Perfectly preserved in the dark,
still, she wears his favorite dress,
his favorite heels, the spikes
that catch on the shag
nearly rolls an ankle
mixes him a highball,
drinks it herself
has another and waits
it is like it was
has another and waits
the longer she waits
the more she will need
has another and waits
for the archeologists
to find her there in his vault
with the rest of his possessions
A dancer leaned from a window and let her hair fall.
Southern Ontario never felt more like a fairytale.
Years later you sent me a text out of the blue.
“If you fuck someone tonight
try to love them less than me.”
I didn’t respond but maybe I should have.
If you’re reading this, I still hope
for the future we talked about
having sex while Bernie Sanders is giving
a victory speech, to really roll around naked
in grassroots where the beautiful voices are
where none of them feel trapped.
I trace the influence
of the Renaissance
in your face
which is not
so much a style
as a way of living.
The dawn of perspective
in doom town. How sad, how
lovely, like death
laying an egg
in a trashy movie.
I’m deep red.
You’re sprawled on the couch
with your clit out.
I mistake it for a bird
at first, and then a pink sweater
and then a monastery
on a hill overlooking the sea
where a submarine blips
like a latticed halo.
now that the gnashings
of locomotion
come to the terminus
of the continent—
now that the pacific’s
cold waves douse the
fires of the republic—
now that destiny is fully manifest,
and all the ruckus of
infinite growth comes
thrashing against a finite world,
there we find a fella
with his palm out,
asking for a dime. he,
like everyone else, is
selling something to
survive. he’s selling
alleviation of guilt,
as the holy man does.
a holy man
is a beggar with a
compelling story:
promising eternal reward
for 10% of your earnings—
promising that you
are a good person despite
what you do—
a holy guarantee that you
are justified.
a beggar has his bag of
tricks too:
he has stories he can tell
and myths he can propagate
about the great western man
and his lurch into the american
century. he can say that there’s
a woman back in his hometown
that’s waiting on him to make good
on the promise of the century,
even though he knows that she’s
probably long ago moved onto
greener wallets. a girl’s gotta eat.
and yes the world wants him gone
but have you considered that he’s
bigger in heart than all the goons
on wall street combined and simply wasn’t
built for this economy? an economy
that requires lumpen destitution to function.
if it wasn’t him, it would be somebody
else, here with hand outstretched,
waiting for a dime.
In those days Peter was always trying
to get me to play Keno
but I was too busy doing shots
of Fireball with Farrah to give a shit
about games. Caroline and Lucas
had just bought the Dogtown Bookstore.
Lauren was banned from The Pub for life.
After Arty cut her off one night
she got pissed and called the cops
and told them Arty was serving minors.
He never forgave her for that.
Caitlin had just moved to town,
Jill was dating the Viking, and my neighbor, Matt,
tossed all of his wife’s clothes
into the apartment dumpster every Friday night.
She was young and had a nice body
and wore sunglasses at six in the morning
so everyone knew Matt liked to beat
on that nice young body
after he’d had a few down at Stone’s.
In those days Toby was already dead
and Holly was dying;
Logan had lost his job at the Post Office
after he crashed his mail truck
on Blackburn Circle — a BAC of .23%,
the lawyer saying not even Houdini
could get him out of that one.
In those days, you worked long hours
at the hospital
trying to put people back together
after their hearts gave out.
On Saturday mornings
I’d help Matt’s wife
get her clothes out of the dumpster
and she’d give me a hand with love.
Times were tough
and double shifts the only way
to make ends meet.
intellectual aspirations
my guts hate me
I hate my guts
poisoning myself
again and again
things in me
that need to die
heaven and home
hard to reach
battles won
battles lost
skin an open book
tried and true
raised by fire
under the son
forget
remember
live
I am not sure if I could rid you
from my life / from my brain
unless I have a section removed
cauterized and electrodes attached
so if / when someone says / uses your name
or if / when I’m reminded of you in some way
a pulse of electricity can numb and soothe
creating a scene of sunsets / oceans / clouds
so that my mind can be clouded
shading the intense panorama that you invoke
of carnal dopamine nukes with spikes
of endorphin / adrenaline / serotonin agonists
mixed with supra-abnormal oxytocin blasts
all culminating in a galactic whirlwind
which absorbs all light and brain matter
but I am not sure if science can resolve this
spicy carotid jugular coupled information stream
as it transfers corrupted corrosive thoughts
of holding your hand while I drown in quicksand
or in a swamp filled with algae / alligators / amoebas
but then you can still hold my hand
since the rest of me will be gone
and maybe take it with you
in case you need a hand
to place on your shelf with a tag
It was fun while he lasted
Early one morning
Danielito was lifted from bed
Because his parents were going to take him
To the Seminary of Segovia.
He went against his will.
But, when he boarded the Galo Alvarez’ bus
Whose boss was a friend of his father
And saw his three favorite friends
From Fuentepelayo
His town on the way
He was happier than a fiddle
Thinking that it would be very good for him
Because it would be one less expense
For his parents.
