As the Sun Sets

As the sun sets
Gazing at the afternoon light
I showed my beloved the penis,
Pleading with her in a state of excitement:
-I want to see it held between your hands
Until we reach an eternal ejaculation.
She, filled with joy, replied:
-Oh, holy and celestial cock
If you want me to give you a glorious handjob
You must come with me afterwards
To the Church of San Lesmes
To confess and hear Mass
Singing along with the officiating priest
To the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
-It’s a deal, I answered.
Just keep milking this donkey’s cock
Until we reach the radiance
Of spermatic glory.
I entrust my life to your hands¡
We are sitting on a stone bench
In this San Juan Square in Burgos
Approaching a celestial
Earth-shattering ejaculation.
She wiped away my cum
Saying to the sperm:
-You are worthy of praise
For you are the seed
That brings life within our cunts.
Just as our cunts
Bring splendor to the universe
Your cocks are the joy of the world
The radiance of the glory
Of the eternal Creator.
We entered the church
Confessed and heard Mass.
She took Communion; I did not.
When it ended, as we headed for the door
To step out into the street
The confessor approached us, saying:
-I am happy to see
That you are two good young people
For you share in the glory of the Lord.
Because of the confession you made
I see you, Cosme, with the clarity of Easter
Your penis rising
Like that of a young disciple in search
Of the carnal sanctuary of your love, Damiana.
Carry on this way.
Live in grace
As children of light and love.
Continue your lives
Without meridians or borders.
Night closed over Burgos
Like a hairshirt of darkness.
We headed to a nearby bar
To sit at a table
And have some drinks
While Damiana, happy and content
Gave me another handjob
Beneath the tabletop.

Everything’s Fine

I jerk off so often 
My dick gets sore

I pretend it’s out of love
When my cat bites me

I purposefully ignore 
What looks like mold on the floorboards 

I work on the blog or write poems
Instead of looking for a new job

I eat too many chips and fries and Sour Patch Kids
Cuz my cholesterol is OK for now

I took a break from reading the news
During Trump’s first term
And never started back up

Yes 
Don’t worry about me

Everything’s fine. 

Cocksucking the Alien

LAX comic convention.
I’ve spent all my money
on old 2000AD progs.
Taking an elevator from
the hall to the rooftop restaurant.

Woman has a man
on a chain,
nearly,
Achingly, nude
he’s painted deep maroon, a Barsoom
warrior,
flexed, and taut.
I can’t meet his eyes, her
Arms, flexed and taut.

She nods,
“Do you like my alien?”

I’ll bite.

You can see a porn store
Glittering below.
I don’t want to eat
on the rooftop. No burger
No salad. Meat.

Throbbing meat.
Elevator down.

She turns on the bathroom light.
Her suite reflecting a gauzy glow
Mirrors on the wall,
Of her glistening,
Flexed and taut.
Of him glistening,
Flexed and taut.

I’m on my knees.

A Taste of It

Here is the secret history of the world.
Here is the memory shared by no one living.
Here is Curtis hiring me
at The Prestonsburg Post
because he was needed the help
and I was desperate for a job.
Here is meeting George and Elizabeth
and drinking the night away.
Here is me writing about Abe Smiley dying
and a woman buying the paper
just for that story
and Curtis giving me the fifty cents.
Here is Curtis telling me I was a writer
and me believing him.
Here is the San Francisco night in Vesuvio
when I yelled at George
to go fuck himself
and big Special Forces George
started crying, right there in the bar
as Curtis drank his beer
waiting for the storm to pass.
Here is the first time we shunpiked
through the night
and all the times that came after.
Here is George sleeping on my floor
because he had nowhere else to go.
Here is the time we three drove to Key West
on my three hundred dollars
and George’s food stamps
and we grilled filet mignon
beside the road like kings.
Here is the fifty dollars we earned
listening to a time-share pitch
that went on for hours
until I finally told the guy
there was no way any of us
were ever going to sign anything
and besides we were unemployed and broke.
Here is the other Key West trip
I won’t tell you about.
Here is the time Curtis hid in a bathroom
while a stinky old man tried to fire him from a paper
his sleazy lawyer son owned
and the old man had a massive heart attack
and died.
Here is George doing CPR
and cleaning out a wad of spit and tobacco
so he could do mouth-to-mouth.
Here is the year Curtis kept that job
because no one ever knew what happened.
Here is the time we all lived in Alabama
and only Curtis was working
so he was the only one who ate well.
Here is the time George’s car died
and we had no money
and George found an old tuna can lid
on the ground and fixed it.
Here is the time George and I
were the ExitGuys,
driving up and down Interstate 65
between Athens and Birmingham
selling ads for a tourist guide we made up.
Here is George and Curtis finally publishing it
two years later and keeping the cash.
Here is the time George got cancer
and found a doctor in Italy to save him.
Here is Curtis dating Audrey
and leaving her for Donna,
whom he loved until she died.
Here is George marrying Donna’s sister, Cathy.
Here is George maybe throwing a cat
out of a moving car, and maybe not,
but the cat went out the window either way
and was not seen again.
Here is George sleeping with two women
I loved.
Here is George disappearing
into Costa Rica.
Here is Curtis calling to say
George was dead.
Here is Curtis dying in his sleep.
Here is the secret history no one ever knew.
Here is the bare minimum.
Here is the world as it was and will not be again.

deeper because

For Caleb

I feel deeper because of you,
each splash of your tongue on my system
soaking through the car seat pores.

