked for an hour + a half
my hand resting on her thigh this time
sometimes running from her knee
up to her skirt hem
maybe a little furthur
talking about writers + writing
New York
music
I was enchanted—
finally the literary Manhattan romance
I/d always imagined
walked her home
kissed her once out on the street
watched her walk up the stairs
to the building door
she called the next day
angry
at how I/d kissed her
at the start of the night
how I/d been touching her legs
how that was inappropriate
I apologized
said I thought she liked it
she said she didnt
hung up
+ my life went
back to
normal
When I wanted to I couldn’t
I hung a rope inna closet like the Kung Fu guy
I turned onna oven but the element just got too damn hot
scorched my neck
Syvia P had more guts than me
When I had to, when I needed to
wasn’t no high enuf bridge
wasn’t no deep enough hole
wasn’t no snake-bit carny tent
Before my sis got took
she used to practice Für Elise
onna Casio ToneBank
I shoulda done it back then, maybe
I wouldn’t a lost her forever
that way-
to some de Sade wannabe
driving a white deadbeat van
to the DMZ
to the UAE
say I had a wish, into a fucking tree
Horror Sleaze Trash 