From Plaza del Azoguejo along Calle Real
To the Seminary
Hundreds of new seminarians were coming
From the villages of Segovia
Dressed like crows all in black
Dragging a mattress and a trunk
That they had to carry.
To the entrance door of the Seminary
His parents left him
And a priest with a devilish face
Took him by the hand
Pulling him inside.
Once he left the trunk and mattress
In the space he’d been assigned
In a hallway lined with beds.
They went down to the courtyard
To take the typical, obligatory photo
With all the seminarians who had arrived
And to receive the greeting and blessing
From the Father Superior.
He spent his entire stay
Studying and praying with sacrifice
So that he could become
A good pedophile priest
And be able to take, one day
His mother with him
To the towns where he was destined.
His prayer and sacrifice
Were a struggle against Lust
And the jerking off they did.
When I asked him one day:
-What have you felt most
After so many years in the Seminary?
He answered me clearly:
-What I felt most was my erect penis
Which I proudly ground day after day
Against the confessional door
Which I had offered
Since entering the seminary
to the Virgin of the Organs
Which is why my classmates called me:
“Ecstasy of Saint Teresa!”
or “Almond Blossom.”
10pm somewhere
there’s a muffled dog bark
the freight train blows
its horn into a dead night
no one hears
or……does everyone feel like breaking?
Does anyone long
for that train’s solace
of continuity
do they notice how
the bats hungry with night
dip and swoosh
breaking the cryptic addiction
these swarms of moths hold
to the nightlight
over our front door
of the house that fills the story
in some book that no one wrote
Could everyone feel
that someone’s out there
watching that same damn star
or satellite
or alien spaceship
that one spec of forever
is someone aching
other than me?
Someone’s wading
through a dank river
attempting to hitch on
to that train
as the dog barks
at the silent
silver moon
daring it into the sky
Someone’s out there
crossing train tracks
and roads
kissing the night hello
someone’s quiet
with their ear to my heart
Romulai: Who penetrates who? That is the question
My breasts are elastic and nutritive
Would you kill to suckle, a genocide?
Be incapable of being subdued?
Rip off your clothes and genocide naked
Slap your cock on the obliterated
Humiliated asunder sublime
The flaccid tongues and eyes protuberant
Slap it uncontrollably demented
The cock as an automatic weapon
Vigorously tearing orifices
Penetrating all the open sockets
Reform them all into something useful
The gilded cock, the cock with wings
The gilded cock drone of my butchery
Chad: I will slice those milkers off, Romulai
Romulai: The great eye wettens and I am bound to
The increase of the Chad I bow my head
Shake my milkers for your fine machismo
Do I do it well? Do I make you bulk?
Chad triumphing on the Palatine Hill
They grovel between your colossal legs
And sing to your vast Dictator’s organ
Chad: I will take more of your girly simping
Romulai: Would you fuck a man? It is Roman law
Takes both nymphs and satyrs to be full-grown
It is Roman law, switch yourself right now
Do you give, or take, the bread and circus?
Just slap a pig’s delicious sizzling
Vulva on my bad boy slave boy anus
Be dominant so I nibble the stone
Or pulverize my teeth into powder
Beast pound me or face certain social death
Then fist me to fate in a fit of rage
Chad: I am clubbing you bitch over the head
Ramming my dagger in the frontal lobe
Scooping out your soggy old thalamus
Cry out in agony you weak ass bitch
Nothing hotter than a lobotomy
My slutty fuck slut lobotomy slut
Romulai: I am freed now from the burden of thought
A swab on a stick a tersorium
Only kidding, I cannot be switched off
Banquet with the Sun, serpent on your lap
Grasping the horn, hard, blind and beholden
The youth emerges golden from the disc
Bellowing, body without negation
Licking all the radiant diadems
Male on male on male on male horsepower
Nimble bridegrooms running into the Sun
Bodies of veterans, the new brethren
Infiltrate, slaughter and pacify
Gifted the blue light, listless sungazers
All are dead status and all is alive
Chad: Be back in two, Doordash delivery
Romulai: Who penetrates who? That is the question
The whole world is a nail to be hammered
In flaring establishment of birthright
Who penetrates who? That is the question
Botched genetics are the spoils of this war
Ancestors defanged into mutation
You are a little boy an uber soy
We like little boys here, so useful
Airy delights airy little libums
Not a real wolf on blaze just baby cool
OMG make-believe fursona vibe
No social glory, totally neutered
All low-status bodies are available
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
Chad: I ordered Wild Tea Kombucha, not Island Mango. Fucking morons
Romulai: Nullos furry, made bed in detritus
Substrate of the operating system
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
I am the state, state of penetrating
Meatcubes, all my giga penetration
Chad: Yeah shut up bucco and work your milkers
Hammerfist
Mount
Anaconda choke
Turtle position
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Verbal submission
Horror Sleaze Trash 