The top shelf behind my belly button dizzy
somersaults when my inner voice is yours
speaking about thrust, licking, all day.

My pants warmer and my phone loud for
two hands of freedom, for letting
gushing flow when I bubble over,
fingers pruney, toe muscles and cockpit cramps.

There is scantily a word for when
you’ve rubbed until it’s see-through,
carving such a valley, peering over the edge –
one can almost make out my base.

Shackled by Lust?

Jesus sets free,
reads roadside signage
supplemented 
with a pair of hands 
chained at the wrists—
Bondage imagery backfiring 
as likeminded commuters
circulate on singles night,
raising countless cups 
in the name of the Father 
but mostly to show off
their ligature marks. 

random

it happens against my will, but never at a good time.
the signs of its affliction are always the same:
the front of my pants pulls,
underwear ride up,
the pressure from all the blood rushing to the tip
makes the whole thing pulse, throb.

right now my boss is standing in my cubicle, talking to me
about shit i do not give a single fuck about.
all thats on my mind is if his eyes
for some reason crawl their way
towards my crotch,
he’ll see the bulge in my pants.

its embarrassing to still get random erections.
i’m an adult still struggling with
the same issues I had when I was ten and
i don’t know if i should accept the random boners,
live to bust, and stop asking questions or dissect every
little vein on the shaft until I have a PhD in
blood and jizz interconnectivity studies

and when i say it happens at the worst times,
i mean the worst times.

and it doesn’t go away until its pleased.

i’ve succumbed to its demands in places you wouldn’t believe.
grocery store family bathrooms, my cum all over the floors beneath the diaper station.
the basement bathroom at work, semen splattered on the walls and handicap shower chair.
the driver seat of my parents’ truck during Christmas when i was twelve, me frantically scraping off dried splooge from cloth seats while everybody else was inside opening presents.

It doesn’t waste time on the basics like milf, big naturals, or anything that has missionary involved.

no, no, no.

it wants to watch a cute boy suck some dick and i’m not even gay.
it wants me to aim it so the cum shoots into my mouth
while it watches either girls piss their pants in public or
femboys with a little tail plugged into their ass.

my boss is talking and talking and talking and there’s no end in sight.

it throbs stronger, angrier.

it shows me visions of what it wants:
hentai, pegging, scat, armpit, bush, public.

it needs at least a dozen screens at once to satisfy every desire it has.

my hand slides towards my crotch like it’s receiving orders from my dick through a secret communication frequency.

my boss’s eyebrows scrunch and voice dies as a small moan escapes me
while my hand gently rubs the top of my pants.

hitzewelle   

the city is an inferno today 
no wind no clouds no chance no chance 
of rain just a blazing 
bonfire sun baking the trees the grasses the cars 
melting bird shadows
turning my flat into a furnace.
it wouldn’t be so bad if this place had a/c.
but all I’ve got to cool me is a fan 
this bowl of chilled grapes
and a refrigerator full of Helles. 

oh well, I guess it could be worse 
I could be that man I saw getting his chest pumped 
on the S-Bahn platform this morning I could 
be the teen who turned up his toes in the Spree 
or my Icelandic neighbor hyperventilating 
while clutching a pink unicorn.

three days 
it’s been like this 
three days and barely any sleep 
a gluey substance 
on my skin my brainpan boiling three days 
since it began with an old man passing 
under my window wearing nothing but green
underwear and pushing 
a shopping cart loaded with insulation foam.

Blue Ball Moon

The stars were thick like fog on a window
gossamer to shroud a torch-kissed witch
silicon dust in astral lashes
coy across the cosmos
cum across the porthole.

A nebulous tide
a quasar for the ages
a gas giantess—
rings where the sun don’t shine.

Shore leave on trashy planets
names like Nimbus Nine and
Blue Ball Moon
The aliens have how many breasts?
So what if they have gills?
Exotic pets that could jeopardize the mission
Doggy or missionary?
On all eights, or on your back?

Influences

He writes by candlelight,
As the rats emerge,
Floorboards curl,
The wall paper peels,
Tentacles tickle his ankles,
Outside the hound begins
Its nightly howling.
The storm has started.
He dips his pen into the inkwell.
Inspiration or just annoyance,
Sometimes it’s tough to tell.